I squealed like a schoolgirl when we passed the sign on the A1 yesterday. It read “The Holy Island of Lindisfarne”.

The sign just popped  out of nowhere . . . like all other signs along all other motorways; the same size, color, font, etc. it could have read, “Garbage Dump” or “Six Flags Over Bamburgh”, it was that innocuous. 

Why didn’t THIS sign glow with it’s own internal mystical light? Why did it require common steel posts to hold it above the ground instead of it’s own powers of levitation? Why was it not gilded, carved from exotic wood or precious stone? 

It just stood there on the side of the A1 . . . .a very common sign indeed.

But it meant so much more to me. 

Land of my fathers,
how I long to return,
to touch thy earth,
and find again thy sacred paths,
well-walked with the Gospel of Peace . . .

. . .this is the land of my fathers. My first, physicl interaction with a common road sign. A wonderfully un-romantic introduction reminding me that I can crush the tender gifts God is so eager to give, with the sheer weight of my often exotic expectations (gilded, levitating road signs being a relatively tame example)

My daughter, The Jump Seat Pixie, has been sharing similar experiences in her blog, interestingly: Confusing the gift with the gift giver, holding all of creation (including self) to unattainable expectations. 

Oh God, gently hold open the  pages of my book so that you can write upon them whatever you see fit. I carry so much with me today, so much that I feel there is not enough room for it all to be written:

– I feel the abscence of my father so very potently. Oh how I wish I could share this all with him, even though he cared little for our family history, he cared a lot for me. I had ahold solid cry for my parents today. It felt good.

– I feel the intimidating weight of Seven Years of Sundays pushing me toward a new chapter of life, work, vocation and leadership in the church. Puzzle pieces.

– There has always been a little extra salt in our family’s blood. To say we are  sea-faring would be way out of bounds but the ocean has always held a special place for us. It was very good to stand on the shore, the smell of the sea in my nostrils, the memory of scattering my parents ashes in the Pacific Ocean, and knowing that by now, those ashes are just as present here in the North Sea as they are in any ocean on Earth.

– The sea and the spirit in Bamburgh Castle (historic capital of the Kingdom of Norhtumbrian) blended together with all our experiences and the resonance with these Scottish/Northern English lands to feel like home with a new depth.

The sea was a missing but necessary ingredient in connecting this whole trip. 

The sea. Ah, the sea.

Bamburgh Castle is proving to be emblematic somehow. It has an informality that we have not felt in other castles; still regal, but homey. There is a wooden ceiling in the Great Hall that is spectacular, but warm and accessible. Ive allowed myself to fantasize about the local folks (Hazens among them) being welcomed into that hall on special occasions.

– For the first time in over 20 days, we’re living in close proximity to brothers and sisters. Jeff and Jill Sutheran have welcomed us into their B&B with the familiar grace and hospitality offered only by the redeemed. It’s not like we’ve had a big prayer service or communion with breakfast . . . It’s just that sense of welcome and familiarity that you’re with family. They went the extra mile to help us with changed travel arrangements, a massive pile of laundry and Brenda’s “travel” illness (from which she has fully recovered, thank you)

– Tomorrow we visit the old township of Hazon.

Continued random observations, this time from Scotland:

£. Neutral Observation
+ Positive Observation
–  Negative Observation
!  Uncategorized

£ Edinburgh is a city in transition. We are seeing it in mid-stream somewhere between a relatively isolated, old-school, regional, working capital, and an international destination for art, culture and history. There’s a sense of excitement and anticipation in the air. They seem to be managing the transition with a high degree of aplomb.

+ The Scottish seem to be capable of truly adult behavior. By way of example: yesterday we climbed one of the crags in Holyrood Park called Arthur’s Seat, a 750 foot high cliff overlooking the city. No litter (not a scrap) No graffiti (not a swatch) No signs, no warnings, no railings, no stairs, no security, no sponsors, no charge. You simply walk from the steps of the Scottish Parliment building, across a street and into the largest public park in Europe (a full square mile)

An enormous jutting piece of rock like this in America could exist only in one of the three conditions:

1.  Sponsored by Viagra or Cialas.
2. Fenced, roped, gated and supervised by park police.
3. A private park, owned by the ungrateful bastard who was awarded it in a lawsuit after he fell off the top in a drunken stupor. Now costing 10 bucks just to get in, and featuring a monster truck themed escalator ride to the snack bar at the top.

– There is almost no consideration of the handicapped in public places. Honestly, I considered categorizing this as neutral or even positive, but I can’t bring myself to do it. All I can say is: there are many more options available to the non-handicapped, when the handicapped are not accommodated. You guys categorize it.

£ Have not seen a single scooter being ridden by a morbidly obese person. Between London, Liverpool, Glasgow, Inverary, Inverness, and Edinburgh I have seen exactly ONE morbidly obese person, and perhaps one handful of noticeably overweight people.

– Smoking. Thera a lot of it. (Maybe this accounts for the lack of overweight people.)

£ Babies. Not nearly as many as The States.

£ Local people do the jobs that only immigrants seem willing to do in America.

+ Rather than developing OUTWARD and creating sprawl, planners seem to  focus development inside already established boundaries.

+ Towel warmers.

+ 1 pound and 2 pound coins rather than bills.

– Everything . . . I mean EVERYTHING in the grocery store is wrapped, boxed or bagged for individual portions.

–  Reminded that local people do the “menial”work because immigrants are not allowed into the country for work.

+ America is still the land of opportunity and we can still be proud that we allow people from all over the world to enter and give it a shot.

+ Saw a DaVinci, a Raphael, a Cezain, and countless other great works . . . again for free, just walking in off the street like a schmuck. Thanks for that, U.K.

! Found the homeless. All 4 of them; sleeping in a tomb in St. Cuthbert’s Church cemetery. (uncategorized because FINDING homeless people is not positive, but calling it negative seems out of place, and I can’t be neutral about it.)

– Really tempted to get a kilt in proper Campbell Tartan. But to do it properly means almost 400 bucks for the kilt itself, plus to wear one properly (with respect for the tradition) requires another 400 bucks worth of sporan, shirt, stockings, belt and kilt pin. Think of it like a tuxedo (you can actually rent a whole formal kilt get up in a lot of places). You can also get a “joke” get up for £100, but that’s like one of the tuxedos from “Dumb and Dumber”

£ They don’t take reliable wireless Internet access as seriously as we do in the States. It can be very spotty and quite expensive in places.

+ I think I mentioned this before . . . But I really like the fact that most products and services are NOT available 24 hours /day, 7 days / week. Things stop, or at least slow down and you have to say to yourself, ” I guess I can’t have whatever I want, whenever I want it.” It’s good to know that this is true.