Wednesday, June 21
Yesterday, we went to the Rock of Cashel – an ancient church on top of a limestone hill. It’s crazy to think that the place has existed long before anyone even knew the continent of North America even existed. It was also used as a place of shelter and safety from foes. Psalm 61:2 kept echoing through my mind.
“From the end of the earth I will cry to You, When my heart is overwhelmed; Lead me to the rock that is higher than I.”
The view from the Rock is amazing, which is commonplace here, of course, but something that never fails to take my breath away. Near the base of the Rock sits the ruins of an ancient abbey. It’s overwhelming to think about how the faith has been passed down and reformed these hundreds and hundreds of years. The Reformation wasn’t even a thought when theses places were built, yet the monks were earnest and devout in their worship. Oh, that I might be that devoted in service to my God! That’s the thing about Ireland – everything is so old. So rich in history and tradition and heritage in a way America doesn’t have. Our baby country lacks ruins at every turn – or “crumbly buildings,” as I called them while I was still severely jet-lagged. I’m seriously gonna miss all of the castles and abbeys and cathedrals and lush, patchwork land and quaint cottages and sheep and the accents and everything.
Goodness, I’m tired, but I love it here. I pray I’ll remember the details, big and small, and that I’ll be able to recall details of how it all impacted me when I read through this journal and look at pictures.
I can’t stop being thankful for this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
This post is part of my travel journal from my time in Europe. To read the previous entries, follow the links below: