Summary: Several years ago, I travelled to Northern Island with a group studying conflict resolution. We spent most of the time talking with leaders who worked on understanding the conflict between Protestants and Catholics. We wandered through neighborhoods in Belfast, which were still clearly divided between those historic and bitter rivals. But the most difficult moment for me came on one of our free days. We were driving along the northern coast of Ireland, stunningly beautiful scenery. We climbed up to the top of a cliff to get one of those views that makes you know that there is a divine creator. There was a huge rock island just yards away from the cliff, and the best view was at the edge of that island. The only thing standing between me and the best picture ever was a rope bridge with wooden slats. I really didn't think much about it until I started across, happened to look down, and by the middle, realized that the bridge had begun to sway with the movement of my fellow travelers. That's when I grabbed the ropes on the side as if they could save my life when the whole thing broke through and plunged to the rocks below. I silently counted the number of slats between me and the view. There were about 20 of them, which was just enough to keep my conviction of a dramatic death alive. The problem was that the people behind me were coming. Actually, they were waiting for me. I felt their presence just over my shoulder. Even though I was too afraid to turn around and look, I knew they were there. And there was only one direction to go--forward.
