Archives for posts with tag: Thanksgiving

Sunday: From Psychology to PR to Theology

I went to a University Sermon and formal dinner at Harris Manchester last week. Sunday night. Jen had planned to go, but she was not feeling well that day. I told her I was happy to stay home with her, but she encouraged me to go. Said she didn’t want me to miss out just because she wasn’t feeling well. My wife is amazing. I felt bad leaving her at home, but she insisted.

The sermon was held in the Harris Manchester Chapel. It was the University Sermon, which is held only once per term, from what I hear. It was a big deal that it was being held at our college, and I hadn’t been to our chapel before, so it seemed like a good opportunity to do so. It’s a great chapel. Not huge, but reasonably sized. Lots of stained glass windows. Lots of dark wood. Tall ceilings. I met up with Cole and Tim beforehand, so we sat together.

The service was very high church. Very formal. Not the kind of sermon you’ll likely see on YouTube anytime soon. There were a lot of grey-haired community members in the Chapel. I was tired, and as much as I had been looking forward to it, I found myself doing the head-bob through most of the sermon. Fighting off the temptation to fall asleep right there in the middle of the service. I felt horrible about it.

The sermon wrapped up with a prayer, and a song from the choir, and those seated at the front of the chapel in their suits made their exit down the aisle and out the chapel doors. After several minutes, we followed suit, and we made our way to the dining hall for dinner. Tim and I. Cole had other plans already.

Dinner was a good mix of students and community members and friends of the university. The students were definitely in the minority, though.

I sat next to a guy by the name of Guy Fielding. He asked what I was studying. I told him Theology. He asked about my background, and what brought me here. I told him my first degree was in Psychology and Business, and how I had been working in PR for the past four years before making this change.

Turns out he was a Social Psychologist who made the leap to PR. So we had a lot to talk about.

He told me about how he had developed the PR curriculum for the universities in the UK. That he had started up his own PR firm after teaching at Oxford, before selling it to a company in the US and then starting another one.

I told him I tied my tie myself…

Not really. I mean, I really did tie my tie, but I didn’t tell him that.

He was curious to hear what brought me from PR to Theology. So I told him. I told him about how I realized I really enjoyed writing, but that I wanted to write about the faith. In a way that’d help others with their faith.

I told him I had a great job back home. I told him we had to say “goodbye” to some amazing friends and family to get here. I told him how this was something that had been on my heart and my mind for years. And how I had fought it for quite a while. How it really didn’t make any sense for someone like me to be here. But that I just felt like this was what I was supposed to be doing.

He seemed to appreciate that. He nodded lots and smiled as I spoke.

Then he asked how I planned to make any money at it. He said no one buys books anymore.

It sounds like a painful question, but I didn’t mind. I appreciated his honesty.

I told him I thought that although we seem to be moving away from reading in the traditional sense, with the introduction of the Kindle and iPad, for example, that I didn’t think people were going to become uninterested in the written word anytime soon.

He nodded in agreement. He seemed to agree, but it could have simply been to make nice. To be British.

I had a great time talking with Guy. About the differences between the two cultures. About communications. About past work each of us had done.

I put my fork down after polishing my dessert plate (an amazing caramel bread pudding with vanilla ice cream), thanked Guy for a great conversation, and I made my way out of Arlosh Hall. I was the first one to leave. I had a sick wife at home to return to.

Tuesday: A Walk with Jen

Jen and I walked home from the Oxford CS Lewis Society Lecture Tuesday night. In the cold night air. Walking and talking. As our breath swirled into the black night’s sky.

I had been having a tough time the past day or so. Doubting a lot of things. Losing faith in why we were here. And just not being sure about where we were going. Feeling bad about coming all the way over here with so many uncertainties. Worrying that sooner or later, all of this that has seemed simply too good to be true is going to come crashing down. Finding myself replaying in my mind something Guy had said several days earlier: “No one’s interested in books anymore. . .How are you going to make any money?”

And I have the most amazing wife.

“When are you going to start believing in yourself, Ryan?” She asked me. “When are you going to start believing you’re supposed to be here?”

Jen spent the rest of the walk home explaining to me why I should be more confident in our place here. And for what the future has in store.

And, that may not sound like a big deal to you, but it is. It is incredible. For this is a woman who has literally put her dreams on hold for the sake of mine. Without complaining. Without throwing a tantrum about it. Simply, and humbly, saying, “this is what we’re supposed to be doing, and I’m going to support you in that.”

