Shawn at Glendalough
The sun is desperately trying to peak through the murky haze this soft Irish morning. I am sipping a warm cup of Irish tea with the perfect amount of milk and sugar. In a couple of hours I will be back on a plane to the States. But now I am enjoying the fresh air sweetened by flowers.
Has it really been really been 13 years?
This is my first trip of the 2011 summer pilgrimage season. All Saints Episcopal Church, from Ft. Worth Texas, has enjoyed their week in the south of Ireland. They hiked to a glacial lake in the Commeragh Mountains, climbed the tower of a thousand year-old church to watch the bells toll in measured rhythm, explored the monastic ruins of St. Mullins and Glendalough and frolicked in the Irish Sea. Every day has been one of surprise encounter with God and the Irish.
St. Mullins
Yet, none of this would have happened unless the seed had been planted those 13 years ago.
I first came to Ireland in 1996. I knew I had to visit after reading Thomas Cahill’s How the Irish Saved Civilization. I studied the ancient wonder-voyages brave monks took as they cast their small hide boats out onto the Irish Sea with a simple prayer:
May the Hand of God lead us where He might, to establish a safehaven, a
light-tower of Christ’s love for those who do not hear the Voice of the
One that forever calls to His Creation.
I was a youth pastor bringing a group from my church. My new Irish friends, John and Sonja Spencer, hosted our group. We embraced Ireland with emerald awe and wide-eyed inspiration. By the time I left, I was in love with a country that was not my own.
I returned once again in 1998 with my youth group. By that point I was leading mission trips around the world a few times a year with our church youth. But Ireland remained a very special place. Sitting down one evening with John, I dreamed aloud about starting an organization that led cultural exchange trips around the world, just like the wonder-voyages of old.
Coomshanon
But it was a fantasy.
In reality, I could not imagine a life outside of pastoring. I loved what I did. I felt safe and I enjoyed a steady paycheck. Frankly I did not think I had what was necessary to pursue such an outrageous dream.
Two years later, after a messy break up with the church, a year’s sabbatical to ponder what I wanted to do when I grew up, no money and one shot to pusue a dream career, Wonder Voyage was born.
There would be years of struggle, pain, and sacrifice. Success was far from guaranteed. And there was a thousand reasons why it should not have worked.
As I sit this morning, sipping on my tea, a lump rising in my throat, I think upon that conversation more than a decade ago where I dared to risk it all and pursue a dream.
The azul Irish Sea
I am convinced that dream-seed was divine. I am sure that sometime during that conversation the finger of God pushed that seed deep into my mind, past my layers of doubt and safety; through my stony helmet of pride, stubborness and boxed-religious thoughts, into the subconscious place where faith, hope and love resided.
This morning I have come full circle and I know, without a doubt, that a God who speaks to the human hearts, who helps us aspire, who longs for us to become what He has created us to be; started this distinctive community called Wonder Voyage.
As I gulp down the last of the cup of tea and head to the bus that has just arrived, I am thankful that for once I listened.
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