Shocked enough to write

I still have a week or so of travelog to post from our time in England, but the pace of life doesn't let up for such "luxuries". One thing is to find the time to travel, another is to find time to tell about it.

The way things are going, we will need to find more than just time to travel. Trudy, one of my assistants in the consulate, said her husband was planning to go to Lisbon last week on business, but decided not to when the travel agent said that the cheapest available round trip to Lisbon from here was on the order of $750. Helder said he didn't want first class, economy was fine...that was the economy fare! Abbie and I paid about $450 each the last trips we took.

The 600-mile bridge to the mainland hasn't been built yet, so driving is out. Although local driving is not out, it is already ouch. I stopped for gas on the way home today and glanced at the pump where the girl had just filled the tank on her sports car. €85! Even without pencil and paper, I knew that was a lot...turns out to be US$134 for the 14 gallons she pumped: $9.54 a gallon. I was just returning to my car after paying for my tank of gas, and I felt a momentary consolation: because I had chosen the cheaper grade of gas at $8.73 a gallon, I only paid $91.68 to put 10.5 gallons in my car.

Coming up: 1) pictures from the visit of Pastor Alan Pallister and family, who are with us for a couple of weeks. 2) A Test of English (for those of you who think you know English)--a pictorial review of signs encountered in Ireland and UK...you won't want to miss these signposts that mark the linguistic divide between the US and the UK. 3) All the Doors of Dublin --- another photo essay...ok, not ALL the doors, but you'll see what I mean.

Day 14 – May 23 – Friday: The Last Day with the Group -- Farewells and Turning Loose

Continuing series of reports on our recent trip to Ireland and England. Click on images for larger view.

Okay, one more shot of the blooming hawthorne hedge rows; last one, I promise.

Our actual farewells were only said Saturday morning, as the group was leaving for the airport around 8:30, but this was our last day together. How quickly the two weeks passed! How soon we were reminded that our earthly lives can be summarized as bits of time spent between partings, moving from one farewell to the next. Our paths cross with those of our friends, and we move on; friends, family, loved ones depart this life; we lose things we have attachments to---sometimes stolen, sometimes misplaced, sometimes broken and worn out. Our group would be splitting up after this day, and on this day I was reminded about the temporary nature of possessing "things".

It only takes an instant...
At some point in this trip narrative, I mentioned my "addiction" to wood. I'm always looking for a piece of interesting wood I can somehow whittle on or carve into some object. Generally I look for small pieces I can carry in my pocket, and at odd times of the day, when there's nothing else I feel I ought to be doing (or want to do), I pull out my pocket knife and piece of wood and whittle away. Not every piece of wood lends itself to being whittled on; not every idea that comes to mind lends itself to being whittled into existence. But when mind and matter are in agreement, I find I always have something to do.

Having seen the Celtic crosses, I sensed this was something typical enough to be a souvenir of our trip; during the first days of our stay in Belfast I finally scrounged up a piece of pine from a construction site behind the hotel. It wasn't the ideal piece of wood, but I discovered wood was hard to come by there! For the better part of the next week or so, I slowly worked down the block of wood, and little by little it became obvious to others what I was working towards. My aim was to have it finished by the time our group ended its tour, and by this day, May 23, I was down to the detail work: trim a little here, take off a little on the other side, add a feature on the front, see if it lined up on the back...

Of course, we "artists" have to learn to live with criticism. Abbie's main complaints were: 1) I was getting little wood shavings all over the floor of the van where I was sitting; 2) whenever I got out of the van, I had little pieces of wood all over my shirt and jeans. I tried not to be too messy, so I picked up what shavings I could and threw them out the window, or I would knock the shavings off my work piece on the edge of the window. And then it happened... it was gone. I went to knock the shavings off, and the wind caught the little block of wood, or it got caught on the window frame as I pulled it back in. At 60 mph down the freeway...it was gone. So close to finished, so gone forever. It only took an instant.