I have a tremendous amount of respect for my wife. For, when I’m second-guessing what I’m doing, what we’re supposed to be doing, she’s encouraging me. Even when that dream comes at the delay of her own dreams, even when she struggles with this transition, she’s encouraging me. I married up, to be sure.

If I can offer one piece of advice to anyone considering marriage, or to anyone who is yet to be married, it’s this: marry someone who you look up to. Marry someone who you want to be like. That’s the single smartest decision I’ve ever made.

Wednesday: First Names at Oxford and A package from Grandpa

Oxford is interesting. As traditional a place as it is, in terms of formalities, you couldn’t get away with calling your professor by their first name back home. Not in most cases, at least. And yet, that’s the way it is here. It still feels weird, at times. Even inappropriate. But that’s the way it is.

I found myself thinking about that on Wednesday morning. After asking Rhona a question. We started class with an exam. Like most days. Heads down. Writing away.

Rhona made her to the back of the room. To check something with the lights. And she must’ve noticed there were some students missing that morning as she did. She asked if Augustan is rowing this term as she fiddled with the light switch. Augustan, seated at the front of the room, responded, “No.” Laughter. Rhona’s still having a tough time with names, it seems.

Package from Grandpa

We got another package from Grandpa this week. Probably the fourth or fifth since we’ve arrived. He’s been amazing with that…

More food. Some rain suits to keep us dry. Some thick socks to keep our feet warm. And plenty of other goodies.

Thanks so much, Grandpa!

Thursday: Christmas lights going up and our first Thanksgiving Away

I noticed Christmas lights were being put up around Oxford on Thursday morning. As I made my way back home from the gym. I was glad to see that. They looked great when we were in Bath, and I was looking forward to seeing them here.

I noticed a large Christmas tree going up on Broad Street the week before. I was excited to see things start to look a bit more like Christmas.

Our First Thanksgiving Away

We had been told about a Thanksgiving dinner being hosted here in Oxford when we were at our small group last week. Apparently there’s an American professor (or “Tutor”) here who has been putting this on for the past four years, for Americans away from home. And for British students who want to see what it’s all about.

We decided to go, rather than go to small group. Hoping it might make it feel a bit more like Thanksgiving.

It didn’t. Instead, it seemed only like a painful reminder of what we were missing back home. Although it was kind of funny having to explain to people (the English who were there) what goes into stuffing. And watching others experience pumpkin pie for the first time.

It was all familiar, the food, at least, but it was also just different enough to not feel like Thanksgiving. That and the fact that we were eating with 40 strangers. They were nice enough, but it wasn’t home.

We got back in just before 10:00 that night. We Skyped with our family. Aunts and Uncles. Cousins and Grandparents. They were all getting together, so we were able to see a number of people we hadn’t seen or talked to since leaving. It was great to see everyone again. To laugh and catch up. But it was also tough.

I hugged Jen when we were done. I thanked her for doing all of this, for being over here and missing out on holidays back home. For me. I told her I knew that was a big deal, and that it wasn’t easy.

Friday: Breakfast of Champions, Writing and the Value of Home

After staying up until 2:00 Thursday night / Friday morning, Skyping with family and studying for my Greek exam, I was pleasantly surprised to make it through Greek class without falling asleep. I think I may have even done pretty well on my exam, so that’s a plus.

I caught up with a guy from Greek by the name of Fin as we left class that morning. He’s a member of Christ Church here at Harris Manchester. Site of the Great Hall from Harry Potter. I told him I’d love to eat at the Great Hall sometime. He said he’d love to make that happen.

He told me he realized this morning, while grabbing a Twix and soda for breakfast, that he hadn’t had a true meal from Tuesday to Thursday. “Breakfast of Champions,” I said, eyeing his first meal of the day. Then I realized I hadn’t seen a box of Wheaties since arriving, and that my joke was probably lost on him.

Fin’s a cool guy. Very European. Very much what you think of when you picture a European guy in his early twenties. Large, unkept hair. Unshaven. Very trendy clothes (boots, skinny jeans, scarf, cardigan / sweater). Very chill, and laid back. Quite smart, with a witty humor. With a raspy voice. Like he’s been up all night sharing laughs and stories with friends over an entire pack of cigarettes. The kind of guy who’s probably only here because his parents want him to be. And who likely straightens up when they’re around.

