Weight of ages

This has been the day in London that may well be the reason I have seen God's hand so clearly in allowing me to make this trip and to be in all of the places I needed to be leading up to this afternoon. We began our day at the National Gallery looking at portraits. The Gallery houses my favorite portrait. It happens to be the very first portrait they obtained upon the founding of the Gallery. Very wish choice. I wish that this were the portrait of Shakespeare that we saw always. If you ever get a chance to see it in person. Stand close to it and let him look you in the eyes. It will take your breath away. Seriously.

After the Gallery, we raced up the Mall to get near Buckingham Palace to see the changing of the guard. It was raining. It was miserable. The crowd around the Palace was large. We failed to see much except the soldiers marching towards the circle in front of the Palace. And we could not see their uniforms as they were covered in ponchos. Oh well, we did get to see the Queen the other day so we are good. We left Buckingham and headed over to the British Museum. What a place! I could spend an entire vacation here just in those buildings. I spent my time in the Egyptian area as well as the Enlightenment Room, showcasing stuff from the eighteenth century. As I was nearing the end of my time there, I was standing in a corner, studying antique books and their titles and had an experience that left me realizing that I have a great deal of responsibility. My ancestors, most of whom were living not far from where I stood likely never even owned a book, perhaps a Bible if they were lucky, but that was the extent of their ability to study, read, and learn, for the most part. But they worked and strained and died so that I could be where I am and be what I am and I can and must study all the more and gain all the more in thanks for what they went through to allow me be what and where I am, and the same is true of my children. We must not squander the fact that we have all the resources we could ever want at our fingertips and that I have the privilege of a vast library right in my own home. I must never take this for granted and I must continue to try and gain as much as possible and guide my children to do the same.

We left the museum to get off of our feet and enjoy some Turkish fare and then decided to each go our own way. I knew then that I had to get back to the church St. Andrew By the Wardrobe. So I went back to the flat and grabbed my journal and headed up the Strand. I intended to take a bus both ways but I missed the bus just as I arrived on Strand Street so I started walking, thinking that I might catch another bus if the opportunity presented itself, but I got so caught up in walking and seeing so much, that I made the entire trip on foot. That was a good thing. As I approached St. Paul's I was trying to remember how we had stumbled upon the marker that referenced the church when we had gotten turned around getting to the Globe a few days ago. I could not find the street we had wandered on, but I did find a map, London is very good about putting maps up near places of historical interest, like St. Paul's and I was terribly grateful for their insight at this moment. I studied the map for a moment and located where I needed to be and started walking. In just a few moments, I left the noise of the circle surrounding St. Paul's behind and I was in the most delightful neighborhood, obviously very old, but so beautiful (see photos on Facebook if you are interested). Because of its location, it took me a few times around the block to spot the church and when I did, I was stunned at how shlumpy and nondescript it appeared. I stood there for a moment in my disappointment when I had another experience that reminded me of perspective. It washed over me that this was the church of real people. This was the church of the working class. This was the church of the people I was descended from. As I walked around the corner to enter the gates to this small, quaint worship center, I got the shock of a lifetime. There, up on the wall of the building across the street was a plaque designating this place as the place where Shakespeare resided during his time of living in London. MY ANCESTORS BELONGED TO THE SAME PARISH AS SHAKESPEARE. I had come full circle. So much of this trip has been about the Bard and here was proof that the people I descend from had at least some contact with him. I managed to move up the stairs to one of the benches outside the church before the tears started. The church was shut up and locked for the day so I just sat there on that bench, taking it all in and writing in my journal, again feeling the need to admonish myself to make the most of all that I have been given to make my ancestors proud of me. It was a moment I would not trade for anything. As I wrote and prayed I came to see more clearly just some of the things that I need to do be the best Cynthia I can possibly be for the remainder the time I have on earth. That is a gift. I pray that I will take this experience and carry it forward and do hard things, real things, things that could make all of the difference in the world. Whew. What. A. Day.