Archives for posts with tag: Mere Christianity

Monday: Lunch at one of Oxford’s oldest colleges & Embarrassed in the library (again)

I started off my third week of the term with lunch at Balliol College. I was meeting Myriam, Secretary for the C.S. Lewis Society, as well as a couple past presidents, Judith and Brendan, who are now back in Oxford after spending some time studying in Germany. We were meeting so they could share some of their advice on running the Society. Advice I was keen to hear.

I had been to Balliol for a lecture before, but never for lunch. As one of the oldest colleges at Oxford (it was established in 1263), its architecture is classic Oxford. Lots of old stone buildings set atop stretching green grounds, with giant wooden and metal doors. Narrow, stone corridors, with cobblestone walkways, lead you from one quad to another. It’s one of those colleges where, if you let yourself, you can really feel as though you’ve just traveled back in time.

And it was while the four of us were making our way across the college grounds, up the large, wide staircase that leads to Balliol’s dining hall, that I found myself thinking, “This really is such an incredible place!” And I love it. I love all of it. I love the people, people who come from all over the world. I love the accents (the British more than any others). And I love the history of this city. The kind of history I’ve rarely experienced anywhere else, and which hits you in the face around every corner.

We made our way into the dining hall for lunch. I took note of the beautiful, dark hardwood floor. The afternoon sun was pouring in through high, arching windows on one side of the room. It was the kind of place where you feel like you’re dining in a really old chapel, with the high-arching windows and the ornate, wood-carved walls.

Following our conversation over lunch (a tasty Indian lamb dish), we made our way out of Balliol College, around the corner and down St Giles Street to St John’s College, where Judith is a member of the faculty. To carry on the conversation over a walk around the college grounds. I had never been inside St John’s college before, so I was excited to see it. St John’s is known for being one of the most well endowed colleges here at Oxford. They own most, if not all, of the city street the college sits on, as well as an enormous amount of property around England.

The college grounds at St John’s include beautiful, stretching gardens. Set behind its high, college walls. And taking it all in on our walk, I couldn’t help but feel so privileged. For being a member of the university and having access to all of this beauty that’s hidden behind the stone walls that line St John’s perimeter, separating all of this from the outside city. Brendan was filling me in on much of the Society’s history as we walked. Brendan is tall, with short, dark hair, and a long, thick beard that he strokes as he talks. As if to help him think. As Brendan was leading the conversation, I noticed Judith taking in individual trees along the trail of our walk. She’d pause for a moment as we passed several along the way, as if she knew them. As if she were checking on the health of an old friend. While Brendan continued on in his deep, monotone voice, stroking his beard in the afternoon sun that washed over the college’s green grounds.

On our way out of the College, we peaked our heads into the small chapel. I always like to see the different chapels around Oxford when I visit a college. They’re always unique, and they tend to reflect a particular college’s character. Inside the St John’s College, I noticed a symbol I had seen before, at the “Lamb & Flag,” a nearby pub. It was of a white lamb carrying a flag over one shoulder. It was unique, and I had never noticed it before coming to Oxford.

“What does this symbol mean?” I asked, turning to Brendan and Judith.

“It comes from St John’s Gospel, and it represents the Christ,” Brendan replied, quoting a passage from Scripture: “Behold, the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world.”

“Oh yeah… Okay, well that makes sense.”

We said our goodbyes and thanked Brendan and Judith for their time before Myriam and I made our way back to our respective libraries. For more studying.

Embarrassed in the library

I picked up a cell phone charger on the way, as I had somehow misplaced the charger for my UK cell phone over the summer. I plugged it in when I got back to the library at Harris Manchester. Since it had been turned off for several months, apparently the settings had been reset, including the volume… Because of this, when it had enough battery power, it notified me I had several messages in a not-so-subtle fashion. It began in a quiet voice, but then it grew louder: “message… Message… MESSAGE!” finally reaching its crescendo in a shrieking voice, as I frantically punched the buttons, trying to quiet it.

Finally it went silent, but not before my cheeks began to burn with embarrassment. Memories of the time when I opened my laptop in the Bodleian Library and Barlow Girl’s song “I need you to love me” came blaring out for several seconds, interrupting the otherwise pin-drop silence. What a horrible experience… Fortunately people in HMC are more forgiving; I didn’t feel as though I needed to pack up my things and leave, as I had done in the Bodleian.

Tuesday: When my mind woke up & Lewis Society

I was invited to hear a talk from a guy by the name of William Lane Craig on Tuesday. He’s a philosopher from the States, and he’s also one of the world’s leading Christian apologists. Professor Craig was giving a talk at the Sheldonian Theatre here in Oxford that evening, which I couldn’t attend (because of my commitments with the Lewis Society). Professor Craig regularly travels and debates on the existence of God, and he had given Richard Dawkins, perhaps the world’s most well-known Atheist, an open-invitation for a debate here in Oxford. Unfortunately, Dawkins hadn’t taken him up on the offer.

A while back, a group of Atheists sponsored an advertising campaign where they ran a series of bus ads that said, “There’s probably no God. Now stop worrying and enjoy your life.” After Dawkins turned down Professor William Lane Craig’s invite for a debate at the Sheldonian Theatre, a series of bus ads began running around Oxford that read, “There’s probably no Dawkins. Now stop worrying and enjoy October 25th at the Sheldonian Theatre.” I thought that was pretty clever.

Since I knew I wouldn’t be able to listen to Craig respond to Dawkins’s latest book at the Sheldonian that night, I was happy to get to hear him talk for a bit at this by-invite lunch event. I took a seat by Max, who I hadn’t seen since returning to Oxford, and I pulled out a small notebook to take down some notes while I listened.

I had never heard Professor Craig before, but I was really impressed. He’s clearly a very intelligent guy, but I was impressed by just how articulate and easy to listen to he is. He talked about why he feels Christian Apologetics are important, both for the speaker and for the listener, and then he took about an hour’s worth of questions from those who had come to hear him. And one thing he mentioned that afternoon, in particular, stuck with me in a lasting way. Mostly because it’s one of the things that I took away from reading C.S. Lewis’s book, Mere Christianity, for the first time. And, in that way, it’s really the reason I’m here. It was in the middle of this particular talk that Professor Craig said, “People need to know the Gospel is a viable option for the thinking person.” And I found myself sitting in the middle of the audience, grinning in agreement.

After the talk, while we were still thanking Professor Craig for his talk with a round of applause, I leaned over to Max and said, “It is so good to be back here. I feel like my soul and my mind are waking up from a bit of hibernation over the summer.”

Max smiled. He agreed. I grabbed a sandwich on our way out of the talk, and I made my way back to the Harris Manchester Library for a bit of reading before meeting for dinner and the C.S. Lewis Society that evening.

Dinner & C.S. Lewis Society

I had arranged for a small dinner with our speaker for the night, Dr Michael Ward, along with two other people. Dr Michael Ward is Oxford’s resident Lewis expert, and he’s also supervising my extended essay on Lewis & Pagan mythology.

We talked over dinner about Dr Ward’s talk for the night (“Lewis on Tragedy”), and a number of other things. One of the other people joining us for dinner on this particular evening was an American girl who’s currently working on her PhD in London. Somehow or another we got onto the topic of wearing pajamas to class in college back in the States, and she said she never really sees that here in the UK.

Dr Ward wore a look of disgust on his face when she asked if that was something he ever experienced here.

“No, not at all,” he said in his proper British accent, still looking as though he had just tasted something rather sour.

He told us about a story that ran in the paper recently regarding “the horrors” of people at the market in their pajamas.