He’s quite kind. The kind of guy who comes off as too cool to care, but still intelligent enough to do quite well, and kind enough to get me into the Hogwarts Great Hall for a meal.

The Greatest Evil…Second only to Religion

I made a cup of tea after Greek. In the JCR back at Harris Manchester. A woman came in after me. She was probably a good 15-20 years older than me. I had overheard her speaking with another student several days earlier in the same room. Discussing nationalism, and its evils. “It’s the greatest evil in the world,” she had said. “Second only to religion.”

I listened to a talk that afternoon. A guy by the name of Dr Peter Williams from Cambridge. Or “Pete,” as he introduced himself to me afterward. Easily one of the brightest guys I’ve ever heard. He talked about the violence in the Bible. And people’s questions about it, such as “How could God command the killing we see in the Old Testament (including children, etc.)?”

His argument was basically that God hates evil, and that He chose to put up with such outright evil and disobedience for only so long (400 years, in the case of the Canaanites), before using a specific people group to wipe out this widespread evil. Evil that included the sacrificing of their own children to their gods. He said that this situation was for a specific time and period, though, and that God no longer  acts in this manner (“to judicially carry out his judgement”).

I caught up with him afterward, to ask him if this point suggested that the God of the Bible is inconsistent. As we’ve obviously had some pretty incredible acts of evil since the Canaanites, and we don’t have other examples of God acting in this way to stop it. He said he didn’t think so, in-between bites of his lunch. Answering my question with little effort.

He pointed toward the parable of the workers in the vineyard. The one where the vineyard Owner decides to pay everyone equally, no matter whether they worked all day or only for an hour or so. He said, “In the case of the Canaanites, their evil deserved their punishment. If God is choosing not to punish such evil at this point, but instead to be more merciful, who are we to complain about His mercy?”

The tea kettle stopped a minute or two after this woman arrived in the JCR. I filled her cup first, before moving to mine.

“Oh, you can fill yours first,” she spoke up.

“It’s no problem,” I said with a smile.

And her words came to my mind, replaying themselves in my mind. “Nationalism is the greatest evil in the world…Second only to religion.”

Religion has its evils, to be sure. And I would have no problem agreeing with this woman, in many ways. But there’s also something quite beautiful about a religion that says: “You deserve this (death), but I am giving you this (life).”

There’s something incredibly humbling and wonderful about a religion that says, “You’ve chosen to make yourself an enemy of God, yet He’s chosen to call you His child.”

A religion that says, “Consider others better than yourself. In humility, serve them.”

This faith is beautiful, when it’s lived out. And it’s a far different life than I’d ever live left to my own devices.

I was thinking about it in class earlier that morning. My faith, while sitting in Greek. As Rhona told a story about a poem written by a homesick man in Russia, while others looked at each other as if to ask, “How does this apply to Greek?…”

I was thinking about the fact that this wasn’t something I chose for myself. My faith, I mean. Nor was it handed to me by my family. They may have introduced it to me years ago, certainly, but that does not mean they were any more responsible for its current role in my life than is someone who first told me about The Alternative Tuck responsible that I return their almost every day for a chicken pesto panini.

Sitting there, in Greek, as Rhona talked about this poem, I found myself thinking about the roots of my faith, and how deep they go. I found myself thinking about the fact that those roots are a gift. For, even if I wanted, I couldn’t believe and desire this faith as I do now. Not of my own accord. I could not force myself to desire this as I do anymore than I could force myself to fall in love with my wife. It’s simply the result of being face-to-face with something so beautiful that the only natural response is to fall head-over-heels in love. And the rest of your life pursuing it.

Lighting of the Christmas Lights

Jen spent the day at a Christmas fair at Oxford Castle with some of her girlfriends on Friday. And helping bake at Vanessa’s place for a Thanksgiving party they were putting on this weekend. Pumpkin pies and pumpkin bars. She had a great time, from the sounds of it. And she’s definitely meeting some gals she can connect with. Makes me happy to know that.

We were meeting up with Cole for dinner and a movie that night. So I met Jen in the city center beforehand. After studying all day.
Apparently there was a Christmas festival of some sort going on. As the streets were packed with people. And vendors. Selling food and crafts. Carnival games and rides had been set up, seemingly overnight.

A reporter from the BBC was doing an interview, and we found ourselves just behind her. So if you saw us on BBC, that’s why.

