Archives for posts with tag: Jennifer

Friday: Last day of my first week back & Known by a stranger

Friday was the last day of my first week back. I was exhausted by this point, but I was encouraged to know I had nearly made it to the end of the week. I had already wrapped up and delivered a presentation for one class, and an essay for another. Now there was just one more essay standing between me and the weekend.

I spent most of the day Friday in the library at Harris Manchester. Punching out an essay. My only breaks came when I had to run downstairs to use the bathroom, or to grab a cup of tea.

On one trip back upstairs, after grabbing a cup of tea, I ran into Katrina, the librarian, as she was also returning to the library.

Turning to me as she opened the library door, Katrina said, “You know you’re welcome to use the loo upstairs,” referring to the old bathroom on the second story at Harris Manchester, a bathroom I rarely use because I always assumed it was a faculty bathroom.

“It’s a bit Victorian, but you’re welcome to it,” Katrina continued, using the word “victorian” as a bit of a euphemism, and not merely referring to its architecture. “Men don’t seem to mind. But women have different standards, you know,” Katrina said with a bit of a smirk.

By 5:00 that evening, I was putting the finishing touches on my essay e-mail and hitting “send.” It was a huge relief, to have my first week’s worth of studies in the bag. I hardly had time to eat and to sleep that week, and so it was a great feeling to have it behind me. Knowing I’d have at least a few days to catch my breath a bit before my next deadline.

Jen had heard from her friend Chelsea shortly after we returned. She asked if Jen might be interested in joining her for a book group with some other gals that meets one Friday night each month. Apparently their first book was “The Help,” a book Jen had just wrapped up while we were back home. Their first meeting was our first Friday back, so Jen made plans to join Chelsea for that.

Since I had a test to take the following Friday, a test I was making up from the week I was still back in the States, I decided I’d just stick around the library that Friday night, get back to some e-mails and prepare for that test. Not the most exciting way to spend my first Friday back in Oxford, but I did have a test to prepar for, and that way I could meet up with Jen and we could catch a bus back to the Kilns together.

By 11:00 that night, I still hadn’t heard from Jen and I was now being kicked out of the library. I know, I know… What kind of library closes at 11:00 on a Friday night? The kind that can hardly call itself an Oxford Library, that’s what kind!

…Dear Harris Manchester Library: I’m sorry. That was just a joke. You’re a fantastic library. You know I love you.

So, after gathering up my things and leaving Harris Manchester, I made my way across the city center to meet up with Jen. It was late, as I mentioned, and the city center was hopping from people coming and going from colleges and the clubs.

Jen’s book group was wrapping up just as I made it to the other side of town, which worked out nicely, and so we met up and made our way to the bus stop together. Jen had really enjoyed the group, and she told me about it as we walked.

“I actually knew several girls there, from my small group last year,” she told me. “And apparently one of the girls who I didn’t know knew you.”

“Oh yeah?” I asked with surprise. “Who was that?”

“Well, when we went around to introduce ourselves, I said my name, and I said my husband was here studying Theology for his second degree when one of the girls in the group asked if my husband’s name is Ryan.” Jen paused for a moment. “I said, “Yeah… How do you know that?”

I laughed out loud, awkwardly. It’s always a bit awkward when you wife is told by another woman, who she hasn’t met before, that she knows you.

“That’s weird,” I said, still having no idea who she was talking about, and trying to think of who it might be. “Who was it?” I asked.

“Well apparently her husband was your tutor (“Professor”) when you first came over. David.”

“Oh yeah?” I said in a bit of an “Ah ha” moment. “That’s cool you met David’s wife. He’s a great guy!”

“Yeah, she said he had you last year, and that he thinks really highly of you.”

“Oh wow,” I said with more surprise in my voice. “That’s really cool.”

I was so glad Jen had a good time that night. Even more so, I was thankful to have my first week back behind me. And, as we hopped on a bus and made our way back to the Kilns for the night, I was thankful to have the weekend ahead of me to catch up on some much-needed rest.

Saturday: A non-American tour, Moving our things into the Kilns & Dinner with the Mercers

I woke up late Saturday morning. Around 10. It was the first time I had been able to sleep much since we had returned, and I took full advantage of it, not climbing out of bed until after 10.

I made my way down the long, narrow hallway that leads from our bedroom to the front of the house and walked into the sun-warmed kitchen, with the warm sun rays still pouring into the kitchen on this particular late morning. The sun shone in through the windows, striking the worn, red-tiled floor and spilling all over the kitchen walls. And as I gathered up some things for breakfast, I found myself thinking it’s funny how quickly this place has grown to feel like home.

I had a tour that afternoon. For a local family (a grandmother with her daughter, her daughter’s husband and their two kids), as well as a group of international students from London. It was a unique tour in that I was the only American in the room. That almost never happens.

The grandmother and her family showed up first. Jen told me about her when she had booked the tour. Apparently this woman’s husband had been a student of Lewis’s when he taught here at Oxford, and she hadn’t been to the Kilns since Lewis invited the two of them over for a meal. She was just starting to tell me her memories of the house when the front doorbell rang.

“You’d better get that,” she said, pausing from her story and pointing her head in the direction of the door.

“Yeah, I suppose I should,” I said, with a bit of a pause. “It’s just that I’d really like to hear your story!”

We ended up starting the tour right away, as the group from London was late arriving. The tour went great, but I was a bit nervous, having this woman on my tour who had actually been here at the Kilns as a guest when Lewis lived here.

I wrapped up the tour at the front of the house and I was shaking hands with several of the students from London when the grandmother and her family passed by me on their way out. She looked as though she didn’t want to interrupt me, but I made a point to say “goodbye.” She thanked me for the tour, as did her family, and a few moments later they were gone.

I was really hoping to hear more from her, about her memories of Lewis and her time in the house, but it wasn’t going to happen this day. I hoped that, maybe someday, she’d visit us again.

Moving the rest of our things into the Kilns

Shortly after the tour left, the doorbell rang. It was Jarred. A good friend of mine who’s doing his PhD work here at Oxford. He and his wife, Chelsea (the gal who invited Jen along to the book group) are from Florida, and they have two young sons.

Jarred and Chelsea have a car, so I had wrangled him into helping us move the rest of our things from our old place to the Kilns. I didn’t know how I’d get it there otherwise, so I was certainly thankful for his help.

Jarred had never been to the Kilns before, so I gave him a quick tour before we made our way across town, to the North side of Oxford, to gather up all of our boxes we had left behind.

We parked in front of the house, on the street, and made our way across the gravel driveway underfoot. I pointed out the house across the street from where we were walking, to the blue plague that hung high on the front of its exterior.