“That gives you an idea of how people in England feel about others going out in public in their pajamas,” he told us.

That evening, when I got up to make a few announcements before introducing Dr Ward as our speaker for the evening, I made the mistake of saying “dollars” instead of “pounds” when I was mentioning the cost of Society membership. It got a laugh from the crowd, but not the kind of laugh I was hoping for. I tried to shrug it off by saying I had just returned to England and was still working on re-adjusting, clearly, but I found my mind stuck on it, even as I continued with the rest of the announcements. This resulted in me slipping up on my introduction for Dr Ward, and stumbling through the name of his most well-known book, “Planet Narnia.” I quickly finished the introduction and found my seat in the front row. Wanting to bury my head in the hardwood floor, I instead pretended to listen intently.

Following Dr Ward’s talk, and a brief time of Q&A, I took my seat at the head of the long table on one side of the room. It was the evening of our Annual General Meeting (AGM), and several of the Society’s longest-standing members, as well as a handful of newer members, stuck around to discuss details of the Society. Plans for the rest of the year, transitions in the role of our Treasurer, etc. And it was only a few moments into our meeting that I realized there was an understood structure to the AGM, I had never actually sat through one, and now I was responsible to lead this one… I did my best to pretend as though I had everything under control and knew exactly what I was doing, but my disguise quickly wore off, and people were interjecting to make points on items I had overlooked. Clearly, this was not how I had hoped the evening would go.

As different people spoke, I found my eyes wandering to the second story window, and my mind wandering to the question of how long it would be before the group decided to grab me by the ankles and toss me out. Then I looked down the length of the long table we were all seated at, and at the other head of the table, I saw Walter. He was wearing his yellow coat, which he tends to wear, over his tweed jacket. And he was listening intently to the conversation at hand. And that’s when I found myself thinking, “If things get out of hand, if it becomes clear I am in over my head and this group decides to throw me out of this second-story window, then surely Walter will stick up for me.” And with that thought I began to feel more at ease, and I was able to close up the meeting with more confidence than I had before.

But after my failed introduction and after not knowing the formalities of the AGM, I made my way back to the Kilns feeling rather incompetent and inadequate for my role. And the worst part was I had a long bus ride / walk home to think about it.

It was 11:30 by the time I made it home that night. After a 17-hr day, I was exhausted. But it wasn’t over yet. I still had some reading to get done. Before I got to my reading, though, I greeted Jen in our room and talked with her a bit about the meeting. And then I made my way to get a cup of tea to accompany my reading. And it was there, in the kitchen, that I found a note on the fridge. A note that seemed to speak to me exactly where I was, with with the precise words I needed to hear.

It was a passage from Matthew 6, but in a translation I did not recognize. And as I stood there in the middle of this kitchen just before midnight, these are the words I found myself reading:

If God gives such attention to the appearance of wildflowers, most of which are never even seen, don’t you think He’ll attend to you, take pride in you, do His best for you? What I’m trying to do here is to get you to relax, to not be so preoccupied with getting, so you can respond to God’s giving. Steep your life in God . . . Don’t worry about missing out. You’ll find all your concerns will be met.”

It was a translation that would’ve given my Greek Tutor cold sweats, as it was clearly modernized, but these words met me exactly where I needed to be met. And I was glad it was so late, and that the kitchen was empty, because the words put a tear in my eye. And then another. And I found myself comforted. Comforted in the fact that I am feeling so overwhelmed and inadequate because I am placing my confidence in myself, rather than in Him. And once I realized that, or, more appropriately, once I was reminded of that, I found myself comforted. Comforted in the fact that the same God who brought us here, to Oxford and to all of this, is still the same God looking out for us now that we’re here. And He’s not about to forget about us, even when I feel inadequate and overwhelmed. It was a good reminder that I need to place my confidence in myself. Or else I will always feel inadequate for the challenges we will find in this life.

Wednesday: 1st Formal Dinner

I signed Jen and I up for Wednesday night’s formal dinner at my college. It was the first formal guest night of the term, so I was excited to experience that again.

I woke up Wednesday morning, got ready, and then grabbed my suit and threw it on my bike before heading to town. I’d need it for dinner that evening, and I didn’t feel like wearing it all day, so I figured I’d bring it to college and then change before dinner that night.

The bike Rob gave me when the Gareys left has a hand basket from a grocery store tied down behind the seat for storage. The metal hand baskets you see in grocery stores, with blue plastic handles. I laughed the first time I saw it. It looks ridiculously tacky. But I decided to leave it on, thinking it might come in handy. Sure enough, I was thankful to have it this Wednesday when I threw my suit in it and made my way into town.

It was just starting to rain when I left the house, so I biked to the pelting of sporadic, cold rain drops against my cheeks. As I approached Headington Hill, which is a steady, long hill that drops just as you approach the city center, I reaching behind to make sure my suit was still there. In the metal handbasket. Fortunately it was. I made it to Harris Manchester Handing with my suit still intact and I handed it off to Amanda in the office when I arrived–she’d keep it for me until I needed it–before heading to the library for a day’s worth of reading.

I was getting ready to take a test on Friday, which I had missed while I was back in the States. It was on the European Reformation, which I studied in the Spring. I had a lot of reading to get ready for it.

I printed off a bunch of my old notes to study, as well as several of John Ash’s old essays (was we had taken the course together, and we exchanged essays each week). And all of a sudden, I felt as though my essay should be written in color crayons, when compared to his work…

In reading John’s essay to myself, I noticed that I found myself thinking in a British accent. It was a weird feeling, and I had never noticed it before.

Lewis Essay & A Formal Dinner

At 5:00, I made my way across town to St Peter’s College, as I had a meeting with Dr Michael Ward on an essay I was preparing on the topic of Lewis & Pagan mythology. I had been working on it all summer, and this was our first time going over my draft together.

He welcomed me into his office with a “Hello, Ryan Jehosafat Pemberton,” in his proper, posh British accent. Dr Ward didn’t know my middle name for the longest time, but he knew my middle initial, so he still makes up middle names for me, from time to time. It always puts a smile on my face.

We talked about my paper for a while. He was very helpful with his feedback. Giving me ideas on where to cut back, and where to add more. Giving me ideas of which books to look into.

And I found myself sitting there, in Dr Ward’s office with him, with this guy who is both a friend and a supervisor, and one of the world’s leading experts on CS Lewis, and just thinking how unreal all of this (still) is to me.

After our meeting, I hurried back to Harris Manchester and threw on my suit and gown for dinner. Jen was on her way from the Kilns when she missed her bus, as she called to let me know. She grabbed another, but she ended up being a few minutes late. I was standing at the stone gate leading into college when she arrived. She had run to make it on time, after being dropped off by the bus several blocks away. In her high heels, no less. She looked so beautiful. And I told her that, before entering the dining hall, through the large, arched wooden doors.

We took our seat at the end of the long middle table. The three tables, as well as the head table, were all packed when we arrived. Filled with men in their suits and gowns, and women in their dresses. Everyone all done up for the formal meal.

And the dinner was amazing. Salmon for appetizers, followed by a wonderful beef roast for dinner. We were seated next to a girl from Shanghai, and another from San Francisco. I told them we were from Seattle, and the girl from Shanghai said, “Oh, Starbucks!”

“That’s right,” I said with a laugh. Before thinking to myself, “That’s better than ‘Sleepless in Seattle’,” a reference I tend to get here more than I ever thought I would when people here hear where we’re from.