We found ourselves square in the middle of a Christmas Lighting celebration, complete with a countdown and everything. It was pretty great, and people were certainly in the Christmas spirit. Made it feel a bit more like the holidays.

We fought our way through the crowds to meet up with Cole after counting down for the lighting of the Christmas lights and tree. It felt like standing in the ocean and being pushed back and forth by the tossing waves.

I ended up being separated from Jen, as the crowds leaned this way and that, standing shoulder to shoulder in a sea of people, everyone fighting to make their way either out or in. To see the lights. To ride the rides. To see the parade.

Yep, it definitely felt like the holidays.

Unfinished Writing

I’ve been writing a lot lately. More so than I probably have time for. Journaling, mostly. Little thoughts. On fear. On love. On the change that happens within us when faced with the Good News. Ideas I would normally expound upon at hands&feet at a different time, choosing instead to let them remain unfinished. Like a gift left to open at a later day.

And it’s wonderful. I love writing. And the more I do it, the more I realize this is what I want to do, more than anything else. And this whole experience is revealing that to me.

I love digging through those ideas and putting them to paper, allowing them to breathe and live a life of their own. Seeing where they go. If I can somehow figure out a way to do that the rest of my life, to help others see Him clearly, well, I’d be the happiest guy in the world.

The Value of Home

This is such a blessing. All of this. I am so blessed. Studying at Oxford. Reading, writing and discussing my greatest passion. Living out my dream. Every day. Here in this beautiful city. With my wife.

Once you’ve got a routine down. Once you’re able to cram 30 Greek vocab terms the night before an exam. Or memorize several charts’ worth of Grammar rules. Or become adjusted to sitting down for seven, eight hours straight and punching out an essay. Once you’ve got all that down, this is really a wonderful place to be. The people. The buildings. On a sunny day like this, it hardly seems fair to want to be anywhere else.

And yet, it has its difficulties, certainly. For it is not home. No matter how wonderful the people may be, they are not family. They are not the friends you’ve known for ages. And the places, no matter how breathtaking they are, are not the places you turned to to escape the pains of life. To find Him. Those old comfortable spots. And holidays here are not holidays there. For, no matter how great the food and company may be, it is simply not the same when you’re not surrounded by those you love.

I’m learning so much being here. About Theology. About other cultures. About myself. But I’m also learning so much about the value of home. And about what makes a place home. Your thirst for home is something that not even the very presence of your dreams can satisfy. For home is something greater altogether. It is people. It is places. It is relationships and food and smells and feelings and emotions and memories. All woven together into this incredible thing we call home. And there’s nothing else like it.

Thanks for reading. We love and miss you all.

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After spending most of the day at Blenheim Palace last Saturday, I had to crank down on some homework. I spent most of Sunday punching out an essay that was due the next week. Got about halfway through before turning in for the night. Felt pretty good going into a new week ahead of the game after having a great trip to Blenheim Palace. Which made Monday morning even worse.

Monday: Bad news…

I woke up Monday morning and flipped open my Macbook before studying a bit of Greek and heading off to class. I was a little curious when my screen didn’t flicker on, but stayed black instead. Tried a couple different things. Checked the power cord. Tried to restart. No dice. My computer was dead. Not a good way to start the week.

I visited the Oxford University Computer Services offices after Greek. Hoping they’d have some good news for me. They did. And they didn’t. They told me that this was probably a known issue. Failure of the graphics board (of course). Which should be covered by Apple’s warranty. That was the good news.

The bad news was that they wouldn’t be able to get to this for about a week. Best case scenario. Which meant the the work for the essay I had managed to get about halfway through, the one that was due that afternoon, would be worthless to me. That and my five-days worth of reading notes that were saved on my computer. Perfect.

I spent the next seven hours seated at a computer in the library trying to piece together my essay from memory. Which would probably work better for someone with a memory. I managed to put something together and send it off just before my deadline, though. Part of me felt like maybe I could do this more often and save myself five days’ worth of reading. But I figured that’d probably not be such a great idea.

Thursday: My experience with Computer Services and An American explaining Thanksgiving

I was happy to get an e-mail Thursday morning, telling me I could bring my laptop in to get checked out. They don’t let you just drop it off when things go down. “We’d have computers piled up everywhere,” I was told.