“That’s Tolkien’s old house,” I told Jarred as we walked. “Apparently that’s where he wrote The Lord of The Rings.”

“Oh wow!..” Jarred said, commenting on how many incredible people have lived their lives here in Oxfordshire.

I struggled to remember the door code of the large home when we arrived, but by the third or fourth try, I had managed to get it open. I went to let Jane & Justin know I was there, collecting my things, while Jarred began gathering boxes and taking them to the car. I had let Jane know we’d be stopping by the day before, and she said to make sure to say “hello.”

I didn’t find Jane, but I did manage to find Justin. He welcomed me with a large smile and asked how I was doing. I could tell by the surprised look on his face that Jane probably hadn’t told him I would be coming by that day. I hadn’t seen him since June, so it was good to see him again.

Back in our old flat, I helped Jarred with the rest of the boxes and, as we were wrapping up, I heard Jane’s voice call up the stairs to our old bedroom, where Jarred and I were.

“Hello? Ryan? Are you up there?”

Jane has a beautiful British accent. Very posh. And it was great to hear it again.

“Hi Jane,” I called downstairs as I turned to go see her.

Apparently the family was just preparing to leave, as Felix and Dan (their two sons) were by the car in the front driveway. I’m much closer to Felix than I am to Dan, as Felix was generally around when we lived here, whereas Dan was typically away in boarding school.

“Hey, Felix, it’s great to see you again,” I said with a smile, reaching out to shake his hand.

“It’s good to see you again,” he said, returning my handshake and smiling himself. He has a grin that always looks a bit sheepish. It was so good to see him again.

“You’ve grown a bit since I last saw you, haven’t you?” I asked. He smiled again. Sheepishly, again.

“Yes, I believe he has,” Jane said with a nod. Felix shrugged his shoulders.

I said my goodbyes as they pulled their large Mercedes out of the gravel driveway and helped Jarred with the rest of the boxes.

Driving out of the neighborhood, with Jarred and Chelsea’s car packed full of boxes, I told Jarred it was so good to see this neighborhood again, but it was also weird to be leaving.

“This is the nicest neighborhood either of us have ever lived in,” I told him. “And the nicest neighborhood we will likely ever live.”

Thinking back to my memories of Jane and her family, I thought about how much I enjoyed my time there, at our old flat. And how much I enjoyed getting to know them, as bizarre as it was sometimes.

“I’m never quite sure how to act or what to talk about when I’m with them,” I confessed to Jarred as we drove down the British highway, across town toward the Kilns. “I’m not used to talking with people who get invited to Elton John’s place for dinner parties, and who know J.K. Rowling.”

Jarred just laughed.

We returned to the Kilns and unloaded our boxes into the library before getting Jen and making our way back across town, this time to Jarred and Chelsea’s place. They had moved over the summer, while we were back in the States, and we were looking forward to seeing their new home. They had invited us over to dinner that evening, after Jarred helped me move. I told him I owed him one.

“Or two, I guess.”

Dinner with the Mercers

Pulling up to their flat and getting out of the car, we could hear Noah’s voice call from behind the door, making known our arrival. Noah is just over two years old, and he’s a ball of energy.

Chelsea finished preparing dinner while Jen and I visited with Jarred in the living room. Owen, their youngest, is just over a year, and he’s recently learned how to walk. The last time we saw him, he was crawling, but now he’s taken off, walking non-stop to anything he can. He walked, constantly, back and forth across and around the living room while we talked.

Noah, their oldest boy, ran back and forth from Jen and I, exchanging hugs each time. He’d hop on Jen’s lap, give her a hug and then run over to me and do the same thing. Over and over again while we talked with Jarred. Apparently he was pretty excited to see us again.

This took Chelsea completely off guard when she came into the living room to ask us what we’d like to drink. Her face revealed her state of disbelief.

“I really can’t emphasize it enough, but he’s never like this,” she said. “Not with anyone but us.”

Jarred put the kids to bed, letting them tell us “goodnight” first, and then the four of us gathered around the dinner table. We had a great time catching up with them both. Exchanging stories from our trips home, to the States, over the summer. They had went back for a few weeks in August, whereas we were back for the entire time, of course, and so it was nice to share with others who know what those transitions look like.

Chelsea’s parents work for the airline industry, so they always get really good rates. The only catch is that they have to fly stand-by, which means they don’t always get the flight they were planning on taking. They told us about their many experiences of having to sleep over in cities and catch a different flight. But, considering how cheap they fly, I figured it’d be worth it.

I looked over to Jen and told her we needed someone in the family who worked for the airlines. She agreed.

We enjoyed some chocolate chip cookies fresh out of the oven for dessert. They were still warm and gooey when they hit the table.

“Have you ever had brown-kie?” Chelsea asked us from across the table as we dug into the cookies.

“Brown-kie?…” I repeated her words wearing a look of confusion. “No, no I don’t think I have… What is it?”

“Well, you are in for a treat,” Chelsea told us matter-of-factly. “Brown-kie is brownies baked with chocolate chip cookie dough over top, and served with vanilla ice cream.”

With my mouth hanging wide open, I nearly dropped the cookie I had in my hand.

“That’s the most brilliant thing I’ve ever heard in my life!” I said. Jarred laughed. Chelsea nodded in agreement.

“I know, right?” she said. “It’s brownie plus chocolate chip cookie. Brown-kie.”

I told them we’d have to have brown-kie the next time we got together, before continuing our conversation.

A few minutes later, after we had completely changed topics, I stopped the conversation to say, “I’m sorry, I’m having trouble focusing… All I can think of is about how much I’d like to get my hands on some brown-kie right about now.”

It was nearly 11:00 by this time, so Jen and I thanked Jarred and Chelsea for a wonderful evening, a very tasty dinner, and for helping us move.

“No problem,” Jarred said, getting up from the table. “Let me get my keys and I’ll take you guys home.”

“Oh no, we can catch the bus,” I said. “It stops not far from here, and we have bus passes, so it’s no problem.”

Jarred asked if we were sure, and I assured him we were.

“You’ve already helped us so much today, with the move, and it was so nice to join you guys for dinner. Next time we’ll take care of dinner.”

“Deal,” Chelsea said.

We exchanged hugs with the both of them and then made our way back toward the city center, along the river that cuts through the West side of town, and to the bus stop. It was a great evening, catching up with friends, and it helped having all of our things now at the Kilns. It certainly made it feel like we were really setting into life back in Oxford. And to the year ahead of us.

Sunday: David, Switchfoot & A palm tree in Oxford

Our first Sunday back was a lazy day, spent mostly at the Kilns. We unpacked several of the boxes we had brought over the night before, doing our best to find room for everything.

