One of the highlights of the trip to Iceland was the journey. Short breaks force you in a strange way to make the most of the journey there and back, so browsing at the airport, the wait at the gate, the flight itself and the transit to the hotel take on a more pleasurable feel.
It was the flight that was most amazing. Flying to Iceland takes a route which goes directly north above England and out to the sea over the Hebrides, and on both Monday and Thursday the sky was clear. We left Heathrow heading for Buckinghamshire, where I was able to observe almost the whole of my archdeaconry before my eyes. Following the Chilterns I was able to recognise Dorney Rowing Lake, then High Wycombe, Princes Risborough, Aylesbury and up to Stowe, where we left familiar territory at Silverstone Racing Circuit. On the way back Scotland was a mass of snow capped mountains to the north as the plane flew over the Solway Firth and then back south over the Lake District, Morecambe Bay, Manchester, Birmingham and then Hertfordshire this time.
The landscape was stunning, and the higher perspective forced me to think of both the significance and insignificance of all the people we were flying over. It never ceases to amaze me how a God who created the heavens, chose to come as one of us; how God who is Lord of all cares about and knows every detail of my life. Awesome indeed.