My best friend and I took our first trip to Iceland in 2016, right after my home was flooded during the Tax Day flood. Our second trip was scheduled, and the timing was only weeks after my home flooded again during Harvey.
Our third trip was a brief visit on our way to the Faroe Islands. I called the trip “Not Iceland.” The fourth trip was another visit for a few days on the way to and from the Faroes. The fifth trip was uneventful except, oh yes, that’s the trip where I got Covid and had to isolate in Iceland.
This trip we plan to explore two new, to us, parts of Iceland—the Snæfellsnes peninsula (which we had to skip on an earlier trip that was shortened due to flooding and plane delays) and the Westfjords, the most isolated part of Iceland.
This sixth trip is following the death of my mother. I should not be surprised of the timing. Iceland seems to be the place where God sends me to heal. To rest my spirit.
It’s been a jagged month since my mother died. I’ve been surprised how deep my grief has been. I’ve given myself time for self care—moving very slowly and sleeping a lot. While I was still searching for my retirement rhythm, I have now added the grief shuffle.
Once I got to the airport, I realized some important (to me) things were left behind.
I’m curious how God will fill the space opened by those lost and forgotten items.
House of Grace 