Living at the Kilns is a bit like living in a museum, as people are constantly coming through to see everything. So we kind of have to make sure that our personal things don’t take away from the fact that this was Lewis’s brother’s room.

That afternoon, a philosophy professor and writer from Dallas by the name of David Naugle arrived at the Kilns. I knew he was arriving that day, as Debbie had told me he would be before she left for an out-of-town conference the day before. David would be staying for a few weeks, she told me. As a scholar in residence. Apparently he’s working on a screenplay based loosely on the life of Augustine, but adapted for a modern audience. One of his books was named “Book of the Year” in the Philosophy & Ethics category by Christianity Today a few years back.

David’s a really nice guy. And even though we’re separated by a couple generations, I was surprised by how involved with current pop culture he is. We got talking in the kitchen shortly after he arrived, and somehow or another it came up that he was going to the Switchfoot show in Cambridge in a few weeks. Before leaving to return home. I didn’t even know Switchfoot was playing in the UK. I knew they had just put a new album out, so I guess it made sense.

He told me he knows Jon Foreman, frontman for Switchfoot, and he ended up showing me some photos from a recent private acoustic performance he had played at David’s home back in Texas.

“Oh wow!” I said, checking out the photos of Jon playing from David’s home. “That’s incredible!”

David informed me the Switchfoot show was now completely sold out, but that he’d get in touch with Jon to see about holding some extra tickets at the door for us, if Jen and I were interested in going.

“Uh, yeah, that’d be great,” I told him. “We understand if it doesn’t work, of course, but we’d love to see them again.”

We talked a bit more, from our seats in the kitchen, and he mentioned the idea of getting Jon and the rest of the guys from Switchfoot to stop in for a visit at the Kilns while they were in England, if they had time.

“Jon wrote a song for one of the recent Narnia films,” David told me, “So I’m sure they’d like to see the house, maybe even play a few songs, if they had time.”

And that’s when I laughed out loud.

“That’d be completely unreal,” I told David, still laughing.

“Well I’ll run it by Debbie later, see what she says, and then I’ll get in touch with Jon. Who knows, if it works out, that could be a lot of fun.”

I thanked David for the conversation, told him I’m sure we’d be catching up more during his time here, and I excused myself to the back of the Kilns, to our bedroom, where Jen was, to get some work done.

I had been looking forward to attending a service at St Aldate’s, where we usually attend here in Oxford. Simon Ponsonby, the vicar for the evening service, is a really solid theologian, and a great speaker. I always find I really appreciate his teaching.

Jen told me to go ahead and go on to church without her, as she wasn’t feeling up to traveling to town. She said she just wanted to stay down for the evening, but that I should go ahead and go. Making sure she was actually okay with me going, before I did so, I went ahead and left. Making my way to town, with her blessing.

A palm tree in Oxford

Shortly after 5:00 that evening, as I left the house, it was already getting dark. The night air was brisk, and my trip to town provided a nice time of reflection.

I had made this walk many times before, but it was on this particular trip that I noticed something that I had never seen before. At the end of Kilns Lane, the road that leads up a slight incline to Lewis Close, the road the Kilns is on, I noticed a tallish tree, standing just off the street, on the corner. What was peculiar about this tree was not its height, though, what made it stand out is that it was a palm tree. And it made me smile, thinking how very out of place it seemed. A palm tree, in Oxford. It’s maybe the last thing you’d expect to see.

And yet, almost just as soon as I noticed it, I felt as though I could somehow relate to this tree. As it stood there, in the dark, inconspicuously. Almost as if not to make eye contact with anyone, so as not to give away its presence. Wondering if anyone notices it, and being careful not to catch the attention of those native trees that actually do belong here in Oxford. Being careful to fit in.

As I continued to make my way down the lane that evening, walking to the bus stop to catch the number 8 bus that would take me to church, I couldn’t help but think how I felt a bit like that palm tree. Just waiting for someone to notice me and call attention to the fact that I don’t actually belong here. In Oxford. At the Kilns. At the helm of the Lewis Society. In any of it.

And I found comfort in this thought as I walked through the cool night air on my way to church. I found comfort in the thought that even if no one else understands those feelings of just waiting for someone to notice I don’t actually belong here–in the middle of this life that truly feels as though I’ve gone to bed one night only to wake up in someone else’s shoes, uprooted and set down in a completely foreign world–this tree does. This palm tree in Oxford knows exactly what it feels like.

But now that you know, now that you know about this palm tree in Oxford, do me a favor: don’t tell anyone. Don’t blow its cover. Let’s let it enjoy its time here while it lasts. For one day, someone will notice a palm tree doesn’t belong in England. And on that day, it will be time for this palm tree to go home. But until then, let it pretend. Let it pretend for just a little bit longer to fit into this incredible place called Oxford.

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Sunday: Tacos and laughs at Rob & Vanessa’s

I’ve been meaning to catch up with Rob & Vanessa since returning to Oxford from the holidays. But things have been busy. For me and for them.

But they sent out an e-mail this week. Asking a group of friends over for mexican food. On Sunday night. I wasn’t doing anything, and I’m not one to turn down a free Mexican dinner. So I wrote back, telling them I was looking forward to it.

After a full day of studies, I grabbed my jacket and hopped on my bike, racing through the city center in the cool, black night air on my way to Rob & Vanessa’s. It’s about a 10-minute bike ride from our place.

I locked up my bike out front and made my way to their apartment. Rob’s doing his MBA here at Oxford, and so they live right across from the Business school. In student accomodations. Which is basically an apartment complex full of business students. And usually spouses. Seems like everyone I’ve met in the MBA program is married.

Another couple was making their way up the stairs just ahead of me.

“Going to Rob & Vanessa’s place?” I asked.

“Yeah, you too?” the wife asked.

“Yep. Hi, I’m Ryan,” I said, holding shaking the guy’s hand first, then then his wife’s.

“Tyler,” he said.

“Hi, I’m Lauren,” she said.

“Good to meet you guys.”

Rob and Vanessa’s apartment was full by the time we got there. Several other couples were talking in the living room, while Vanessa finished preparations for dinner with a few other people crammed into their tiny kitchen.

Most of the people there that night were from the MBA program. And by “most” I mean, I wasn’t.

I talked with Tyler and another guy in the living room while the final touches were being put on the dinner. Tyler was telling us about a trip to London they just returned from. For a Business school dinner. At the Oxford & Cambridge Club.

I had never heard of such a place. But apparently it’s where Oxford & Cambridge alumni can spend loads of money on a membership so they have a place to book a room from or eat dinner at when they’re in London. Seemed like a pretty good deal to me.

