mosdef reminded me of Kurtis.
View of the Donau from the Bridge near St. Stephen's Basilica.
There she is. Full of beauty.
Within St. Stephen's.
Typical Hungarian market.
For some people, soda is as easy as ABC. Ha. :)
In the catacombs, an actual wine fountain! Or so they say.
Yes, that is a falcon and a baby Brewer boy.
A peak of some Hungarian architecture.Thankfully, no tours today. We went to the second largest cathedral in the world (having viewed the third--St. Paul's--last weed in London and possibly the first someday in St. Peter’s in Roma)-- St. Stephen’s Basilica Cathedral, also known as the Basilica. It was so large and incredibly detailed! No matter how many spectacular buildings I see, I am always struck by their detail and grandeur. We meandered about the town after that and got back into Vienna early.
It was a pleasant weekend. During my stay I developed a profound respect for missionaries serving in Hungary; I cannot imagine how difficult it would be. The town is cold gloomy, and the people I encountered were not even remotely friendly. Despite its beauty, it is not a welcoming place. I couldn’t help but think how much the people I saw need the gospel. The whole world does! Anyway, the language is apparently difficult to learn—I can only imagine, it sounded like jibberish to me! The gift of tongues is mosdef a divine one Heavenly Father is gracious with towards His servants.
When we were in the catacombs, there was one option called the “courage walk.” It was insightful to me. It was simply a dark room lined with a single bar to hold on to and make your way from the entrance to the exit. We were meters under ground, so, naturally, it was pitch black. It was weighty to me; my first thought was “Hold to the rod, the iron rod…” I may or may not have had a hymn outburst for all to enjoy. I’ve done symbolic walks like this before at girl’s camp, etc, but that darkness was self-inflicted, with a mask or something. This was tangible darkness. I could not see my own hand in front of my face, it was that kind of darkness. The air was musky and damp, reminding me oh so much of Lehi’s vision—the cloud of darkness requisite to walk through in order to reach the tree of life. I realize this sounds philosophical though it was something simple and mostly dumb; however, it was an insightful moment for me. There was one random stranger who—in broken English—asked if she could cling to us because, “I’m skeeherd,” she said. May we succor those scared around us as we press forward through the darkness encasing us as we hold to the iron rod. The church is true.
It was a pleasant weekend. During my stay I developed a profound respect for missionaries serving in Hungary; I cannot imagine how difficult it would be. The town is cold gloomy, and the people I encountered were not even remotely friendly. Despite its beauty, it is not a welcoming place. I couldn’t help but think how much the people I saw need the gospel. The whole world does! Anyway, the language is apparently difficult to learn—I can only imagine, it sounded like jibberish to me! The gift of tongues is mosdef a divine one Heavenly Father is gracious with towards His servants.
When we were in the catacombs, there was one option called the “courage walk.” It was insightful to me. It was simply a dark room lined with a single bar to hold on to and make your way from the entrance to the exit. We were meters under ground, so, naturally, it was pitch black. It was weighty to me; my first thought was “Hold to the rod, the iron rod…” I may or may not have had a hymn outburst for all to enjoy. I’ve done symbolic walks like this before at girl’s camp, etc, but that darkness was self-inflicted, with a mask or something. This was tangible darkness. I could not see my own hand in front of my face, it was that kind of darkness. The air was musky and damp, reminding me oh so much of Lehi’s vision—the cloud of darkness requisite to walk through in order to reach the tree of life. I realize this sounds philosophical though it was something simple and mostly dumb; however, it was an insightful moment for me. There was one random stranger who—in broken English—asked if she could cling to us because, “I’m skeeherd,” she said. May we succor those scared around us as we press forward through the darkness encasing us as we hold to the iron rod. The church is true.
1 comment:
NICE LANDSCAPS YOU ARE GOODDDDDDDDDD.LYRICAL I SUPPOSE.
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