I dropped it off Thursday afternoon. After my lecture that morning. I figured I’d just go in, drop it off and I’d be out of there. But that wasn’t the case. I told the lady at the front desk I had received an e-mail from Darren and I was here to drop my computer off with him. She looked at me suspiciously, like I was trying to pull one over on her. They must get a lot of people wanting to pile up broken computers around Darren. And she was having none of it.

She asked me if I had filled out the paperwork and paid my £30 deposit for repairs. I hadn’t done either. “Well come over here and you can fill that out,” she said, directing to me to a table on the opposite side of the room.

“Perfect,” I thought to myself. After 15 minutes of navigating their online payment system, tracking down my computer’s serial number and filling out the paperwork, I made my way back to this sweetheart of a lady’s desk to hand off my computer to Darren. If she’d let me.

“Oh, it looks like he’s gone to lunch now,” she said with a look of feigned disappointment. “If you’d like to come back in a half our or so, he should be back then.”

I didn’t want to go anywhere. All I wanted to do was leave my computer. 30 minutes, I figured I could get some studying done here just as well as the library.

“I’ll just have a seat over here and study some Greek, if that’s okay?”

“Yes, of course,” she said with a smile. “He should be back around 1:00.”

An hour later, Darren made his way out of the back room and asked if he could help me. I was pretty glad to see him. I was beginning to develop a twitch at this point.

I brought my computer to him as he looked at my paperwork. He asked if I had paid the £30. I told him I had. He told me it didn’t look like I needed to, that it was covered under warranty.

“Awesome,” I said.

“Well we’ll check it out and get you a refund if that’s the case.”

Darren was a nice guy. I could see why more people would want to take the time to stop in and pile up their laptops around here.

An American Explaining Thanksgiving

We went to small group at Church Thursday night. We’ve really enjoyed getting to know the folks there.

They have dinner beforehand, and we usually end up sitting by people we don’t know. So we get to meet new people that way.

We found a seat by Martin this week (Martin’s from Scotland). And an American girl. From DC. She’s studying here for a term. A guy from South Africa sat down at our table shortly after us. He looked like Dirk Nowitzki‘s doppleganger. Although about a foot shorter. It was quite the international bunch.

The American girl asked us if we had any plans for Thanksgiving. We didn’t, we told her. She lives with 40 other Americans, so it sounds like they’re bringing Thanksgiving to England in full force. She was pretty excited.

Martin asked what was so great about Thanksgiving.

“Everything,” she said, with big eyes and a smile, looking to us for support.

“Yeah, I mean, if you like food, family and football. American football. It’s a pretty great day,” I said.

“What exactly is Thanksgiving all about, again?” Martin asked the girl beside us.

“It’s about celebrating the fact that we won!” she said loudly.

“Oh my,” I thought to myself. “This isn’t going to be good.”

The guy from South Africa seated across from us didn’t seem too impressed. Turns out he wasn’t.

“That surprises me,” he spoke up. “In South Africa, I don’t think we’d joke about something from our history like that.” He wasn’t smiling in the least.

The blood drained from this girl’s face. It was obvious what she had meant to communicate and what had come out were two totally different things.

“I’m sorry. I was just joking. I’m really sorry if I offended you,” she said to this guy from South Africa with a look of sincerity.

“Oh, no, you didn’t,” he said with a look of half-sincerity. “Well, maybe a little.”

He cleaned his plate and made his way back to the kitchen for some second helpings.

The girl looked over to us with a look of horror. Martin smiled.

“Who exactly did you beat, by the way? The Indians?…”

“That’s totally not what I meant…” she confessed. “I’m totally fulfilling the stereotype.”

I told the girl I was going to pick up a “God Bless America” t-shirt the next time I was home. And wear it around Oxford. To compete with her impression of Americans in England. She laughed. Jen shook her head.

Friday: Ruining God’s plan and a pink laptop in the library

Lyndon told me after Greek Friday morning that he was going to be preaching at his old church in London in a couple weeks. And that he was going to have to get started on that over the weekend.

I asked him what he was speaking on.

“Deuteronomy 22,” he said. “The scene where Abraham pretends Sarah’s his sister, and not his wife. So the King wouldn’t kill him and take her for himself. To protect himself.”

“Oh yeah?” I asked, with a scrunched brow. “So what’s the application?”

“The application is great,” he explained to me. “First, it reminds us that no one’s perfect. Abraham is seen as this great figure, and here he is doing something completely foolish.”

