"You're in luck
today, folks.
I've been giving
this tour
for seven years now,
and I've never seen
a day this clear before.
Normally,
you can't see much more
than one hundred meters out
on account of the fog.
Today, however,
the skies are as clear
as they'll ever be.
If you look out to
the end of the coast
on the other side of the bay,
you can see Skellig Michael.
It's very rare
to see it
from this side of the bay."
Wow.
What timing.
If I had ended up
on any other tour
than this one,
I may never
have seen the Skelligs.
Lord, how perfect
Your timing,
and all Your plans.
Who ever would've thought
that I would see so much
of Ireland,
and yet hardly see
any rain or fog?
The long Summer
of waiting
has paid off.
Okay, Lord,
I admit it,
You clearly know
better than I.
"Now, on your right,
off in the distance there,"
the bus driver points
as he carries on
his commentary,
"you can see a white house
at the end of this driveway
we're about to pass.
That house belongs
to Dolores O'Riordan,
the lead singer
of the Cranberries.
The first time
she ever traveled
the Dingle,
she fell in love
with it and decided
that she wanted a home
out here."
Wow.
Wouldn't that be awesome
to meet her.
Oh well.
Man, if only
Shelley could see this....
My heart sinks
like a stone in the ocean.
Sigh....
There it is.
Why Lord?
As hard as I've tried
to forget.
Even halfway
across the world
I can't escape
the past
that haunts me.
Memories
come rushing back
like waters
through a collapsing dam...
I remember
the day trip
in the back seat
of Sarah Jane's car,
when I noticed
out of the corner
of my eye
that Shelley was staring
at me.
I remember
how my heart raced
as I pretended not to notice
so that I could see
how long
she would look at me.
I remember
the night under the stars,
talking about the twins,
hoping that we were,
like those two stars,
destined for each other.
I remember
the night we danced
in her dorm room
to Garth Brooks.
That was the first time
I had ever kissed
and really meant it.
Oh Lord,
why can't I forget
that kiss?
I remember
homecoming night
and the agony
of being around her
after she had broken
my heart
earlier that week.
I remember
storming back to my dorm
in a tornado
of emotions.
A war
was waged inside
between the love
I had for her
and my pain,
which filled me
with a desire
to make her realize
how much she
had hurt me
and how much she
had meant to me.
That night was my own
Agony in the Garden.
If ever I've come close
to sweating blood,
it was that night,
as the pain inside
raged like a fire,
intensified by
the alcohol
I had turned to
to ease it.
I wasn't strong
like Him, though.
I didn't offer it up.
I didn't say,
"Your will be done
and not my own."
Instead, I gave in
to anger and selfishness.
As Satan whispered
in my ear,
I mistook his lies
for my own thoughts.
"You should show her
how it feels."
I stared at the knife
and stared at my wrist.
"Just imagine
how bad she'll feel."
I don't know whether
it was the alcohol
that had clouded
my mind so,
or whether Satan
is just that adept
at what he does,
but these ridiculous thoughts
actually seemed brilliant.
I sat down
on the bean bag,
knife in hand,
and thought of how
it would break her heart
to hear what I'd done.
I listened
to Trent Reznor's words,
dripping like poison
from my CD player:
"I hurt myself today...."
I laid my wrist
over the garbage can
so that Drew
wouldn't have to
clean up the mess.
Then it happened:
grace.
As I leaned over
onto my side,
something inside
my shirt pocket
caught my attention.
Confused,
I took it out.
Immediately,
the confusion dissipated.
I stared for a moment
at the small piece of candy
Shelley had given me
earlier that day.
She knew
it was one of my favorites.
It was her small way
of trying to say
she was sorry.
Tears streamed
down my cheeks
as the realization
of what I was about to do
slapped me
across the face.
"Jesus, have mercy
on me,"
I whispered
as the soothing streams
lulled me to sleep.
I remember
the phone call.
I still can't forget
how my heart leapt
when I heard
her voice on the line
after more than a year.
I still can't forget
the joy with which
I told her about
my forthcoming
journey to Ireland.
I still can't forget
how my hopes soared
when she told me that
she had returned to church
and straightened out
the problems of her past.
I still can't forget
the uncontrollable smile
that creased my face
when she asked me
if I wanted
to come over.
And I'll probably never
be able to forget
the way my heart dropped
into my stomach
when she said
that I could meet
her fiancé.
I made the blunder
of a lengthy pause,
betraying my feelings,
and the conversation
was slightly awkward
after that.
That was the first night
since I had quit drinking
that I was tempted
to seek my solace
in alcohol.
I had been down that path
too many times before, though.
I knew it wouldn't
take away my pain.
I knew that,
as it had
that dreadful night,
it would only
intensify my pain.
No,
not that road again.
I had traded in
the consolations of the world
for the God of consolations.
It was He alone
Who got me through
that night
as I battled
that awful dragon
depression
and let go
of my last false hope
for a life with Shelley.
Suddenly,
it is all so clear.
The fog has lifted.
It now dawns on me
that Audrey
is a lot like Shelley.
All these feelings
toward Audrey
are just those old affections
looking for a new outlet.
Why, Lord?
Why does this
continue to linger?
The words of Dolores
replay in my mind:
"I don't want to love you,
but I still do."
Love doesn't die easily.
Maybe it never does.
That's it,
isn't it, Lord?
"Love your neighbor
as yourself."
Of course.
You don't want me
to stop loving her.
Purify my love,
then, Lord.
Cleanse my love for her
of any attachments
or hard feelings.
Cleanse my love for her
of the selfish desire
to be loved in return.
Help me to forgive.
Wherever she is,
pour your grace over her.
Bless her and her fiancé.
Draw them both
nearer to You.
Bring them
into Your kingdom.
I look out the window
and focus on the scenery,
trying desperately
to turn my thoughts
to something else.
-------
"To your left,
you can see
Dead Man's Island.
It's called this
for two reasons.
The first is that
it looks like a man
lying on his back.
The closest end looks
like the head,
with his belly
sticking up
in the middle.
Secondly,
this is the Western-most
point in Ireland.
In the past,
when people would leave
for America,
they would set out from here.
Before they left,
their families
would have a wake
for them on the island
since it would
be the last time
that they would ever
see them."
Man, the Irish
must take their good-byes
pretty seriously.
A lot more seriously
than I do anyway.
Maybe that says something
about the present state
of the Western culture
that I,
and most other Americans,
are entrenched in.
We're all so individualistic
that the notion of leaving
our families behind
barely causes us
to think twice.
Compare this
to the past,
when family and community
were so strongly united.
What ever went wrong?
Perhaps I'm sitting in
the answer.
Modern transportation
makes it too easy
to run from our
commitments
and responsibilities.
As technology expands,
so too do the opportunities
to flee the very things
that keep us rooted
to all that truly matters.
-------
“Ladies and gentlemen,
please stay seated.
We have a passenger
who is going another direction
and I am just stopping
the bus for a moment
to let him out.”
I grab my pack
and head to the front
of the bus.
"Thanks for stopping,"
I say to the driver.
"You're welcome.
Good day."
I step out
onto the roadside
and begin the long walk
into town.
I hurry my steps
toward the bus station,
more determined
with each step
to get home
as soon as possible.