Most of the evening was spent to ourselves in conversation. Just Jen and I. Which was nice. It was almost as though we had gotten all dressed up and gone out for a really nice meal together. As busy as things have been here, it was much needed.

And as the evening carried on, I found myself sitting back on my chair and taking it all in. This enormous, beautiful, old dining hall, that looks a bit like a scene out of Harry Potter. Filled with the voices of Oxford students and friends and family. Filled with laughter and the sounds of dishes coming and going. Filled with the sounds of, in my case, dreams coming true.

I turned to Jen, with these thoughts floating through my head, and I said, “Our life looks so incredibly different now. Just think, we wouldn’t have had any of these experiences if we hadn’t decided to ever go after this.”

And I thanked Jen. Not only for being willing to leave all she knew back home to move here so I could study, and to put her own dreams of settling down and starting a family on hold, but for being the first person to encourage me to go after this. Long before I ever said the words “Oxford University” to anyone else, I told Jen about this dream. It was shortly after we were married, while we were still living in our first apartment. It was there I shared this dream of one day studying at Oxford with her. And from the very first, she had always encouraged me to go after this.

Looking over at her from across this table in Harris Manchester, this long table filled with talks of studies and travel and life, I realized how incredibly blessed I am to have this woman in my life. I could not have asked for a better companion to travel through this life with. She is far better than I could ever deserve.

As we made our way out of the dining hall that evening, we heard a voice from behind us call out, “Aha, I knew I’d spot you here, Jennifer!”

The voice came from an older woman who’s studying here with her husband. They’re both from Wales. She taught English and he had his own law firm before they moved here last year. She’s a short, petite, sweetheart of a woman. With a hair full of curly hair and a squinty smile that’s always beaming. He’s tall and wears glasses. He usually hangs in the background, like a tree, and lets her carry the conversation, only interjecting to make a witty comment here and there. She always makes a point to say “Hi” to Jen when she sees her, and she makes us both feel at home in a place that feels so very much unlike our home.

“And look at this,” she said, pointing out the ruffles on Jen’s dress. “With a black coat… I like that!” Jen smiled. And thanked her.

“So wonderful to see you both,” she said matter of factly, wearing her squinty smile as she exited the large, arched door into the dark night, with her tall husband looming behind her. He turned to offer us a soft smile and a head nod as he followed her to their room in the college.

Thursday: Breakfast with the guys & A thankful tour

I began Thursday by meeting a group of guys over breakfast. Rich, Max and I are all studying theology here, and we got together regularly last year. Usually weekly. To talk life and faith and studies. And another guy, by the name of Britton, was joining us this morning. Britton’s also studying theology here. He and his wife are from Hawaii. And they’re also in their second year here. It was nice to have him join us.

We met at Giraffe. An eclectic place with brightly colored walls. And a menu that is heavy on organic options. I ordered the breakfast burrito. And Max ordered the stack of pancakes. Max always orders the stack of pancakes. The restaurant’s eccentric decor and tasty food provided the perfect accent to our conversation, and I found myself thankful for the opportunity to share life with these guys.

A Thankful Tour

I had a tour that afternoon back at the Kilns, so after a bit of studying, I made my way back to the bus stop and back to the Kilns. I arrived early enough to grab a quick lunch with Jen before the group arrived, a rare treat. Soon the doorbell was ringing to let us know the tour had arrived and Jen was slipping into a room to get some work done. And to evade the guests.

This particular tour was from a group of elderly British women. They had a name for themselves, too. “Aging with Grace,” or something along those lines. They were a wonderful group. Very kind and attentive. And I think since they were older, and British, they could relate to a lot of the things I shared with them about Lewis. Things that younger, American tourists might be able to appreciate as much (such as living in war-time England and the like, things that largely influenced his writing).

Interestingly, only one of the women really seemed to have read much of Lewis’s books. The rest only seemed to know bits and pieces about him. Which I thought was great, as I got to answer a lot of great questions.

Halfway through the tour, one of the women who wasn’t very familiar with C.S. Lewis said, “He really sounds like a wonderful man,” with her eyebrows low, revealing a sense of seriousness.

“Yeah, I think he was, from all that I know about him, and from what others have told me,” I replied.

As I wrapped up the tour that afternoon, that same older woman thanked me for the tour, and then she asked me for the person in charge. I clarified who she might be looking to reach, and then I tracked down Dr Stan Matson‘s contact information (Dr Matson is Founder and President of the CS Lewis Foundation). When I asked her why she was interested in getting in touch with him, she said it was because she was wanting to let him know what a wonderful job I had done.

“I wasn’t very excited to come today, but now I just want to go home and read C.S. Lewis,” she told me as she was preparing to leave.

“Oh, good,” I said with a wide smile. “Well, mission accomplished, then.”

As soon as the group was gone, Jen popped up from around the corner with a cookie in one hand and a hot cup of tea in the other.

“Oh, wow!” I said with a look of surprise. “Thank you hun!”

She asked me how the tour had gone, and I shared the woman’s comments with her. But I didn’t have long to elaborate, or to enjoy my tea, for that matter, as I had a meeting back at Harris Manchester that I was supposed to be at. With the Principal and Senior Tutor. A meeting I could not be late for.

Meeting with the Principal & Senior Tutor

I made it back to Harris Manchester just in time for my meeting. Or so I thought. I ran to the flight of stairs leading up to the Principal’s office, where we’d be meeting, only to find that there were still several people ahead of me, and that things were running late. And so, after waiting for 20 minutes or so, and talking with several other students, I was called into Principal Waller’s office, by the Principal himself. He greeted me with his old familiar warm smile as he welcomed him into the room. Lesley, the Senior Tutor, was seated in her old familiar spot, by the window.

All of the Finalists (final year students) at Harris Manchester were required to sit in on these meetings. To discuss their plans for the final year, and to make sure each Finalist felt like they were doing okay leading up to final exams.

“Frankly, a lot of Finalists like to forget about the fact that they will soon be taking their finals,” Lesley said with a bit of a smirk, “but that doesn’t make the reality of finals go away.”

I told them I did, in fact, realize that I’d be finishing that year, and that I felt like I had a good idea of what I needed to do in the mean-time.

Principal Waller asked what I was taking this term, and what I had left to take before starting on preparations for my finals. And so I told them.

“Well, it certainly sounds like you’re going to be busy,” he said in response, in that voice that always sounds a bit sympathetic, no matter what he’s saying. And then, as if to show he really was concerned, his eyebrows pushed together in the middle of his forehead, and they lowered to just over his eyes as he spoke again, “Do make sure you use the vacation. Get away from studies and get caught up on rest. You will need it.”

It actually surprised me to hear Principal Waller say this. Most of my tutors give me a stack of books they’d like me to use to work on revisions over the holidays, which always makes it seem a bit less like vacation. But here was Principal Waller telling me to make sure I get caught up on rest. I’ve always knew I liked this guy.

I thanked Lesley and Principal Waller for their time as we shook hands and I let myself out of his office. It’s funny how nervous I was the first time I had a meeting with the Principal and Senior Tutor, and how incredibly comfortable I am with them now. It’s funny how much that’s changed, in such a short period of time.

Coming home to a smile

I followed up my meeting with some studies in the library. A couple hours’ worth, before gathering up my things and making my way home for dinner. I hopped on a bus on High Street and continued reading while the bus carried us through the dark Oxford roads that lead to the Kilns, stopping only for a moment to let passengers off. And others on.

20 minutes later I was getting off at the end of Lewis Close, and walking the 100 yards or so to the Kilns. Passing through the gate in the front hedges, I made my way around to the front of the house, on the pebbled walking path, and as I did, I stepped into the light that was pouring out through the kitchen windows. And it was there I caught a scene that made me stop in my tracks and take it in.