Apparently it was an alumni dinner, which current MBA students were invited to. Tyler told us how they had interpreted that as an opportunity to go have dinner with alumni who have been in business for a while, and talk about job opportunities. But apparently that’s not what happened.

“It was a very high table event,” Tyler explained. “You had the big guys at their table, all the alumni on one side of the room, and then all of us current students off in our own corner, to ourselves.”

Apparently they were asked not even to talk to the alumni, which I thought was pretty funny.

Vanessa let us all know dinner was now being served a few minutes after that. Everyone’s conversations quieted. Heads bowed. And Rob blessed the food for us.

Vanessa warned us about the salsa Tyler and Lauren had brought. To be careful. As it was quite hot. The fact that it was orange was a good sign of that, I thought.

“That’s how we like it in Texas,” Lauren said. “I’m used to it. I eat this stuff on my cereal.”

I told them I had been born in Texas, before moving to the Northwest.

“Oh yeah? Where abouts?” Lauren asked.

“Just outside of Dallas,” I told her. “Grand Prairie.”

“Oh yeah. All right.”

I always say “just outside of Dallas” whenever I’m asked where I was born. Out of habit. Because no one from outside of Texas has any idea where Grand Prairie is.

We dished up our plates. Chicken tacos (with gluten-free chicken, Vanessa informed us). Rice. Beans. Chips and salsa. And took our seats around Rob & Vanessa’s living room to eat and talk.

I dipped a chip into the orange salsa, just to give it a test ride. Vanessa wasn’t joking. It was ridiculous.

We got onto the topic of TV shows. A conversation I’m always lost in. Lots of laughs were had about this or that episode of The Office. People gave their thoughts on how Lost had ended. And whether they thought it resolved or not. I kept waiting for Friday Night Lights to come up. But it never did. So I enjoyed my taco and pretended to know what was being talked about.

After a while, the conversation changed to travel. As one of the couples there that night had literally arrived with their luggage in-tow from their trip to Paris.

Lauren and Tyler told us about the trip they had taken to a museum while in London. And how Lauren had her picture taken hugging the Rosetta Stone. And how she went back the next day with someone else and took her to see it. After pointing to a large stone behind a piece of glass, Lauren insisted that wasn’t actually the Rosetta Stone, and that she had gotten her picture with it the day before. And how she had been able to touch it. But, sure enough, there was the plaque, showing pretty clearly this was the Rosetta Stone.

Lauren was pretty confused, but on the way out, she passed by the hallway she had been before, with “the Rosetta Stone” she had gotten her picture taken with. And that’s when she noticed the sign above the door of this hallway, which read, “Hall of Replicas.”

We all laughed. Wondering how many people took their picture with “the Rosetta Stone” or other ancient artifacts and then went home never knowing any better.

“Why would they even have that at the museum?” I asked, in-between laughs. “That must just be for the Americans who they know are going to want to touch everything and not know any better.”

Monday: Two for two on the headlight

I was talking with Steve on Monday from Harris Manchester’s library. On Skype. It was good to catch up with him.

I told him my bike headlight had been stolen at the end of the last week. And that I was glad my Grandpa had sent me an extra so I didn’t have to go out and buy a new one.

I told him I figured if this one got stolen too, that I’d just duct tape one of the many flashlights my Grandpa had sent us to the front of my bike as a substitute. He told me he hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

I worked late into the evening that night. And at one point I swore I heard snoring. Even with music playing in my earphones. I turned around to find the guy behind me with his head down on his desk snoring away. It was the same guy who several days earlier started singing to the music playing in his earphones, without realizing. It was the second time in a week this guy made me laugh out loud in the library.

I left the library late that night. After reading all day. To head home and fix something for dinner.

And I was less than impressed when I found my bike where I left it that night. Minus the headlight.

“Well, it’s a good thing I have plenty of flashlights at home, I guess,” I thought to myself while unlocking my bike and riding away.

Tuesday: A beautiful day in Oxford

Tuesday was a beautiful sunny day here in Oxford. It wasn’t the first sunny day we’ve had this term, but this day was just beautiful. And actually warm.

I grabbed a panini for lunch and decided to eat outside. It was the first time I’ve been able to do so since arriving. I sat beside a tree across the street from Harris Manchester. Squinting my eyes as I ate my panini, staring up at the college in front of me.

“It really does look like a castle,” I thought to myself while enjoying my sandwich, as if suddenly seeing the college for the first time, in the sun.

The clouds overhead were shot through by the trails of airplanes, and it was a gorgeous day to be enjoying a panini outside, under the bright blue sky.

Wednesday: Apologetics & Talking Lewis over medium rare beef

I recently joined a Christian Apologetics group here in Oxford. The idea is to get together and give talks on different questions people might have about the faith. “How can we believe in God if pain and evil and suffering exist?” “Are all religions basically the same thing?” “Has science disproved God?”

The idea being that this will be good practice for us to go out and give such talks elsewhere, after we’ve given each other feedback. I loved the idea. Where better to find people to shoot holes through your talk than here in Oxford, I figured.

I talked this Wednesday on the topic of pain and suffering. And how we can believe in God, even in the midst of such evil. And it went really well. Particularly since I hadn’t had a chance to really put my talk together until around 11:45 the night before.

One of the guys there is basically in charge of training and organizing people to do these kind of talks here in Oxford. He told me afterward that he listens to a lot of speakers. That’s all he does, actually. And that I was in the top percentage of those he’s heard.

“Easily in the top 50%, but pushing into that Champion Level,” he said, motioning his hand up as if to make his point.

“Oh wow,” I said. “Well thank you.”

I really enjoy getting together with those guys. For these talks. This was just my second time, but each time I feel more and more that this is something I’d love to do more of.

Dinner with Michael Ward

From there, I raced off to meet up with Michael Ward. Michael is the Chaplain at one of the colleges here in Oxford. And he’s also on the Theology Faculty. He’s most well-known here for being the resident C.S. Lewis Scholar. And for writing a couple books on Lewis that have done really well, especially back in the States. He’s the same author who was interviewed by my cousin KC on the radio last term when the new Chronicles of Narnia came out in theatres.

I had met Michael pretty early on last term at the Oxford C.S. Lewis Society events. Really nice guy. Incredibly bright. And after hearing Jen was going to be back in the States for a bit yet, he asked if I’d like to grab dinner one night. So we did.

I met him at St. Peter’s College that evening. It was my first time there. It’s a beautiful college. More modern than many here in Oxford. And on the small side. But I really liked it. He showed me into their chapel for a quick look. And he bragged a bit about their choir, which is apparently one of the best in Oxford. He told me he would have shown me around the chapel a bit more, but there was a cellist practicing on the far end, and he didn’t want to disturb him.

