This was the day we were going to begin our road trip. Two nights in Dublin had served to make me more tired than I had been in a long time, so I knew this was the perfect time to start driving.  With relatively little drama we had breakfast, packed up our bags and hit the road in our microcar.

The first stop on our route was a place called the Hill of Tara. It is one of the “official” spots to visit, which always makes me a bit contrary.  I don’t want to go where everyone else does.  But this place had been calling to me for a while, so we purposed to ignore the tourists and find out what God had for us.

The history of the site is governmental. It is an ancient site that was used for sacred kingship rituals.  There is a stone monument called the Stone of Destiny that would “roar” its approval whenever a worthy high king was inaugurated.  Now, all of that sounds pretty sketchy, and it is.  Definitely not a stream I wanted to tap into.  But the very first question that comes to my mind is, “why?”  Why choose that spot?  Why build the monument there?  Why go to all the effort to create the mounds and the passage tomb?  What did God put there that got warped?

It never ceases to amaze me how God can effortlessly filter His light through the haze. I wasn’t on the site for more than two minutes when my heart started soaring with praise for King Jesus.  And for an imaginative person such as myself, if I could have procured medieval attire it would have been all the better.  I was in the moment, but I was drawn to do what the land was made to draw me to do, which is to worship the one true King.  The people who picked that spot for their rituals had good taste.  I have to hand it to them.  They knew that land was made for dominion and kinship.  They just went off the rails on which king and whose power.

Joanna and I wandered around on our own for a while, each tasting our own flavors of experiencing the land. She gave that monument a talking to about who exactly is the rightful king.  I think the spiritual realm and the land heard her.  I wonder what the experience will be like for the next unsuspecting tourist who happens by!  I love setting booby traps for pre-Christians.

The icing on the cake is that it didn’t rain a drop the whole time we were out in the fields. For anyone who has been to Ireland, having two hours straight in September without rain is neigh unto a miracle.  By the time we were done in the shops and ready to walk back to the car, it had begun raining.

Let me tell you something about rainy cold days in Ireland. The wet coldness wiggles and wheedles its way into every cell in your body.  It gets into the very marrow of your bones.  And I’ll admit it.  I am a wimp when it comes to cold.  Southern California has trumped my Michigan upbringing.  So, it was a shivering skinny chick that drove in the driveway of our first B&B on the road.  Joanna was fine.  She is slender too, but she’s hardy and could endure a gale without a grimace.

Our landlady greeted us in a sleeveless shirt. Good gracious!

But she also knew what was coming her way. She had placed in both of our rooms one of the greatest inventions known to mankind.  An act of sheer genius.

The hot water bottle.

I had never used one before, but I am a confirmed addict now. A little hot water from the tea kettle and I was in heaven. Maybe I will blast the air conditioner in my apartment just so I can use one.  Joanna and I settled down on the beds, each with a hot water bottle and a cup of tea and what a blissful afternoon it was.