But it was not a fortune; fortunes can be lost in an instant. It was not a matter of health and well-being; disease can strike in an instant. It was not a life, and lives can be lost in an instant. Yes, I had spent the better part of two weeks working on this little cross, and it was gone. But I had not lost everything: I would never lose the moments I spent conceiving the design and handling the knife, shaping the wood to conform to the ideal in my mind. Those were hours that were positive in themselves, whether or not the cross came into being as I imagined it.

I must confess that all the others in the group expressed their dismay at my "loss"... but we figured someone might come along and find a partially carved cross by the side of the road someday. The main lesson for me was a reminder to hold on to things lightly and to God tightly. In the end, all "things" will pass away, so let us hold them lightly. There's a Portuguese proverb that comes close to the idea: "Vão-se os anéis, ficam os dedos" ... loosely translated, "Let the rings go, keep your fingers".

Stormont and Tyrone

One of the two main stops of the day was the seat of government of Northern Ireland, Stormont, an imposing building sitting at the top of a hill, shown here with some rather imposing tourists in the foreground.



We just missed the last tour of the day at the crystal factory at Tyrone, so we contented ourselves with oohing and aahing over the various items for sale. Abbie was particularly interested in a crystal piano (not life-size), but large enough that you could almost buy a real one for the same amount of money. I had fun trying to take a picture of the shop, as reflected in the polished globes, without getting myself in the picture. I was not entirely successful in some of the photos.



Clenaghan

Could almost pasture the sheep on the roof.

We'd never heard of it. Wouldn't have ever found it, either, had it not been for Billy Stevenson making reservations for us there and giving directions to the inn. These are not the exact instructions, but you get the idea: "take a left at the third tree past the barn on the right, then turn right after you've seen six cows." In other words, this place was out in the middle of an Irish nowhere. (According the website, it's been nowhere for a good many years...like 250 of them.)

The kitchen door---note vine-covered pump to the left.


The main door to the restaurant.

In other words, "No Smoking".

From the pictures, you can get the feeling that the inn has been around a while, and the food and atmosphere were a perfect final meal together for the 10 of us. It was an unforgettable end to an unforgettable two weeks.







And a couple of shots taken while we were waiting to be served:

Gardener

Ice water (which you don't see in Portugal)

As a final "official" act, Tracy and Cary, as tour leaders, handed out prizes to each of us in recognition of our individual contributions to the group. Abbie was recognized for bravery in crossing the rope bridge (she had hinted she was not, under any circumstances, going across that swinging bridge), and I for my work as photographer (I must have taken over 1500 photos during the trip). The ladies got refrigerator magnets; we men got bars of chocolate.

Final group photo

Remember what I said in the beginning about not holding on to "things" very tightly? A few days later, while we were staying at a bed and breakfast in England, the owner's dog got in our room while we were out and ate my prize (along with a couple of other bars of chocolate). That's one prize that literally "went to the dogs"...fortunately, my reward from the trip was not wrapped up in that paper. It is even more than the memory of places we visited; it is the friendships we forged, the bonds of brotherhood that will never be broken.

Pilot and co-pilot/navigator: last night at the helm. Cary did a fine job negotiating all the traffic circles "backwards"...and believe me, there are a lot of them.

An Afternoon Spent Doing Something Different

For the past couple of weeks since we got home, and by the looks of things, "there'll be no change in the forecast in the foreseeable future", at every available moment I find myself at the computer hoping to make a dent in the pile of translation jobs. Under other circumstances, a "2-for-1" deal would sound great, but in this case, I turn in one job and bring home two more. . .and turn down three other offers. But I will not complain, as I recognize there are many in the world looking for a job, or who are in dire financial straits, and although I have a lot of work, I accept it as God's way of providing for us and meeting the needs of the work.

BUT FOR A CHANGE. . .

Yesterday afternoon I did something different. Not because it was exciting (it was far from fun), but because it HAD to be done. In preparing the apartment for a visiting pastor and his wife, who are due to arrive from mainland Portugal next Tuesday, we discovered that the kitchen sink wouldn't drain; the water would back up and run out all inside the cabinet.

