I grew up without ever knowing my mother's father or even really knowing anything about him, so on a recent trip to Denmark we decided to visit the very un-touristy island of Lolland where he grew up. The church he would have attended and where his parents are reported to be buried was easy to find, standing tall amid the flat farmland. We never found any of the family graves, but I short visit inside the church let me think not only about the physical world of my ancestors, but the similarities and differences in out interior lives, our hopes, and beliefs. Much of the world is the same, much is different, but this church is probably almost exactly as my ancestors would have seen it 100 years ago. It's a time warp of sorts.