It was Jen, in the kitchen, standing side by side with Debbie at the AGA stove. They were making dinner together. And they were both smiling. And I found myself frozen by this scene. I found myself stopped dead in my tracks, thinking “She looks so happy.” And the smile on Jen’s face took me back. To the first time I saw it. More than 10 years ago now. When she was being crowned Homecoming royalty in our high school auditorium. I was just a Junior in high school at the time. Jen was a freshman. And it wasn’t long after that that I went home and told my Mom I believed God created that smile just for me. And now, more than 10 years later, it was still stopping me dead in my tracks.

As I stood outside the Kilns on this particular night. Outside of C.S. Lewis’s old home. And as the light from the kitchen and this scene poured out of the kitchen onto the walking path where I now stood in the darkness, I found myself in awe of all God has done. In giving me this beautiful, incredible woman as my wife. In allowing me to enjoy all of this journey with my high school sweetheart. And for all of the blessings He has poured out on our lives along the way. It’s all more than I could ever hope for or dream of. And yet, and yet it’s exactly what He’s given us. And I couldn’t be more grateful.

Thanks for reading.

Steve and I woke up Saturday morning and headed to the city center for a workout at the gym. I went to grab my gloves on the way out when I realized they were nowhere to be found…

The same gloves that had been reunited only days before when my missing glove mysteriously appeared in my mailbox were now missing. Both of them. They weren’t in my bag pocket, where I had left them.

“They must’ve fallen out somewhere in the city center, again,” I told Steve as we left the house.

I had to laugh at the irony of the situation. Maybe both will show up in my mailbox next week with a sign that reads, “This is the last time!” I thought to myself as we walked along Banbury Road to the city center.

Sunday: Introducing Steve to Walter’s Home

When I visited Walter for tea shortly after returning to Oxford at the start of the term, I had told him that Steve would be coming out to visit the following week. Steve had met Walter when we first visited the Kilns last fall, and Walter regularly asks how Steve is doing. Walter’s good about things like that. He’s always asking questions that shows he cares.

After hearing that Steve would be in town, Walter said it would be nice to see him again. I suggested the three of us find a time to get together for dinner, perhaps. Walter liked that idea, and he invited us over for dinner that Sunday evening Steve would be in town. I had mentioned the idea to Steve over e-mail before he arrived, and he loved it. After hearing about our time with Walter, he was looking forward to seeing him again, and to someday seeing his home. I told him he’d love it.

So that’s what we did. After church that morning, and working away from the house that afternoon, Steve and I ventured north to Walter’s house. Stopping briefly in Summertown to pick up something for dessert. I told Walter we’d take care of dessert, since he was preparing a meal for us. He didn’t seem to mind that idea.

We made it to Walter’s home just after six that night. He greeted us at the door, with that huge, warm smile of his, and big eyes behind his glasses.

“Hello,” Walter said, welcoming us and inviting us in. “Let me take your coats.”

I greeted Walter with a hug and handed the dessert to him, explaining that it’d need some time to bake.

“Of course,” he said. “I’ll take it into the kitchen; I’m sure my French chef Benoit will know what to do with it.”

I smiled. I had never heard of “Benoit” before.

Before leaving the front entryway, I pointed out a picture that hung on the wall to Steve .

“Walter with Lewis,” I said.

“Oh, wow.”

Walter returned from the kitchen and pointed out by name all the people in the photos that hung on his walls.

“And this, this is a view of the Kilns before the house next door to it that you saw was built,” Walter explained, helping orient us to the photo.

“They had quite a bit more room back then, from the looks of it,” I said.

“Well come into the living room,” Walter said, waving us along to follow him, which we did.

“This is great,” Steve said as we entered the room.

Walter’s living room has quickly become my favorite place in Oxford. It’s so incredibly comfortable. With the fireplace and large, comfortable chairs seated around it. With the books stacked high along the walls. And not to mention that Walter always has a hot pot of tea and some sort of treat waiting.

Walter showed Steve around the room, pointing out different things along the way.

“This statue shows how movement was first introduced into sculptures,” Walter explained, pointing toward the life-size statue in the corner of the room.

“Prior to this, you didn’t see this kind of movement. The Egyptians, for example, created their statues so that their arms were at their side and their legs were straight. But, by raising this leg just so, you create this movement in the rest of the sculpture.”

Walter continued the tour, pointing out the small table in the corner of the room that had been Lewis’ when he was a young boy, and the small humidor that used to be Lewis’.

“This isn’t his tobacco, though,” Walter explained, as he held it up for us to smell.

He pointed out the illustrations on the wall. Illustrations from the Chronicles of Narnia series. The original illustrations. Crazy. And then he asked us to excuse him while he returned to the kitchen to check on Benoit. His French chef. To make sure everything was coming along okay.

He invited us to have a look around, and to help ourselves to anything. So we did.

I found my way to Walter’s book shelves and allowed my eyes to read over the titles and authors.

“He really did a great job with the colors here,” Steve said. “Even in the entryway. The green works great with the photos of the house and the grass.”

“Yeah, he knows what he’s doing, for sure,” I said from across the room.

Walter’s second passion, to literature and all things Lewis, is sculpture. And he has a fair share of it spread throughout the room. As well as several pieces of art hanging from the wall.

“Here’s a picture of Walter with the Pope,” I said, pointing to a framed photo on the wall, beside one of the framed pieces of art. Walter’s a pretty big fan of the Pope.

Walter returned from the kitchen to tell us Benoit had everything under control, and that dinner would be ready shortly.

Steve told him he had done a great job decorating. And how much he liked the color choice.

“Oh, well thank you. I’m so glad to hear you like it,” he told Steve.

They talked for a while about the particular colors, and why they were chosen. A conversation which I, as a colorblind guy, didn’t appreciate nearly as much as they did.

Walter invited us to take a seat beside the fire. He helped us to some tea, and he held out a plate full of puffed pastries.

“They’re sausage rolls,” he told Steve. “Have you had one before?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Well surely you have,” Walter said, turning toward me with the plate.

“Yeah, yeah I have. They’re really good, but we don’t have them back home,” I said, taking a bite. “Probably the closest thing I can think of would be pigs in a blanket, but they’re not quite the same.”

We talked for a while over tea and sausage rolls, while “Benoit” finished preparing dinner. Walter asked us what we had planned for Steve’s time in Oxford.

“Oh, well, we’re not quite sure yet,” I told him.

“I just enjoy being here and hanging out, really,” Steve piped in. “I love Oxford, but I’m not much of a tourist.”

“Have you made it to the Trout yet?” Walter asked, turning to me.

“No, no I haven’t, but I remember you telling me about that before. Still haven’t made it.”

“Oh, well you absolutely must go.”

The Trout is an old inn that has been turned into a restaurant, which sits right on the river. Walter had told Jen and I about it the last time he had us over for supper. But we had yet to make it there.

“Yes, you should go early in the day, before it gets dark, so you can take a walk beside the river,” Walter encouraged us. “It’s a nice walk, and I know you’ll enjoy it.”

“We’ll have to do that before you leave,” I said, turning to Steve.

“Yeah, that sounds great.”

We finished our tea and Walter invited us into the dining room, informing us that “Benoit” had finished preparing our dinner.

And he did a great job. Benoit, that is. A nice ham, some potatoes and broccoli. It looked really good.

