02/09/2026
Offering box for the monks of Walk for Peace.
They were simply monksâtired, a little overwhelmed, quiet and cold, their faces mostly wrapped in scarves the color of earth. All but one, who smiled and stood a little taller than the rest. Millie was delighted to offer two of them flowersâflowers another child had shared with her in exchange for taking photos of her and her mother. The moments with the monks were fleeting, and just as suddenly as they began, they were gone. I watched them walk on and searched for Aloka, the stray dog they had once befriended in India, but I didnât see him. I wished I could walk with them. I even turned to my husband and said, âLetâs follow themâstop again and see them once more.â But the thought dissolved as we merged back into traffic.
On the drive home, I kept turning the encounter over in my mind, struck by how quickly it had passed. They had been closer than I expected, moving through flashing police lights beside an RV marked with a Walk for Peace banner. I remembered the rush of excitement when I first spotted them in the motorcade, the swell of admiration and pride that followed, and thenâwhen I met their eyesâa deep empathy for the hunger, cold, and exhaustion they must have been carrying.
Later, as I sat down to lunchâthinking of how the monks eat only once a dayâeverything felt suddenly clear. I had gone to see them to offer thanks, and I did, quietly, to each one as they passed. But I had also hoped to leave with something more: a deeper connection to humanity, a sense of inner peace, a clearer purpose.
Using almost nothing, the monks had made a loving statement and drawn thousands together in the name of peace. I understood that I had arrived hoping to take something away, but what they were giving was not answers or purposeâonly peace, quiet and fleeting, and exactly what I needed.