My best friend and I have taken a trip to celebrate my birthday most years we’ve been friends. The first birthday trip ever was twenty five years ago to Maine and New Brunswick.

New Mexico. Anacortes Island. Alaska to see glaciers. Maui. Isle of Iona. Rockport for whooping cranes. Nova Scotia. Iceland.

One year the birthday road trip to Marfa was rerouted to walk with three year old Judah from this life to the next.

This year we’re returning to a favorite spot in Arkansas.

I’m starting the day walking to have coffee.

Oldering is a very fine thing.

I experienced many firsts on this mini-Sabbatical. Maybe the most surprising was attending a heavy metal concert at Harpa, the extraordinary Reykjavik concert hall.

The last full day in Iceland was spent walking around Reykjavik. It was a glorious sunshiny day.

A knitting basket on the street in front of the local yarn shop inviting passers by to knit a row.

Enjoying the beauty of the city.

Stops for bites at local places. Our Icelandair flight attendant had shared with us her favorite places off the tourist trail.

The culminating experience of the day was a concert at Harpa. The music was a collaboration of the Iceland Symphony, two Icelandic choirs, a children’s choir, and the heavy metal band Skálmöld.

The audience was a mixture of heavy metal lovers, Icelandic locals in their sophisticated dress, and then a few folks like us.Years ago I read a book called Morning Sun on a White Piano. It was about finding the sacramental in everyday moments.

One of the chapters, as I recall, was about listening to music in community. The author talked about all the pieces that had to come together to produce the music, and then the audience’s response in hearing it–this mixture of receiving and giving created a concert.

I’ve never liked heavy metal. The closest I ever came to enjoying it was when my son was a part of a group called Animosity. I went to all sorts of unlikely places to hear him and his friends play.

This concert in Reykjavik was the perfect ending to this trip. Skálmöld’s music is written in the traditional Icelandic lyrical form and the contrast of their harsh style juxtaposed with the symphonic beauty was reflective of the Icelandic landscape. It was a trip to Iceland in a concert.

It was also a witness to what happens when greatly diverse people join and work together–the new and beautiful thing that can happen

There I was. A 66 year old priest from Texas, a grandma, rocking along barely able to contain myself with joy.

It was holy.

I’m back in Iceland on this trip not to Iceland.

The extraordinary beauty of the Faroe Islands and the warmth of the people has left my friend and me with a yearning to return.

Planning to return is the way we’ve traveled for these twenty five years. Circling back to places we’ve loved, we return with our list of things we missed the first time, places we want to experience again, and being open to the surprises we know will happen.

I am thoughtful on this day back in Iceland. This may be a good way to live each day.

Doing again those things that fill our spirit.

Keeping a spiritual list of those things that are essential.

Always being ready and prepared for the surprises.

On Tuesday, in the rain, my friend and I explored the island of Eysturoy. The surprise was a second flock of puffins, hundreds of puffins, in a cove called Mary’s bænk. Mary’s bench.

On this Sabbatical journey, I haven’t been as still and quiet as is my normal practice. I’m not sure why, but I woke up this morning in Iceland with my heart seeking that still place.

So I sat on a spiritual Mary’s bænk. And waited for the surprise of this day. Not likely to be puffins. But who knows?

Yesterday I was surprised by chocolate cake at breakfast. In a place where I ate each morning watching the sheep graze out the window.

What will be the surprises this day in Iceland?

O Tree of Calvary, send your roots deep into my soul. Gather together my frailties —my soiled heart, my sandy instability and my muddy desires —and entwine them with the strong roots of your arboreal love. Amen.

My friend and I stopped to pray mid afternoon at the church in Børn on Vagar from Prayers for All Seasons. As we prayed this prayer, both of us burst into laughter. You see, only a short while earlier I had slipped while hiking and my backside, from my head to my shoes, had been caked in mud.

I’d like to blame it on the puffins, but the reality is that I’m clumsy even when I am carefully using my walking stick.

Today we spent the day exploring Vagar, the island where the airport lives. To get to it, you have to drive through a long tunnel that goes under the ocean to connect Vagar to Streymoy.

It was a day to paint and hike and picnic.

We stopped in Miðvagur to buy cheese and bread for lunch. The store’s wares included yarn and a Tex Mex section.

The views along the drive were amazing.

The highlight of the day was hiking out to see Mullafsossur, a waterfall that drops off a cliff into the ocean.

The bonus was to discover a puffin nesting right beside the path on the way to see the falls.

I had been told how difficult and how rare it was to see puffins. I was told that my best hope was to take a long boat ride and then, at best, puffins would be sighted from afar. Here was one, right next to where I was walking!

As I looked around, I realized the cove was teeming with puffins. They can be recognized even from afar by their orange beaks and helicopter wings.

I was on my way to get closer to a flock of puffins when I slipped on a path. The slip turned into a slide as I slid down the path on my back. I couldn’t stop laughing. I knew how ridiculous it looked. My friend said it was a most impressive slide.

Folks raced to help me up, and it was at that point that I realized that I was caked in mud from top to bottom. Thankfully, there was a water closet within walking distance, and I had long johns and a sweater in the car that I could change into. Walking in the grass cleaned my hiking boots.

Finding a church with a door unlocked for prayers on the way home was yet another unexpected gift of the best kind of maybe day.