“Why don’t you sit here in your spot,” Walter said, pointing to the chair where I had sat the last time Walter had us over for dinner. “And Steve, you can sit here.”

We fixed our plates and Walter asked me if I’d bless the food for us. I was happy to.

The meal was really good, and we had a great time, talking over the food. Walter’s a keen conversationalist, and he kept the questions coming. Never pressed or forced, but just good conversation.

We returned to the living room after supper. Stomachs now full. We sunk low into our chairs and picked up the conversation again.

He asked each of us how much we had traveled around Europe. Neither of us have much at all. He told us we needed to go to Rome someday. And Italy. He told us he loved Italy, and that he had just recently returned from visiting there. I told him I’d love to see both places someday.

He told us he was happy to see us having this time together, Steve and I, even while I was so far from home.

“It must be difficult to keep a friendship going while being so far apart,” he said, with that look of serious concern on his face.

“Yeah, it is,” I said, “but it definitely helps when this guy flies out to visit like this,” I said, motioning across the room to Steve.

Walter told us he had never seen a friendship quite like ours. And he was thankful for it.

“It’s rare to find a best friend, you know?” he told us.

He also told us we needed to read C.S. Lewis’ book, The Four Loves.

“Have you read it?” he asked us.

“Yeah, I have,” I spoke up.

“I haven’t, no,” Steve said.

“Oh, you must read it,” Walter insisted. “It’s a wonderful book, and Lewis writes about the love shared between friends. He contends for such friendship in it.”

Walter explained how he thought the Feminist movement and a lot of the other changes in the middle of the last century deconstructed such friendships (I love that Walter doesn’t bother with being P.C, by the way; it’s refreshing). He talked about how men don’t share friendships like they did before that time. He talked about The Inklings, about C. S. Lewis, J. R. R. Tolkein and others, about their weekly talks, and how these men spurred each other on to do great things.

“I hope you fight for this friendship,” he told us with a look of seriousness on his face. “And if you don’t, then come talk to me, and I will for you.”

We had a great time talking with Walter that night. He’s such a genuinely kind and sincere man.

At about half past 10, we thanked Walter for a wonderful time. We told him to give our compliments to “Benoit” for a great meal. And we asked him if he’d mind taking a couple quick photos. He as happy to oblige, as long as we signed his guestbook. It was a fair trade.

We thanked Walter again for a great time as he found our coats for us. And we promised to check out the Trout before Steve left.

Skyping with Jen: We’re going to Rome!

I Skyped with Jen when we got back to the house. To tell her about our time. And just to catch up. She told me they had just talked with Monti and Heidi about their trip out to see us (Monti and Heidi are great friends of our family back home, and they’re coming to visit with their two kids this spring).

“So it sounds like we’ll be going to Rome,” Jen told me with a big grin over our Skype call. “They just booked a place.”

“Oh yeah? That’s awesome!” I told her. “And kind of funny. Walter was just telling us we need to visit Rome someday.”

I told Steve it sounded like he needed to make a trip out this Spring, too.

Wednesday: Clive’s help with a wedding suit for Steve

I was working on some Greek at Starbucks on Wednesday afternoon when Steve stepped away to go walk around town for a bit. He returned about a half-hour later with a big smile on his face.

“I think I found suits for my wedding, man.”

“Oh yeah?” I asked, not realizing that’s what he had been up to. “That’s awesome.”

Apparently he had walked into a place across the street and he told one of the guys there he was getting married in October. And that he had been looking at suits back home. Not long after that, he had a suit picked out for the wedding.

“I’d love to check it out,” I told him.

“Yeah, that’d be great.”

I packed up my things and we headed across the street. We had looked at suits at a couple places back home before I left to return to Oxford, but he hadn’t settled on anything. I was curious to see what he had found.

A stocky british guy with a thick english accent and shortly shaved head by the name of Clive greeted us as we walked in. “Steve, good to see you again.” He seemed like a real English man’s man. Like the kind of guy who would be out playing rugby for the first part of the day, and then come to the shop and tell you all about suits the next.

He led us upstairs and handed Steve the suit he had picked out. It ended up being a bit different than what we had been looking at back home, but it was great.

“I like it a lot, man. Yeah, it’s really sharp.”

“You should try one on,” Steve insisted, “to get your size right.”

So I did. Clive snapped a photo of Steve in his suit first. And then one “with the best man,” as Clive said.

I’d love to share the photos with you, but apparently it’s something of a secret.

“I don’t get to see her wedding dress until the day of, so she doesn’t get to see our suits,” Steve said. “That’s fair, right?”

Wednesday: A Trip to the Trout

We were serious about taking Walter up on his suggestion to make it to the Trout before Steve left, so we made plans to venture north to the restaurant on Wednesday afternoon. In the late afternoon, but not too late. Before it got dark. So we could still take in the sights.

It was a bit of a cloudy day, and it had been drizzling off and on earlier, but we lucked out and it seemed to hold off for our walk.

And Walter was right, it was a great walk. About three miles north of where I am living here.

A couple miles into the trip, we came to a bridge that crossed a river that runs through the western border of Oxford. The river had these small boats on one side, which I had been told people live in year-round.

After crossing the bridge, the view opened up into this beautiful English countryside.

Several small ponds were scattered throughout the fields, and a group of ducks skimmed across the top of the water as we passed.

Walking a little further, we came into a small town. With this little market. And all of a sudden I was reminded how very far we were from home. In this small English village miles even from Oxford. It’s funny. I hadn’t felt that way. I had just kind of gotten used to being here. But, for some reason, walking through this little village reminded me I was in a foreign country. I a beautiful foreign country.

Most of the homes in this village were old and built of stone. With little space from one house to the next. The roads were narrow, and we walked on them. Taking photos along the way.

This thatched roof home was seated on the corner of a bend that opened up to reveal another expansive field, which it looked like people were taking full advantage. A couple was walking together. And a man was walking with his dog.

The road narrowed again as it turned into another bridge, crossing another part of what I took to be the same river, bending just so.

After crossing this second bridge, we spotted a tall sign with a fish on it.

“That must be it,” I said to Steve, as we walked past what looked to be a small, communal garden in the center of a handful of older-looking stone homes.

The Trout was just as Walter had described it. An old stone inn that had been reconverted into a restaurant. It was great.

Randomly, a peacock was wandering by the front entryway. “Must be the bouncer,” I thought to myself as Steve and I both snapped pictures.

Entering the old stone building, we ducked our heads a bit for the low entry ceiling. The restaurant was amazing. I was immediately surprised by how modern it looked. Everything was very sleek and minimal. Lots of wood throughout. Dimly lit. And it looked out over this beautiful view of the river.

We passed right through the restaurant and onto the back patio to take in the sights, before finding our seats inside.

The river was rushing pretty swiftly as we stood on the patio, taking it all in. Large umbrellas provided for the seating area, which I’m sure must be great during the spring and summertime.

A long, narrow wooden foot bridge led across to the other side. It really was a great spot.

We made our way inside and found a table in the corner of the room that looked out across the river.

It was still a bit early for dinner, so we ordered a couple drinks and started journaling.

Steve and I had been talking a bit about our dreams. And we wanted to find a time to do that before he took off. To share with each other what we wanted to accomplish. And to pray for each other. So we did.

Steve’s the kind of guy who dreams big. Unlike anyone I’ve ever met before.

Before I met Steve, I always figured dreams were a bit for people who don’t actually do anything with their life. But, instead, for people who simply “dream” of doing something big. Someday. And then someday never comes.

