Now I always thought Buckingham Palace looked so impressive on TV, but in person it’s kind of a strange juxtaposition. A huge palace inlaid with gold trim in the middle of smelly, busy, touristy central London.

King Justin is pictured standing in front of the Queen Victoria Memorial. Very large and well…kinda tacky. (Sorry)

Replacing the traditional queen’s guards at the front gate are policeman with really big guns. You can get a glimpse of the red coats and tall, furry hats positioned in front of the palace, motionless except for periodically walking back and forth like toy soldiers. (If you look closely, you can see pictured above)

I approached a policeman to ask if I could snap a photo. He said, “you’re going to need to step back, miss.”

Oops.

Then he good-naturedly struck a militant pose. I asked him why the queen’s guards no longer stand at the gate. He explained that they were moved from public access because so many people were trying to make them laugh and it wasn’t safe, especially in “today’s world climate.”

Right.

Justin and I are on a southbound train for Windsor in Berkshire to visit the largest inhabited castle in the world. It is the queen’s preferred weekend home and the burial place of Henry VIII located in St. George’s chapel.

The fast-paced, overcrowded train platforms are a little intimidating, and we have to change trains at one point. But as I navigate myself and Justin around this little journey, I am reminded that one of the top neurologists in the world at the Cleveland Clinic told me to plan on never again walking more than twenty feet by myself. Well she was clearly overlooking the power of prayer, sovereignty of God and my plain, old stubbornness.

Grace be with you, my friends.