I nodded. Seemed like a good reminder.

“But also, it reminds us that no matter how bad we mess up, God is in control,” he continued. “Jesus was to be a descendant from Sarah, in order to fulfill his role as the Messiah, and Abraham’s foolishness threatened that. He very well could’ve messed it all up, but God carried out His plan. And He still does so, in spite of our shortcomings.”

It was a good reminder, to be sure. Particularly for someone like me who constantly worries I’m going to fall flat on my face and ruin all of this. That I’m totally going to spoil God’s plans for my life. For our life. By some huge failure on my part. Or lack of faith.

It’s good to be reminded that God is bigger than my failures.

A pink laptop in the library

I spent most of the day Friday in the library. My laptop wasn’t back from the shop, and I had to take down some notes from the books I’d be reading, so I resorted to borrowing Jen’s laptop for the day. Her pink laptop. I may be colorblind, but this was still a tad outside of my comfort zone. Unfortunately, I had no choice. Pink laptop it was.

I managed to get through most of the afternoon without thinking too much about it. Plugging away on my reading and jotting down some notes. I was feeling pretty good about myself, and shrugging off the few glances I got from time to time. Though I was pretty happy to be wearing a wedding ring at this point, just to avoid any confusion. I thought about putting up a sign over the desk I was working from that read, “It’s my wife’s…”, but I decided against it.

I always listen to music while I’m studying. Even when I’m reading. It helps me focus and zone out any other noise. Weird, I know. But it works for me.

At one point while I was reading, I realized a Taylor Swift song had come up on my playlist. “What in the world,” I thought to myself, quickly switching to the next song.

“That’s just what I need,” thinking to myself, “for my music to somehow switch from my earphones to my external speakers and start blaring Taylor Swift from my pink laptop in the middle of the library…”

It was about halfway through the afternoon when I noticed a woman in her 40’s working across from me. With the same pink laptop. She was looking over at the computer I was working from.

“Perfect…” I thought silently.

I received an e-mail from the Computer Services just a few minutes after that awkwardness. Telling me my computer was fixed (under warranty, no less). I didn’t waste anytime photocopying the rest of the reading I had to do and getting out of there.

I arrived at home earlier than Jen had been expecting me.

“You’re home early,” she said with a look of surprise on her face.

“Yeah, well, I was a little uncomfortable working on a pink computer in the library. But sitting across from a woman with the same pink computer was the straw that broke the camel’s back for me.”

She rocked back her head and let out a loud laugh.

Saturday: Pembertons take a Trip to Bath

Vanessa got a hold of Jen earlier in the week. To let her know she was going to Bath with some friends and their spouses this weekend. And that they’d love to have us join them, if we wanted. Jen had a look at some photos of Bath online and she was sold.

Rob and Vanessa are the couple from Seattle who had us over for dinner a couple weeks back. Rob’s doing his MBA here at Oxford. Vanessa was a nurse at Children’s hospital before coming over. They’re a lot of fun, and we were excited to take this trip with them. And excited to see Bath.

We woke up early Saturday morning, booked a couple bus passes and we were on our way. Vanessa scooted onto the full bus with a couple girlfriends shortly after we had boarded and found some seats several rows ahead of us. Rob had a rowing race that day, so he would not be joining us. I was one of two “spouses” on the trip, but it was a blast anyway. I was very happy to go and see the city. It was much better than the library.

Bath is a great city. It’s about a two-hour’s drive west of Oxford. Southwest, I believe. And it’s built in a valley, which means it has beautiful, 360-degree views of hills. And there’s a river that runs right through town. It’s pretty picturesque.

The City is quite old. The Romans were stationed here at one point in their conquest. And they ended up building these incredible Bathhouses up around the natural hotsprings that are found here in Bath. Thus the name.

We got off the bus and found our way around town, armed with several iPhones. There were nine of us. None of us had been to Bath before.

Jen noticed this storefront sign and made me stop so she could snap this photo, in light of my pink laptop experience.

I was less than happy about it.

One of the first places we stopped at was Bath Abbey. A very old church built in the city center. Near the Roman bathhouse. It was an incredible church. With a huge wall devoted almost solely to stained glass windows.

We were handed an information pamphlet as we entered the church. We didn’t know anything about it, but apparently it’s a pretty popular tourist spot.

I couldn’t believe how high the ceilings climbed when we walked in. I quickly found my jaw dragging on the ground behind us.