But that’s not the case with Steve. not at all. I still remember the first time I shared with him about my dreams to one day study at Oxford. And to write in a way that helped others see God more clearly. I hadn’t shared this dream with anyone at this point. Apart from my wife. And so I did so somewhat sheepishly.

But he told me I should go after it. As simple as that. Without laughing at me or telling me that sounded like a pretty lofty dream. Just that I should.

That was just over two years ago. It was only the second or third time we had hung out. And now here I am. At Oxford. Studying Theology. Like I had dreamt of for so long.

Needless to say, that’s something I appreciate greatly in Steve. He’s the kind of friend who’s always encouraging me to dream big, and to go after those dreams. He’s the friend who always believes in me.

Having someone like that in your life. . .well, that’s priceless.

“I figured, rather than just sitting down and writing out what we want, maybe we should start with some of the ways God’s blessed our life up to this point,” Steve suggested. “That way, we’re reminded about all of the times God has shown up and provided when we doubted whether He would.”

I loved that idea. So we did. Each journaling to ourselves.

We shared them with each other after a while. All those ways God has shown up. In each of our lives. It was really encouraging to hear those times in Steve’s life, and it was good to remind myself of all those times He’s shown up in my life, even amidst my doubts.

After a while, we decided to order some food. We’re both burger guys, so we went with two of their burgers.

They showed up on these cool, wooden serving trays. Very unique.

After burgers, we talked a bit about what we wanted to set out to accomplish in life. Short-term and long-term. And then we prayed for each other. Lifting up these dreams to God, just like we had done all those years before. With Oxford. From just outside of Oxford.

So thankful for that time. So thankful for a friend who still dares me to dream big and who encourages me to go after them.

A second dinner: Hussein’s Kebab van

We made it back to the house kind of early. As we had taken an early trip out to The Trout.

Both Steve and I had been wanting to make a trip to the kebab vans in the city center before he left. I’m not sure what it is, but there’s something so appealing about eating food from a truck. I think it’s unique to men, though, as neither Jen nor Jamie are big on the idea.

Steve told Jamie we were going to go grab a second dinner from the kebab van. She told him to be careful they didn’t serve us rat. Or pigeon.

Jamie used to work in New York. And apparently there was a case where some sidewalk vendors got caught for selling pigeon. So, her fear isn’t completely unfounded, I guess.

Neither Steve nor I were swayed, though. We were dead set on ordering food from a van before he left.

Around 10 o’clock that night, we made our way to the city center. And we found “Hussein’s Kebab Van” in his old familiar spot. On the corner near the Ashmoleon Museum. Where Cole had surprised me with that first-edition copy of Mere Christianity last December.

One of my favorite parts about Hussein’s is the menu. They have everything. From pizza to burgers to kebabs… They even have tuna pizza. I dared Steve to order it, but he decided against it. Choosing to go with the chicken kebab instead.

It was a cool night, but we found a spot nearby to eat our kebabs. Under a large statue in the city center that sits between two lanes of traffic. It’s where Jen and I had eaten our kebabs before seeing Romeo & Juliet last fall.

It was a cool spot to eat. With oncoming headlights cutting through the night air, as though they were going to come straight for you, before finally turning.

The kebabs were great. Messy, but great. The hot chicken was a warm welcome in the cool night air.

It was a great time, sitting there with my best friend. Late that night in the middle of Oxford. Thankful for those times. And memories.

Thursday: Paninis & celebrating Steve’s engagement

Steve’s a big fan of the Alternative Tuck paninis here in Oxford. As am I, obviously. So we enjoyed quite a few trips to the panini shop while he was here. We’d normally meet up there halfway through the day, make our way through the long line, and head down to Harris Manchester, warm paninis in-hand, to find a place to sit and eat.

Steve snapped this one of me unexpectedly. But, as you can see, I wasted little time. That panini didn’t have a chance with me.

We worked away from the Harris Manchester Library for a few hours that afternoon. Me on my papers. Steve on his business. And on wedding plans.

Celebrating answered prayers

I had told Steve I had a surprise for him that night. Before he left. I don’t think he had any idea what it was. I told him we’d take off a little after five for it.

About a quarter after five, we left the college and headed back home. I asked Steve if he had packed any dress clothes for the trip. He hadn’t.

“Hmm… well, maybe you can borrow a pair of mine.” I suggested.

“Actually, I bought another suit with my wedding suit,” he told me. “Not sure if it’s tailored or not, but maybe it’ll work.”

After getting ready at the house, we stepped out and headed back to the city center.

“Well, bud, I felt bad we weren’t able to celebrate your engagement when I was back home,” I told him, “so I wanted to make sure we got to do that before you left.”

“Oh, thanks man.”

There’s a restaurant here in Oxford that always catches Steve’s eye. Gee’s. It looks a bit like a green house. With white trim and loads of windows. It has chandeliers hanging just above the tables inside.

I told Steve I had tried to make reservations for us for Gee’s for the night before he took off, but that they were booked out for an event.

“So, next best option: The Old Parsonage.”

The Old Parsonage is a hotel / restaurant in the city center. It’s supposed to be a pretty nice place. And apparently it’s owned by the same folks as Gee’s.

“That sounds great, man. Thank you so much,” Steve said, turning toward me as we walked. “That really means a lot.”

“Of course.”

The Old Parsonage is a really cool old stone building with lots of vines growing on the exterior. And large hedges along the road, blocking the view from traffic.

The front door is an old, castle-esque wooden door.

We made our way in to find a small room with several people seated with drinks and smiles. A young guy behind a desk wearing a dark suit and a tie greeted us. I told him we were looking for the restaurant.

“Just around the corner,” he told us, pointing us in the right direction.

The small room opened up to a slightly larger room after a couple steps. The room’s walls were plastered in framed art and portraits.

It was a really elegant place. And just a handful of other tables with people at them.

There were two older men seated with a woman at one table, and an older couple seated beside a window at another who talked in french to each other the whole night.

A Porsche pulled into the gravel driveway as we sat down, and I watched as a guy in his late 50’s stepped out, wearing a suit and scarf.

We were clearly the youngest ones in the restaurant.

Opening up our menus, I think Steve was taken aback a bit.

“Oh, wow. Man, we can go some place else if you like.”

That’s just the kind of guy Steve is. He gives other people the world, and yet he expects so little in return.

“This really means a lot, man, but I seriously would’ve been happy just being treated to ice cream or something,” he told me from across the table.

“Ice cream? Had you known me when I got engaged, I know there’s no way you would’ve taken me out for ice cream to celebrate.”

A sheepish grin spread across his face as he looked off. He knew I was right.

When I received the news that I had been accepted to Oxford, Steve treated Jennifer to an umpteen course meal at one of the nicest restaurants in the area back home. Certainly the nicest restaurant either Jen or I had ever been to. And will probably ever go to.

We had an amazing time that night, celebrating my being accepted to study here. And I wanted to do the same for Steve.

“Well thanks, man. It really means a lot.”

“Of course.”

The food at The Old Parsonage was pretty incredible. I ordered the ox. Because I’ve never had ox. And Steve ordered the cod.

Both were great. My ox tasted a bit like the best roast beef you’ve ever had. Falling apart with the slightest touch of a fork. And mashed potatoes to top it off.

We had a great time. Talking about Steve & Jamie’s big day. And remembering about all the times we had spent praying for Steve’s future wife. Over coffee at Wood’s back home. Now the big day was just months away, and I was happy to celebrate that with him.

After cleaning our plates, I slid around the table so our waitress could snap a photo of us. Celebrating just another way God has shown up, in a very big way, and answered the prayers of our hearts. The wife of Steve’s dreams.

