Here are a few "snapshots" from my month in Coleraine and Dublin
Sitting in a back storage room in the church, surrounded by sound equipment, an old drum set and mic stands. The full size, weighted keys, Yamaha key board faces a grey metal garage-type door. I have the chords to "It is well with my soul" pulled up on my iPad and as I pound out the chords I sing my heart out. I sing out my sadness, my frustration, my praise, my rejoicing. And as I come to the end of the song I get the distinct feeling that yes, it truly is well with my soul.
Walking along an ocean highway, the wind attempting to sweep me right off my feet. The sun is shining bright, as if in defiance of the wind and the cold. It is not the wind that takes my breath away, however, it is the unbelievable view of the ocean, which is a mere few feet away from me. The sun shines through the clouds and pierces the waves as they crash against the rocks with such force that sea foam, like tiny fairies, float through the air. Dramatic cliffs fall straight down to the water and proudly withstand the rhythmic pummeling of the waves, reminiscent of Mickey calling up the water in the Sorcerers Apprentice scene in Fantasia. There is green all around, and the whole scene seems to be playing in harmony the most beautiful symphony to their Creator.
"In his hands are the depths of the earth, and the mountain peaks belong to him. The sea is his, for he made it, and his hands formed the dry land." Psalm 95:4
It's mid-morning and I have been walking around this quaint, Northern Irish town for an hour and a half. I am with Hilary, a powerhouse of the Holy Spirit, and we are handing out flyers for the church's new Easter service and offering prayer. It's rather cold out and I'm rather uncomfortable and would rather be in a warm Starbucks, but not Hilary. She stops and talks to every soul she can. She doesn't stop only for the nice looking people or those in a certain age group or the ones who look particularly "lost" (whatever that means). The moment she sees someone she is smiling at them and pouring out Christ's love on them with a simple "Hello". In that moment, my perspective shifts. Rather than ignoring, at best, or bristling, at worst, at the random people I see on a daily basis, I begin to notice them. I notice them because they are precious children of God who deserve to know that the Maker of the Universe is their Daddy and that His love for them is perfect.
Standing on a cobblestone Dublin side street with my mom, a squadmate and her parents. We are talking to a woman as she is closing up the homeless outreach she works for. We talk about the homeless, about volunteer opportunities and right as the conversation is winding down, my mom looks at her intently and asks,"If God could do one miracle in your life, what would it be?" She is taken aback at first and curtly responds that she has recently become a Christian. We are obviously excited to hear that and our sincere enthusiasm allows her to share more candidly about her church, and she simply asks for prayer to keep on the path. As we walk away after a quick prayer, my heart swells with pride at my mom's bold step. I realize that while I know her better than most anyone, there are parts of her life and faith that I didn't know or hadn't seen the full extent of until PVT. I always knew she was incredible, now I know it in a new and deeper way.
Sitting on a bus, driving into Dublin for the second time this month. For being in a country for a single month, it seems funny that I've entered and exited this city twice. This time though I notice something I didn't before. Either I was asleep or completely zoned out and missed the magnificent colored doors in this fancy city burb. The lane is tree-lined and the houses are brick and Victorian-looking and the fact that they are smooshed up against each other does not take away an ounce from their regal-ness. The doors look thick and sturdy, with brass knockers, and they are red, yellow, blue. There's even a pink one. Turns out life is more colorful when you pay attention.
Laying on a grassy hillside in the early spring sunshine. There are enormous trees dotting the hillside and a skinny lake at the bottom, with beautiful swans and couples with children posing for awkward family photos. It would be cold without the sun, so I'm grateful to be basking in its warmth. It's not the only warmth I'm basking in. My mom is laying next to me. It's so normal yet so out of the ordinary at the same time. She's in Dublin. She's technically "on the Race". I'm so happy.
Perched on a bar stool up next to a tall table right near the make-shift stage, with my friends around me. The bar is very woody, wood-panelling, wood-floors, classy yet rugged, very Irish. I'm drinking a Guinness (obviously) and listening to incredible Irish music. The players are maybe late 30s, one guy on the guitar and one on the fiddle. The fiddle player, is especially talented and as I sit there surrounded by friends and strangers and the cascading, rolling notes of an old Irish jig (or something) I feel so content. I'm warm and comfortable and entertained and loved.
In the foyer of a big, new church (the church we were working with this month). The entrance doors are glass and there's a balcony overlooking the entrance from the second story. It is clean and new and feels very much like a church at home. The floor is covered in 2ft. square, dark tiles and I'm steam-cleaning them. I slowly and methodically clean one square, finish and move on to the next. It feels a bit like a prayer labyrinth. With each square I thank Daddy for one blessing He has lavished upon me: "Thank you that I am physically able to do this job. Thank you for this steam cleaner, that it's not a mop. Thank you that I get to serve the church. Thank you that I get to serve Mark, the really kind and sincere janitor". Being thankful really beats being pissed off that your "just cleaning a church" and wondering "how is this helping the Kingdom anyway?". Because the bottom line is we are all part of the same body and every part is necessary. The "cleaning the church part is just as important as the "preaching in the church part".