I steeled my mind to face the task: I knew the sewer was clogged and that I would have to remove the two slabs in the floor that give access to the traps...mini-septic tanks, if you will. The first couple of hours were spent just getting the tight-fitting covers out of the frames they sit down in. You don't want to know what the rest of the afternoon was spent doing. Suffice it to say that it was all I feared I would find, and then some. But the sludge (a nice word) got cleaned out, and the apartment is ready for our guests next week.

Moral to the story: there are some things that HAVE to be done, and we might as well face the situation and do it. Life is not all about doing the enjoyable, the "profitable", the "self-fulfilling" and pleasurable things. In the end, it was a dirty job, but someone had to do it and I felt better for having done it. At least I wasn't translating.

AND ANOTHER CHANGE. . .

I sat down and watched a soccer match. Portugal and Germany played in the quarterfinals of the UEFA Cup. I'm not really that big a fan of soccer, but I can't help rooting for Portugal in a case like this. Madeirans, especially, have been tuned into this because one of Portugal's stars, Cristiano Ronaldo, currently playing for Manchester United and considered the best soccer player in the world at the moment, is a native of Funchal.

Portugal got through the opening phase, but I didn't get to see any of those games. Last night I watched. Last night Portugal lost. No more games. It was different, but it wasn't "fun". Might as well have been translating.

But thinking about it, even if Portugal had won last night and had gone on to win the cup, all that excitement and glory is a passing thing, "the glory of man...a flower that fades". And no matter how delicious a meal is, it, too, passes (see above). We had wonderful dining experiences on our trip to Ireland and England, but what remains? The memories of the relationships forged around the fellowship at the table (whether cozy restaurant or cloudy picnic). Jesus advised us to make wise use of "unrighteous mammon" (the things of this world) to build up eternal treasures (Luke 16:9). The world and its works will pass away, but we can live so that something remains for eternity, so that we are transformed into the likeness of the everlasting Son. "We shall be like Him, for we shall see Him as He is..." 1 Jn. 3:2...now that will be something really different!

Day 13 – May 22 – Thursday: The Troubles - Art, Politics and the Church

A continuation of the report on travels in Ireland and England. Click on images for enlarged view.



Abbie and I used the free morning to walk to the center of Belfast and do some shopping and sightseeing. Evidences of artistic touches were abundant. Even lampposts were sculpted and gilded. And there was an interesting statue grouping erected as a monument to the working women, decorated with symbols of typical (and not-so-typical) instruments used by women in their work.



















The Troubles

But the "Troubles" were not about women's working rights. The term came to be used to describe the violent period in Belfast, which began in the early 60's and lasted until recent years, when the 1998 Belfast Agreement ("Good Friday Agreement ") was signed. Today we were given a very personal glimpse into "the Troubles" by one who experienced the violence in a very personal way: Billy Stevenson's father was a commander of one of the major "loyalist" paramilitary forces, the Ulster Volunteer Force (UVF).

Billy Stevenson took us to the place where he was born
and grew up in Shankill Road about the time the Troubles began.

The row houses of that era have been torn down and new housing has been built in an attempt to help erase the memories of the four decades, when "Protestant" factions in the Shankill Road area warred with "Catholic" factions in the neighboring Fall Road area, resulting in 3000 deaths in the few square blocks of the two neighborhoods. A 20-ft high "Peace Wall" was built between the two sides in an attempt to quell the violence. Odd, isn't it? Men build walls to bring peace; the Bible says Jesus came to tear down walls and make peace between men and God, between Jews and Gentiles.

Billy grew up seeing bombs and machine guns in his father's house; at the age of 6, he was given his own .38 caliber gun, and in his revolt and hatred of his father, he made up his mind to kill his father with it. At the last minute, he couldn't do it, and went to his room to kill himself with the gun. After holding it to his head for 2 or 3 minutes, he threw it down and never touched it again.

Billy's paternal grandparents were godly people, and through them, Billy accepted the gospel as a young boy. Later, his mother was saved, and wonder of wonders! His father also accepted the gospel---a man Billy had seen shoot the knees of suspected informants, and who planned bombings and assassinations.