Thanks for a great trip, my friend.

I was invited to CS Lewis old home not long after arriving here in Oxford. After only a matter of days, really. For tea. Just a small, private group of Lewis fans. And I’ve been looking forward to it ever since.

Cole set it up for us. He lived there at the Kilns last year. So he still had the connections to make this happen. And after hearing Jen & Steve would be here on the day of the tea, he made sure to let me know they were welcome to join us as well. Great guy.

Monday: The lion guy, tea at the Kilns & a formal dinner

I’ve been surprised to find that CS Lewis isn’t a bigger deal here in Oxford. Being where he lived and taught and wrote for so many years. I’ve brought up his name as the reason why I’m here to several people, and, on a couple occasions, I’ve been met with faces that looked like they had no idea what I was talking about. Not every time, but on more than one occasion.

One person thought I was talking about Lewis Carroll. The author of Alice in Wonderland. Carroll also studied here at Oxford. At Christ Church. He was a brilliant mathematician, apparently. I’m sure they were scratching their head on that one for a while, trying to figure out how Lewis Carroll would make me want to study Theology.

I don’t know, maybe it seems funny to some people. You can almost see the look on their face. Almost as if to ask, “Wait, the lion guy, right? The one who wrote about the kids who went into the wardrobe? That one? That’s why you’re here?”

Yep, that’s the one. But I never actually read the Narnia series. I’m not a big fan of fantasy. I have a terribly limited amount of time to read and a massive list of books I’d like to read. And so when I do finally find time for it, I want to read something a bit more meaty. I want a big steak. I don’t have much room for dessert on my plate.

No, for me, Lewis is the man who, in Mere Christianity, put his arm around my shoulder and said, “You don’t have to feel like a fool for believing this stuff.” And that was the first time I ever felt that way. The first time I ever read him. During my sophomore year of college. My first time around.

Lewis took a logical approach to dig through the beliefs of the Christian faith. Using analogies and reason to talk about things like whether Christ was just a man or something more. And that was so foreign to me. That approach.

As I read through his pages, I found myself encouraged, that I didn’t have to leave my reasoning at the door to approach this stuff. The stuff of the faith. In fact, I felt like he encouraged me to dig into the faith in a way I never had before. For he’s the one who put my hand in the hand of the Lord’s and said with a smile, “Go for it. Go the whole way, and don’t feel like you have to apologize for it.”

And as I did, I felt my relationship with Christ grow deeper. I felt my faith open up and awake in a way it never had before. Probably because it was the first time I felt like I could put both feet in. And, ever since then, I’ve wanted to help others do the same.

Tea at the Kilns

Jen, Steve and I took a bus to the Kilns on Monday afternoon. It was a short ride from Oxford’s city center. Maybe 15 minutes.

Jen spotted the sign as soon as we got off the bus for the Kilns, letting us know we were in the right spot.

We walked down a short lane and, sure enough, there was Lewis’ old home. Just as Cole’s directions had explained. A smallish cottage. Surrounded by trees and a garden. Just peeking out from behind the greenery.

Two small signs identify the home. One on the top left corner reads, “The Kilns.”

The second, a small blue plaque, the same style found on Tolkein’s house across the street from where we’re living, tells the dates Lewis lived here.

A small black cab was parked in front of the house when we arrived. Walking up, we saw Walter Hooper get out.

Walter was Lewis’ secretary before he passed away. They had been in touch for many years before that. Sharing letters back and forth across the Atlantic. Walter moved here shortly before Lewis died, and he’s been here in Oxford ever since. Writing. About Lewis, mostly.

I first met Walter at a CS Lewis lecture here at Oxford. Shortly after arriving. He was incredibly nice. And soft-spoken. He told me he’d have to have me over for tea at some point. I was pretty excited to hear he’d be joining us for tea on this afternoon, as I knew he’d have plenty of stories for us.

“Walter, hi,” I said with a smile as we approached. I held my hand out to greet him.

“Ryan Pemberton. We met at the Lewis lecture a few weeks back.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” he said in his soft-spoken voice. “Nice to see you again, Ryan.”

I introduced Walter to Jen and Steve. I told him how they had just arrived a few days earlier, and that they’d be joining us for tea.

He greeted them. Warmly. Like he was genuinely happy to meet them. And then he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small journal. The same small journal he pulled out when I met him before.

“I’m just going to put your names down here,” he said. “And look who that is,” as he opened the page to my name.

Walter told us how he had lived here for several years. With Lewis’ brother, after he passed away. He told us how Lewis and his brother bought the home for £2,000. And how Tolkein had encouraged them to buy the property next to the house for an additional £200, but they didn’t have the money.

He told me how Lewis and his brother used to go for walks. Around the lake behind their house. Behind the Kilns.

“Would you like to go see it?” he asked. It sounded like a trick question to me.

“Yeah, that’d be great,” I told him, with big eyes. So we headed up the hill, toward the lake. The muddy trail squishing beneath our shoes as we walked.

We came to the top of the hill and all of a sudden it opened up into a tree lined lake. Leaves were falling from the trees. Swirling round and round before landing on the surface of the lake. Into a pool of ripples. Ducks floated softly by. It was beautiful.

Walter told me how Lewis used to love swimming here. In the lake. And I thought that was so funny. I guess I never pictured Lewis as a swimmer. Probably because I never pictured him without a pipe in his mouth.

Walter told me some more stories as we walked. Stopping to point out a brick bench that overlooked the lake. Telling me about how the area used to be. About how much it had been developed since those days. About all the new homes. About how it looked before. In that soft-spoken voice you could listen to for hours.

We made our way back down the hill. Along the muddy trail. Back toward the Kilns. Knowing tea would soon be ready.

Rhona (my Greek professor) and her husband arrived just as we did. On their bikes. They were joining us for tea as well. They both looked winded from the ride. But happy to be there. They both wore wide smiles.

Rhona’s husband, Chris, is the dean of Christ Church here at Oxford. Pretty big time position. But he was super down to earth. Just as Cole had described. Great guy to talk to.

After introductions, we made our way into the house. For a tour. And for tea.

The first room we came to was the living room. A desk set just below the window on one wall. While two bookshelves sat on either side of the fireplace on another wall. A couch and a couple chairs rounded out the room. Several photos hung on the wall. Of Lewis. And of his wife. Joy.

Walter pointed to one of Lewis and told me that was the last day he was ever photographed. And that he (Walter) had taken the photo.

I looked over the books on the shelves. Not the originals that were there during Lewis’ day, but lots of his books. Lots of very early editions. I took an early edition copy of Screwtape Letters from the shelf and flipped open to the first few pages. “To JRR Tolkein,” it read.

The shelf held some books about Lewis, as well. Including this one by Walter.


We continued our tour. Making our way into what has been setup as a library. It was a garage before. Now it holds books. Lewis’ original signed marriage license to Joy. Memorabilia from when the movie Shadowlands was filmed. And the original Eagle & Child sign, which Walter managed to get from the restaurant and donate to the Kilns.

We were talking about Lewis’ writing. Walter and I. About how he managed to do what the Theologians of his day couldn’t. About the way in which he managed to pair logic and reason with wonderful analogies to paint a clear picture of the rather complex points of the faith.

“That’s where his intellect and imagination really came into play,” Walter said. “It was the perfect combination.”

Walter told Steve he must hear some great Theology from me. I shook my head, sheepishly.

Steve told Walter I was actually quite the writer myself.