We walked to a restaurant around the corner from St. Peter’s. A french place. I didn’t catch the name, but I had noticed it before. It looked really nice, from the street. And it looked really nice from inside, too.

Very modern, with smiley waitstaff.

We found a seat by the window and began looking over the menu. I asked Michael if he had any recommendations. He did. He recommended the prime rib dinner for two, which gave him 10 extra respect points in my book.

“But it’s a bit on the spendy side,” he said. “Particularly for students without any money.”

He asked me how much I was planning on spending. And then he said he’d take care of the rest if that sounded good to me. I told him that sounded great to me.

The waitress came a few minutes later and took our order. When she asked how we wanted it prepared, Michael told her medium rare. Another 10 respect points in my book.

I had a great time getting to talk with Michael. I had only talked to him in short conversations before. I enjoyed hearing a bit more about his interests in Lewis. About his own work. About why he thought Lewis was more popular in the States than here in the UK (“He’s English, through and through, but he’s also quite direct and pointed in his writing, and I think the American audience appreciates that,” he said. “I think people forget Lewis was born in Ireland, and that certainly plays a role in his tone.”)

He told me how this idea for his books had come to him while he was working on his PhD. How he had been planning on writing something totally different, but then this thought just came to him one night. Totally unrelated to what he had been working on. Not even close to what he had been thinking about. And how it had completely changed his life. How he had been given the opportunity to travel all over the world to talk about it. And how he saw it as a gift from God, rather than a reflection of his own clever mind.

I told him I really appreciated hearing that. There are far too many people who want to take all the credit for how clever they are. Particularly when it comes to their work.

He asked me about my own interests in Lewis. And so I told him. I told him about reading “Mere Christianity” for the first time as a sophomore in college. And how that had literally changed my life. How I realized you don’t have to sacrifice your intellect to approach this faith, and how Lewis had shown me that. I told him about the crazy journey that brought us here, and how I was in Oxford because of Lewis.

Michael seemed to appreciate hearing about that story, as he smiled a lot while listening. And nodded in agreement.

He then asked me if I had realized the Oxford CS Lewis Society was losing its President to graduation after this year, and if I had put any thought to that.

I was taken aback by his question, but I told him I had realized that, yeah.

“Well, I wanted you to know your name has been discussed for that role,” he told me from across the table, wearing a slight smile.”

“Really?” I said, with big eyes. “Wow… Well that’s, that’s great.”

“Well, what do you think?” he asked me.

“I think it’s an honor to even be considered for that role,” I told him. “And I think I’d be hard-pressed to think of anything else I’d rather get behind here in Oxford.”

Again, I think he was happy to hear that, as his slight smile had now grown into a full-blown smile.

He told me it wasn’t his decision. That it was the current President’s decision. But that he thought I’d make a great fit, and that he’d be talking with him.

I was blown away. It wasn’t that long ago I was dreaming about coming to Oxford because of this man. Because of C.S. Lewis. And now I was being considered for the role of President of the Oxford C.S. Lewis Society. It was at that point that I felt my chair lift off the ground a little bit.

Friday: A scene from Harry Potter at New College

I was on my way to Harris Manchester on Friday afternoon to punch out my Patristics essay when Emily asked me if I had taken a look around New College yet.

“No, I haven’t,” I told her.

New College isn’t actually very new. It was established in 1379. So, apparently it was new around that time.

It’s on a street I walk by after Greek every day on my way to Harris Manchester, but I’ve never actually been in to walk around. Emily asked if I had five minutes to check it out. She said she had just walked through it the other day and it was pretty amazing. Realizing I really haven’t taken advantage of the opportunities to see so many of these amazing buildings, I took her up on it.

And I’m glad I did. It’s an incredible place. It’s enormous, for one…

…but it’s also really, really old. And it shows it, in spots. One of the older, inner walls still has slots for archers, for example.

Emily told me that one of the scenes from Harry Potter had apparently been filmed here (the’ ferret scene’ in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire). In the courtyard. What they call “cloisters.”

It’s a pretty cool spot. The cloisters. Old, arched stone hallways, with a stone floor underfoot, surround a large, grassy courtyard. And a large tree sits off in a corner of the square. With a bench underneath it.

It really was an incredible spot. And no one was around on this morning. No one except a handful of birds chirping in the tree overhead.

As we left New College, and made our way back to Harris Manchester, I couldn’t help but feel in awe. Of this incredible place. And all the buildings I walk by on a daily basis without checking them out. Without taking them in. The colleges aren’t open to the public, but all I have to do is show my card if I’m asked.

I really need to do a better job of taking advantage of all there is to see here.

Saturday: In Lewis old Chapel

Michael sent me an e-mail at the end of the week. Asking if I’d like to join him and David (the current Oxford Lewis Society President) for a chapel service at Magdelene College (pronounced “Maw-delene”) that Saturday night. At the college where Lewis used to teach.

I told him that sounded great. And that I had been looking for an excuse to visit Magdelene.

It was a beautiful night Saturday. It had been a clear day, so the stars seemed to be shining even brighter than normal in the dark night sky overhead. David arrived just as I did, so we entered the grounds at Magdalene College at the same time. And instantly I was taken aback.

The square courtyard was surrounded by these gigantic stone walls that reached high into the sky. It was amazing. Michael crossed the square and greeted David and I shortly after we arrived.

“Hello gentleman,” he said in his deep voice, wearing a smile.

“This really is your first time visiting the old hallowed halls, huh Ryan?” he asked me.

“Yeah, it is.”

“Well, you are in for a treat,” he told me.

He was right. The chapel and the service were both amazing.

Entering the candlelit room, I felt like I was going back in time. The wooden ceiling loomed high overhead. The walls are ornately carved wood. And candles lined the rows and rows of seats. With their high backs. The seats are tiered, and they look toward the center of the room, so that you’re looking at those seated on the opposite side of the room as you. The choir entered in their white robes shortly after we arrived. And they delivered an incredible performance.

They have this service every night, apparently. But Saturday nights are particularly good, Michael told us. I kept thinking how much I wanted to bring Jennifer there with me, to see and experience all of this.

“Next week,” I thought to myself. “Next week.”

After the service, Michael pointed toward a plaque on the wall, behind one of the seats at the end of the room.

“C.S. Lewis,” it read. Amazing. I was sitting in the same chapel Lewis sat in for all those years he taught here at Oxford. Amazing.

As we made our way out of the chapel that evening, Michael introduced me to the Bishop who had given the message that evening.