The information packet pointed out different points of interest in the church. And it spoke a lot about Jesus. It put a smile on my face.

I found myself walking through this incredible building, built more than 500 years ago, with my nose in this information pamphlet. Reading about Jesus. I had to pull myself away from the yellow, photo-copied tri-fold to take it all in.

The stained glass windows on the far side of the church portray something like 70 different scenes of Jesus’ life. It was terribly impressive.

Jen snapped this photo in a mirror in the middle of the church to show the ornate ceiling architecture.

I found myself wondering what it’d be like to worship here week in and week out. And how long it’d take to get so used to it that you didn’t even think twice about what an incredible building it was.

Our next stop was the heart of the city. The Roman Baths.

The entrance to the Bath houses was very modern. The decor was pretty impressive, with lots of white, ornate crown moulding and dangling chandeliers.

We paid our admission fees (of course), and began our tour. We were handed small radios we were to hang around our necks. The digital display would be used to punch in numbers according to each location along our tour, which would correspond with the appropriate informative tour guide segment. British accent and all.

The Baths were great. It felt like we were traveling back in time.

You enter the bathing area and quickly feel the warm air wafting off the hot springs, contrasting with the cool outside air. I can only imagine how great a place this would have been in its time. Crowded with people fighting to get a good spot.

The Romans built this bathhouse around 70 AD, the audio tour guide told us. Around the same time Luke penned his Gospel account. Crazy.

I thought about the history of the bathhouse as we walked along the stones lining the pool. About the fact that the Romans had enjoyed lounging in this place around 2000 years ago, and now we were here. It was pretty wild.

I asked one of the staff members who was standing nearby how many people they had to pull out of the pool on a given month.

“More than you’d think,” she said with a laugh. “But it’s mostly on accident. People taking a photo and stepping backward into the waters. And kids getting too close mostly.”

I had to fight back a serious urge to cannonball into the pool most of the time we were there, which subsided after hearing about the tests they had to run on anyone who went into the waters. To make sure they didn’t pick up any bacterial infection.

Vanessa was kind enough to snap photos of Jen and I throughout the day. So we didn’t have to bug other people. It was a nice change of pace.

We snapped this photo of Vanessa (on the left) and her friend Camille from back home.

They loved the Baths, as well. Camille said she just wanted to sit by the waters for a while.

It really was great. The Romans had it figured out.

We found these bathing instructions posted on the way out. Even though we couldn’t actually use the baths. Seemed a bit like false advertising to me.

It was after 2:00 by the time we finished touring the Baths houses. We were all pretty hungry. We looked for a place to eat for some time before settling on an Indian place.

“You guys like Indian food?” they asked us, making sure we were okay with the choice before going in.

“Never had it,” Jen replied.

“You really are from Bellingham,” Camille laughed.

It was the first time Jen and I had Indian food together. (I had had it once before and wasn’t a fan). But the food was great. So many flavors… And colors.

Somehow we got on the topic of cheese during the meal. One of the gals was talking about how much she loved it.

“Except for Goat Cheese,” she said. “I can’t do it.”

“Me neither,” I said. “The smell does me in every time, and the taste isn’t any better.”

“Not me,” Vanessa chimed in. “I love Goat’s Cheese. I could make out with it.”

Everyone laughed. We were the only ones in the Indian Place. It was huge, too, which made it seem even emptier than it was. It had large, vaulted ceilings, and large windows that overlooked the alleys below.

Indian music played over speakers hidden somewhere in the restaurant. Music that seemed to put me in a trance. I felt like I was in a dream state. It made the great food sit even better than it would’ve otherwise, I thought to myself. Rocking me like a lullaby.

Bath was strung up with lights in preparation for Christmas. It was beautiful.

Vanessa snagged Jen’s camera as we walked through the city center streets. Doing her best paparazzi impression. Peeking out from behind street vendor displays to steal photos of Jen and I.

I’m not sure who’s idea this one was…

We walked around the city center for a couple hours before making our way to the bus station to board. Bath is a beautiful city, to be sure, and we’d love to go back.

We were more than satisfied with our Saturday as we took our seats aboard the warm bus. The lights inside the bus dimmed as we pulled away from the city center. Careening through the country roads, we quickly found ourselves slipping away into a comforting, late afternoon nap. The high-back bus seats holding us in a hug, the roads rocking us slowly to sleep.

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