After his conversion, Billy's father was summoned to face the council of the UVF. Billy and his mother were not sure if they would ever see Billy, Sr., again. After long hours of waiting as they prayed that night, there was a knock on the door ("at 11:32 p.m." -- he still remembers the precise time). It was his father, who said the council would let him live, but they would have to leave N. Ireland. "We're going on the mission field," he told his family. "I have served the devil well, and I will serve God better." So it was, that at the age of 10, Billy found himself in a public school in S. Korea, not knowing a word of the language. There, he and his sister grew up, and Billy eventually got to the US (where he had always dreamed of going, so he could "drive cattle, and cook beans and boil coffee over a campfire, like John Wayne"). He met Mindy, and they married and after his graduation from John Brown University, he was asked to stay on the staff. Through his contact, JBU has formed strong ties with N. Ireland and has established international studies abroad programs for its students. Here are some of the photos taken in Shankill Road and East Belfast, showing art used to promote the loyalist cause.



(left) In case there were any doubts
about which side of the "divide"
one is on.

The UVF, which Billy's father
helped to run.

The UVF planned its attacks upstairs in this pub.

This mural depicts "the Maze" the infamous prison for terrorists on both sides of the "Troubles"---one wing for the "Republican" forces and the other for the "Loyalists".

See more about this prison here.

Dry Wells

Among the curious finds of the day was this water fountain, built in the style of a church. The quotation is taken from John 4, "whosoever drinketh of this water shall thirst again."














But there were other "dry wells", too. We saw some church buildings with "For Sale" sign on them, and this one close to our hotel, which advertises "Stand-up Comedy Every Tuesday". There's a bar in the basement. It's a case of a "converted" church building, as another one downtown was converted into a shopping mall.



Then, there's this church, which gives the appearance of being in the process of conversion into a nature center. Dry wells, dead religion, "Troubles"....

Day 12 – May 21 – Wednesday: The North Coast (continued)-Back to Belfast

An on-going account of our trip to Ireland and England. Click on images for larger view.

We wandered around Portrush for part of the morning, walking past the marina and catching a glimpse of the houses across the bay. (Right: The Portrush Town Hall)

The major attraction of the day was the Giant’s Causeway, a rocky volcanic outcropping. The distinctive feature of the formation is the hexagonal shape of the columns, which number 40,000 according to one of the signs. I couldn’t help wondering who counted them and how they kept from losing count.

And flowers of course…

Abbie will tell you I have a fixation about sticks. I'm always looking for just the right piece of wood to whittle on, and can't resist bringing some home in the suitcase. I found this one interesting, but didn't pick it up and bring it with me.

Derick Bingham

Back in Belfast for the rest of the week, we had a meeting with Derick Bingham, a prominent Bible teacher among evangelicals in N. Ireland over several decades, who is also Adjunct Professor of English Literature at John Brown University and an author. Abbie and I first heard of him back in the 80’s through cassette recordings of his Tuesday Night talks at the Crescent, a church in the neighborhood of Queen’s University in Belfast. The talks were aimed primarily to reach the university students, and Tuesday Night at the Crescent enjoyed large numbers of hearers over the years. It was Bingham’s autobiography of C.S. Lewis, A Shiver of Wonder, that I read on the way from Funchal to Belfast three weeks ago.

He related the story of C.S. Lewis’s life and its influences, and spoke of his recent book, The Brontes – Veins Running Fire, published in 2007. But it was impossible for him not to say something about the changed situation in Belfast since the 1998 Good Friday agreement that brought an end to the bombings and violence that marked the city since 1960. Just a few days before we arrived in N. Ireland, the leader of the Ulster Unionists, Ian Paisley, did something that was not only unthinkable just a few years ago, it was something he had vowed he would never do: join in a government with Martin McGuiness of the Sein Féin party, whose military arm was the IRA.

On the following day we heard even more remarkable firsthand stories of the Troubles from one who grew up as the son of a Unionist paramilitary leader in the 60’s and early 70’s. Some of that story and photos will be in the next posting.

Derick looks over material before his meeting with us (left) and afterwards, autographs books for us.