“This is Ryan Pemberton,” Michael said to him as we shook hands. “And he’s going to be our newest President for the Oxford C.S. Lewis Society.”

“Really? Well that’s wonderful,” he said to me with a smile. Apparently he’s a former President of the Society himself.

It was news to me, as we hadn’t talked about it anymore since dinner earlier in the week. And so I was taken aback. But also elated. Incredibly excited. I’m sure I was grinning from ear to ear like a little boy. But I didn’t care. I was in Magdalene College, and I had just been named the next Oxford C.S. Lewis Society President. I was ecstatic.

Tuesday Night: Even more excited

I was so excited getting that news Saturday night. I shared the news with Jen when I got back in. And she was incredibly excited for me as well, knowing how much that’d mean to me.

But, as exciting as that news was, I have even more exciting news… In about 10 hours, I will be greeting my wife at the London Heathrow Airport. With the biggest hug I can manage.

I haven’t seen her in more than five weeks at this point. The last time we went that long without seeing each other, I was a freshman in college. My first time around. Around eight years ago.

I’m terribly excited to see her again. And to be together. It’s been an incredible time being back here in Oxford, but it’s just not the same without my other half. I’m looking forward to enjoying this time together as the Pembertons again. And the next time I wake up, I’m looking forward to doing just that.

Thanks for reading.

One of the first things I did after arriving back in Oxford after the holidays was send Walter Hooper an e-mail. Jennifer and I had gone over to his place for dinner before we left and, knowing I’d be on my own for a bit before Jen rejoined me, Walter made sure to invite me over when I returned.

I sent him an e-mail shortly after getting settled in, and it wasn’t long before I received a reply from Walter, welcoming me back to Oxford and inviting me over for tea my first Sunday back in Oxford.

Saturday: CS Lewis gifts from a stranger

When we’re apart, Jennifer and I try to Skype a couple times a day. The whole long distance thing isn’t a lot of fun, but if you can talk regularly, and even see each other, that makes everything a bit easier.

I Skyped with Jen Saturday evening. My evening, her afternoon. And she told me someone back home who knew her Dad, and who had heard about what we were up to, had given me a first edition copy of Lewis’ book The Great Divorce. As well as a complete, early-edition set of The Chronicles of Narnia series.

Apparently this man had heard I was a big fan of Lewis’ writing, and that I was studying here at Oxford, and he had decided to give me these books from his personal collection.

I was stunned. I didn’t even know the guy, but that was an incredible gift.

“You’re building up quite the collection,” Jennifer told me over Skype.

“No kidding,” I said, shaking my head in disbelief of the generous gift.

Sunday: Tea with Walter

After church on Sunday morning, I made my way to Summertown. To get some work done on Greek before the start of the first official week of the term. And to catch up with a friend.

Richard had sent me a message shortly after lunch. Letting me know he was studying from Startbucks in Summertown, in case I wanted to join him. It’s nice to come back to a place half-way around the world and find people reaching out to you. It certainly makes for an easier transition.

I met Richard shortly before leaving to return home from the holidays. He’s a great guy. He and his wife are from California. Beautiful, sunny, southern California. And they had actually just been married before moving here to Oxford, so Richard could start his Doctoral work.

Richard’s background is in Philosophy. He seems young for the job, but he’s been teaching at Biola. Philosophy. His passion, though, is Christian Apologetics. Talking about why Christians believe what they believe. Answering questions about the faith. And that’s something I certainly appreciate. That’s something we have in common, as it’s much of the reason why I’m here, too. So we find a lot to talk about.

We caught up for a while, sharing stories from our holiday vacations over coffee, before picking up our books and getting some studying done.

After a couple hours, I excused myself, telling Richard I had a tea to make. At Walter Hooper’s house. He thought that was pretty great.

Summertown is about a five-minute bike ride from where we live, and Walter’s house is about another five-minute ride north of Summertown.

It was just starting to get dark outside when I arrived. I pulled my bike around the back of his large, condo building and locked it up. Not seeing a bike rack, and not wanting it to get in the way if I tied it to the entryway.

I passed through the two large double doors and rung the bell at Walter’s door. Seconds later I was greeted by his wonderful smile and  a “Why hello there!”

It really was great to see him again. Being at Walter’s home makes me feel like I’m at home, in a way. It’s just comforting.

After we had said our “hello’s,” I handed Walter some canned pumpkin pie mix we had promised him the last time we were over. After he had raved about the pumpkin bread Jen brought over for dessert. He was pretty happy to receive it, and he was quite grateful about it, thanking me several times.

I also brought him one of our Christmas cards. Jen had signed and prepared it for him before I left. It seemed like he appreciated it. I pointed out all the places we had been in the photos on the cards. The Tower of London. Bath. Blenheim Palace.

Walter invited me to sit down and we shared some tea. From that old, comfortable chair in his living room. The one I always sit in. He pointed a plate of shortbread cookies in my direction and insisted I have some. Walter’s incredibly hospitable.

I love sitting in Walter’s living room. Talking. While the fire flickers in the fireplace. There’s always great conversation, and it’s never forced or dull. He always has something interesting to talk about. And, somehow, it always comes back to Lewis.

I asked him about meeting Lewis for the first time, and he shared the story with me in incredibly rich detail. It was like I was right there with him.

He told me how he had shown up on Lewis’ doorstep several days earlier than he was expected, after being told to give some extra time, as Lewis’ home was difficult to find. And, even though Lewis wasn’t expecting him for another few days, he invited him into his home and they ended up sharing three pots of tea just like that. Apparently Walter had come expecting just to stay for the one visit, and maybe to see a bit of England, but that trip quickly turned into the next 45 years of his life. Walter went from being a pen-pal of Lewis’ to being Lewis’ personal secretary.

“I remember thinking, shortly after meeting him for the first time,” Walter told me, “that I genuinely loved this man.” He let his words hang in the air as he looked off in the distance, into the fireplace, and you knew he was replaying these experiences to himself.

“He was so incredibly kind,” Walter said to me after a pause. “He really was unlike anyone else I’ve ever met.”

I asked Walter if he had been homesick after coming here and staying unexpectedly. He told me he had, particularly after Lewis passed away.

Walter’s cat, Blessed Lucy of Narnia, entered the room while we were talking. Walter always addresses Lucy when she’s around, as if she were a person who had just entered.

“Well hello, Blessed Lucy of Narnia,” he said to her. “Are you going to say hello to your uncle Ryan?”

I smiled, as Lucy paced back and forth in front of where Walter sat as he played with her tail.

We talked for a bit longer. He asked about Jen. How she was doing, and if she was enjoying being home.

I asked him a theological question. Something a friend of mine back home had been talking with me about. Something that had been weighing pretty heavily on this friend for some time. About whether or not everyone, ultimately goes to heaven (what’s called “Universalism”), or if there is indeed a heaven for some, and a hell for others.

Walter was quick to answer, and he immediately began by referencing Lewis book The Great Divorce. He asked me if I had read it. I told him I had began reading it at one point, but I hadn’t finished it.

“Oh, you must read it,” he said. “It’s a wonderful book.”

I told him how I had just received a first-edition copy as a gift the day before, and how I now had no excuse.

He began to tell me how he’d respond to this question, that he believed the end of this life would mean great disappointment for many. But that it wasn’t a matter of tastes or opinion. Rather, it was matter of fact. Of truth, referencing Lewis’ book as he talked. He then excused himself from the room so that he might grab a copy from his room and read directly from the book.

This surprised me, as Walter routinely quotes verbatim from books when we’re talking. Not just Lewis, but others as well. And I’m always blown away. I hope I can pull that off when I’m 79.

After a few minutes, Walter returned to the room, his copy of The Great Divorce in hand. He flipped through the pages to find the section he wanted to read from, scanning the pages like he was returning to an old conversation. And, as he read it aloud, I realized he was doing just that. After knowing Lewis, and after working on his books for more than 40 years, Lewis’ words must feel like nothing short of an old friend to Walter.

“I’m often asked if I regret this, having spent all this time studying Lewis’ writing and compiling his letters. I’m often asked if I feel like it’s been a waste,” Walter later shared with me. “And I don’t know how I could. My life is so much richer because of this man.”

Walter was beaming as he finished this sentence.

Staring at this 79-year old man seated in the middle of his beautiful living room, knowing the amazing difference meeting Lewis had meant in his life, I was touched. To know such a man, and to know that, as much as Lewis has meant in my life, he has meant so much more to Walter.

I could feel the joy permeating from him as Walter sat there across the room from me, and I was so thankful for that time together.

Monday: Back in school

It was an odd feeling, returning to class on Monday. Like I had never really been away.

My week began with Greek, which meant I hit the ground running. We spent most of the class time talking about what we would be focusing on this term, and what Rhona expected us to have finished by the next time we met.

Looks of horror spread across the faces of those seated around me, as fingers and eyes flipped through page after page of Greek translations to complete. It seemed insurmountable, more than we could possibly do or know, on top of the rest of our studies. But Rhona spoke of it like it was nothing, of course. I think she honestly believes students can learn Greek by osmosis. By simply looking at the pages for a few moments. I think that’s how she learned it. Fresh out of the womb. She’s brilliant.

Lyndon and I were chatting about the workload as we left class that morning, as we were unlocking our bikes.

“And now I see why the Oxford name carries a certain cache,” he said with a large grin.

“Yeah, no kidding. It’s there for a reason,” I told him as I got on my bike and made my way to the library to get started on my reading list for the week.

Oxford attire

I couldn’t help but take in the different outfits of those passing through the library while I was supposed to be reading. My head lifting up with each passerby. After being away from Oxford for a while, I was reminded how unique men dress here in Oxford.

Very academic, for the most part. Particularly those who aren’t 18 and straight out of high school.

Lots of tweed jackets with v-neck sweaters, dress shirts and ties. Pointed leather shoes. And turtle shell rimmed glasses. Messy hair and scarves. Unkept, not polished, seems to be the Oxford way. Too flashy or showy seems to be very much “un-Oxford.” No whites, or light or bright colors, but dark browns and greys and black earthy colors.

It feels like an escape, in a way. Being here. Into history. Into the classics. And I suppose you can’t help but feel that way, when you study in libraries that are nearly as old as The United States, and when you’re daily walking past buildings that are 800 years old.

Oxford, where young men dress like old men. Where modernity, it seems, is shunned.

Tuesday: Sitting with Felix

Jane told me shortly after I arrived that Beng was away on vacation. I let her know that I was happy to help with anything until she returned, if needed. She thanked me, and then asked if I might be willing to “babysit” Felix Tuesday night. I thought it odd, referring to hanging out with a 12-year old boy as babysitting, but I told her I’d be happy to.

Felix is a great kid, and I was looking forward to getting to hang out with him again. It’s something I’ve wanted to do more, but things here don’t leave a whole lot of free time.

Felix was working on Latin homework at the dining room table when I crossed the hall and made my way into their home Tuesday night. He greeted me with that large, toothy grin of his. It was great to see him again.

Jane and I caught up and talked about our holidays. She asked if the baby had come yet. Jen’s sister’s first. We had been hoping she’d arrive before I left, but we had no such luck, I told her.

“Jen’s getting pretty excited for her to arrive at this point,” I told Jane. “I think everyone is.”

“I bet so,” she said, with that same wide grin that Felix has.

“Oh, I booked our skiing trip today, Felix,” she said. Turning quickly to where he was seated at the table.

“Felix and I are heading to Switzerland for some skiing in February,” she told me with a look of excitement. But nonchalent excitement, like it wasn’t completely out of the norm for them.

It was for me, as I’m sure my large eyes gave away.

“Oh wow. That sounds great!” I said.

She walked over to where Felix was seated at the dining room table working on latin and asked him to sit up straight. He did. I smiled, to myself.

“He might like some pudding later on. Help yourself to anything in the fridge,” she told me. I smiled and thanked her.

Jane went through Felix’s bedtime with me, “Lights out at 9:00,” and she asked me to look over Felix’s work, if I wouldn’t mind. I was actually considering asking Felix to look over my Greek, but I told her I would, not knowing how I would actually know whether or not he had done what was being asked.

After Felix had wrapped up his Latin homework for the night, he told me he needed to go feed his rabits. He asked if I wanted to join him. I told him that’d be great. It was dark outside, and so Felix snagged a pair of goggles from a table in the corner of the room.

“They’re night vision goggles. I got them for Christmas,” he told me, while holding them out to me.” Would you like to try them?

“Cooool…,” I said, like a kid seeing his buddy’s new toy. “Yeah, I’d love to try them out.”

I’m not one to pass up on night-vision goggles. We walked out to the rabbit cage, me holding the goggles to my face, and he told me about the fox they had spotted in their backyard with the goggles.

I considered telling him I had received some pretty great wool socks for Christmas, and how they were keeping my feet nice and warm, but I decided against it.

We played some cricket in the large entryway of their home after feeding the rabbits. Felix ran over the different batting styles of the game. I was surprised to hear it’s still called batting. And not punting or something else, just to be different.

Grizz, their small dog, hated that we were playing with her tennis ball, and she’d constantly try to get it until we finally gave up and tossed her the ball.

“Would you like to watch some Simpsons?” Felix asked me, after throwing in the towel on our game of Cricket.

“I would love to, yeah,” I said. “I haven’t watched Simpsons in years.”

Seated there, in their living room, watching The Simpsons with Felix, I thought about all the studying I needed to get done. All the Greek I had waiting for me. But then I remembered I was being paid to watch The Simpsons with Felix and all of a sudden those studies didn’t seem quite so important.

One of the (three) episodes we watched involved the family going to an apple farm. Grandpa Simpson went with them. When they were leaving, he took his seat in the backseat. Marge quickly asked, “Oh no! Are you sitting on the apple pie?!”

“I sure hope so…” he replied.

Felix laughed quite hard at that point. “I sure hope so,” he repeated to himself, eyes glued to the TV screen.

After one of the episodes had finished, Felix got up and made his way to the kitchen.

“I like enjoying pudding while I watch The Simpsons,” he told me. He really is a smart kid, I thought to myself.

“Would you like some ice cream?”

We enjoyed our dessert, or pudding, while watching a couple more episodes of The Simpsons.

During a commercial break, Felix asked me if I had heard his dad had started another paper. I knew he co-owned two papers in London already.

“No, no I hadn’t heard that,” I told him.

“Yeah, it’s called The I, and it’s a short paper. Just the basics.”

About five seconds later, a commercial came on the TV announcing a new, concise newspaper. “Only what you need, none of gossip you don’t,” the narrator’s voice spoke. It was a great commercial.

“There, that’s it,” Felix said.

I had to laugh. It all seemed quite unreal.

After several episodes of The Simpsons, I told Felix it looked like it was about time to start getting ready for bed. I followed him upstairs and waited outside his door as he brushed his teeth and got changed for bed.

I told him goodnight and turned off the light as I left. “Thanks for watching me tonight,” he said as I left. It put a smile on my face. This kid is a stud; he’s so polite.

“You’re so welcome, Felix. It was a lot of fun.”

Becoming An Uncle

I returned to the living room and pulled my Greek textbook and notebook from my bag. I figured I would get some work done while I waited for Jane to return home.

But I couldn’t. My mind was elsewhere. Thinking about the e-mail Jen had sent me just before I came over to Jane’s. Telling me Leann’s contractions were getting closer, and that they would likely be heading to the hospital that day. That Khloe would probably be arriving soon.

I tried to put my head down on my Greek, knowing I had vocab to memorize for a quiz the next morning, but I couldn’t focus. Finally, I pulled out my laptop to check my e-mail. Hoping I would have an update from Jen, as I had asked her to keep me posted.

Sure enough, Ben & Leann had left for the hospital, and Jen and her parents weren’t far behind. Khloe was on her way, it seemed!

I was so excited. More so than I expected to be. But I was also sad at the same point. I think it took receiving that e-mail to realize this is something I’m going to miss, being here. The birth of my first niece, and I wouldn’t be there to experience it.

Jen had asked Ben & Leann if it would be all right to bring the laptop into the room with them, so that I could be a part of things. Not during the birth, obviously. But before, while they were waiting. And afterward.

It was nearly 11:00 by the time I got back that night. After Jane returned.

I was quick to get online and Skype with Jen and Ben & Leann and Tim & Rhonda. To see them all there, in the birthing room. Getting ready for Khloe’s arrival.

I was so excited Khloe was finally coming, and it was so good to see them. They hadn’t slept much the past several days, apparently, but you could tell they were terribly excited as well.

I stayed up for a couple more hours. Studying Greek for my quiz. And taking breaks to check in with Jen.

By 1:00, Leann wasn’t far from giving birth, they told me, but I was fading fast. I told them I was probably going to need to turn in.

Jen told me they’d Skype in with me after Khloe arrived, if I wanted to leave my computer on. So I did. I turned the volume up as high as it would go and I left it at the foot of the stairs leading up to our bedroom, knowing the wireless signal isn’t strong in our room, and I didn’t want to miss out.

I told Jen goodnight and went to bud, a little past 1:00.

At around 6:00 that morning, a beeping noise woke me from my sleep. It took me several seconds to realize what was going on, but I stumbled toward the source of the noise, with one eye open and one eye still shut.

I spotted my laptop at the foot of the stairs and, even in my sleepy-state, I quickly realized what was going on. Khloe had arrived!

The first thing I saw after taking the call was Jennifer holding baby Khloe, and suddenly I was filled with incredible joy. I sat down on the stairs in my pajamas, held the laptop up close to my face and said, “Oh wow. . .that is amazing. She is so beautiful!”

Jen was smiling from ear to ear at this point. Smiling like I hadn’t seen her in a long, long time.

I couldn’t get over what a beautiful baby she was. Even while struggling to wake up, I was taken aback by her perfect features. Her perfectly round button nose. Her beautiful round face.

“That is so amazing,” I said again.

Seated there, on the stairs that early morning in Oxford, the house still dark and the light of the laptop illuminating my face, I was taken aback by the beauty of this baby. And what an incredible blessing she was to our family in what has been a pretty difficult time. This past year has been full of some of the deepest, darkest pain we’ve ever known, after losing Hayley. And yet, here, before us, was this beautiful baby girl. This gift of light and joy. From God. Almost as if to say, “Here I am. In all the dark and in all your pain, I still delight in giving good gifts.”

I was terribly disappointed I wasn’t there to experience, first-hand, this moment with my family. It hurt deeply. I wanted with all I had just to reach out and grab a hold of Khloe. So that I might hold her in my arms. But I realized I couldn’t. And I realized I would have to wait six months before I could. I wondered if I would one day look at Khloe, after she was several years old, playing by the lake as a beautiful little girl, and regret that I had not been there for this moment. Ben & Lean had said time and time again that they understood I couldn’t be there, after I apologized time and time again. They shrugged it off, saying there was nothing to forgive me for. I wondered if I’d be able to forgive myself.

But those thoughts of disappointment quickly turned to joy. Joy for Ben & Leann, and the beautiful, healthy baby girl they had been blessed with. For the family she was born into, and knowing how deeply she would be loved and cared for. Knowing what wonderful parents Ben & Leann were going to be to her. What amazing grandparents Tim & Rhonda would be. How Jen was going to be the most incredible aunt. And how I couldn’t wait to spoil her as an uncle should. Those thoughts brought me great joy.

Baby Khloe Dawn Van Dyken, welcome to the world. It is more beautiful now that you have entered into it, and we are so delighted to have you. (Click here for a bit of mood music to accompany the photos).

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