I told Walter I felt like there was an opportunity. To reach people of my generation. With the things of the faith. In a format they’d want to pick up and read. He told me he agreed, as we made our way back to the front of the house for tea. He told me he thought that’s something we needed to do. And it made me smile, knowing we were on the same page.

“This is an official English tea,” Rhona told us with a smile as Jen took a seat beside her.

It was amazing. Fresh scones. Still warm. Jam. Lemon curd cream. Biscuits (cookies). Cucumber sandwiches (no, I had never heard of them, neither). And, of course, tea.

We ate and talked. And laughed. I sat between Jen and Walter. Steve sat across from us. Walter told Jen I was the nicest guy he’d ever met. And that he hoped to be as nice as me someday. Took me completely off guard. I laughed.

I told Walter about how Steve had printed off my writing and made it into a book for my birthday a couple summers ago. His eyes got big behind his glasses. He told me he’d love to read it some time.

We enjoyed our scones. I took a second. Layering on the sweet berry jam.

And then I remembered that I had an extra copy of my book in my bag, beside the door. I grabbed it and handed it to Walter, apologizing for its condition after being in my bag for so long. It was pretty beaten up.

He asked me to sign it for him, and I told him I’d have to get him another copy. That I felt horrible giving him such a rough-looking copy. But that he was welcome to borrow this copy for as long as he’d like. That it’d mean so much to have him read it.

We wrapped up our tea and had a quick tour around the rest of the home. Stopping in Lewis’ bedroom. And his old study. And it felt so unreal. All of it. Like I was in some sort of a dream.

We had taken the bus to the Kilns. And we were planning on taking it home. But Walter suggested we join him in his cab. That it could drop us off after dropping him off at Mass. So we took him up on it. And we crammed into the back of the cab. The three of us. Jen, Steve and I. Thanking Cole for everything before we left. Before the black cab pulled away from the Kilns. I couldn’t have been happier.

Formal Dinner

We made it back home with just enough time to change. I had signed us up for the formal dinner at Harris Manchester that evening. I was excited for Jen and Steve to be able to enjoy it.

It was a formal dinner. Suit and tie for me. And my gown. I had asked one of the ladies in the Administration office what the appropriate attire was for guests earlier that day. She told me they should dress smart. Jen and Steve were having fun with that one.

“Does this look smart enough, d’ya think?” they’d ask.

We walked the 30 minutes or so to the college in the cool night air. And we made it just in time.

Arlosh Hall is beautiful. With high, vaulted ceilings and portraits along the walls. And I love it. All of it. The formality of it. Everyone standing behind their chair, waiting for the Principal to enter. Followed by the rest of the faculty. Then a short prayer and everyone’s seated. It was great to share all of it with Jen and Steve.

Apparently it was an exchange night. With another college. I had no idea. We sat next to a girl from Poland. She was from the other college. I can’t remember the name just now. But she was nice. Funny. And definitely a talker. Have only met great people from Poland. All three of them.

Lamb was on the menu for the evening. I’m not usually a fan of lamb. It usually tastes too much like lamb, I suppose. But it was great this night. Served with a light gravy sauce.

I told Jen I didn’t usually like lamb, but that this was great.

And instantly I could tell Jen didn’t know it was lamb. Her eyes lifting from her plate. She didn’t like the idea of eating lamb, apparently. I had no problem with it.

TuesdaySteve’s last night in Oxford

We went to an Irish pub by the name of O’Neill’s for Steve’s last night here. And it was great. The place had lots of dark wood. The bar. The tables. On the columns and the ceiling.

And the food was great. At least I thought so. Steve and I ordered the burgers. He wasn’t terribly happy with his. I loved mine. Thought about ordering one for the road. Jen ordered the fish and chips. I ate her smashed peas, as she is simply not a fan of peas. And I’m not a fan of letting good food go to waste.

We had a great time catching up one last time before Steve left. He told us about a weird dream he had had the night before. That apparently Jane had asked him to be their butler. And that he agreed.

He told us how he had to wear a tuxedo, and wait at the door for us to arrive. To open the door for us. With a towel over one of his arms. In stereotypical butler fashion.

“And I was so mad at you,” he told me. “I wanted to punch you.”

“Why? Because you had to open the door for me?”

“That and you had a British accent.”

I erupted into laughter.

We stopped into G&D’s for some ice cream on the way home. A nice treat for the walk home.

Steve finished packing when we got home. Tucking away the last of his things. Showing me some of the gifts he had picked up for friends back home. And he told me he had picked up a couple of things for me, handing me a bag.

I wasn’t expecting anything. I asked him if I could open it now or if I needed to wait. He told me to go ahead. So I did.

And I was speechless when I did. He had gone to St. Phillip’s. A used bookstore here in Oxford. Where Jen bought me a first edition copy of Broadcast Talks (which later became Mere Christianity) last summer. As a birthday gift. And he had picked up several early edition copies of Lewis works for me, including a first edition copy of Surprised by Joy.

I was speechless.

The last book in the pile. Or the one at the bottom, rather. That’s a book Walter Hooper put together. It’s a book of letters between CS Lewis and his best friend Arthur Greeves. It’s a first edition. I told you this guy’s an incredible friend.

He also got me a scarf. So I could look more Oxford. I’ve really been enjoying it.

We had a great time with Steve here. Both Jen and I. It meant so much for him to fly out here, so Jen didn’t have to make the tripe alone. To show her around town. So she didn’t have to experience it all on her own while I was in class.

It was tough seeing him go after such a great week. And we miss having him here, for sure.

My only consolation? A date night with my wife. Pizza and Die Hard. I have an amazing wife.

So I flew out of Seattle at 2 p.m. on Friday. By myself, as we hit some snags with the visa process. Saying goodbye to everyone and leaving on my own was easily one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done. As I sat by myself at the terminal waiting to board, looking out through the glass windows at the tarmac, I realized this decision, this day, was going to change the rest of our life.

Jen plans to come out at the end of October (and we’re trying to talk my best friend Steve into making the trip with her). I cannot wait. I’ve always said Jen is my home, and wherever she is, I would feel at home. Even if it’s half-way across the world.

I booked the trip as soon as I heard my visa had been approved, which was only two days earlier. As a result, my trip was a bit complicated. First to Chicago (3 hrs, 40 mins). Then to Poland (9 hrs, 20 mins). Yes, Poland. Then finally to London Heathrow (2 hrs, 30 mins). Then, once I made it to London, I’d take a 90-min bus ride to Oxford.

All in all, my travels were pretty smooth. I sat over the wing on my long flight to Poland, which was amazing. I had just as much leg room as if I were in first-class. So I took full advantage of that and slept like a baby for most of the flight. The lady next to me was from Poland, but she’s been living in the states for the past nine years. She was very nice, and easy to talk to. She put salt in her tea instead of sugar, by accident. I told her I’d tell everyone back home that’s how the Polish enjoy their tea. I told her all about my wife, and how Jen worked with a lady from Poland.

I told her all about what I was doing. How C.S. Lewis had turned me onto Theology after reading Mere Christianity during my sophomore year of college. How I left home, a great job, and the most amazing family and friends for Oxford, to follow a dream of writing in a way that helped others see Christ more clearly. How I kind of thought it was crazy, but I also knew I was going after what I was passionate about, beyond anything else. She said she was so excited for us. And she was incredibly jealous. She had an eye cover she wore while sleeping that said, “Do Not Disturb.” I was jealous of her for that.

London Heathrow was a bit complicated, but not as bad as I had heard. I had some pretty heavy bags packed, which I threw on a trolly and pushed through the airport. They fell off. Several times. I was that guy. I laughed at myself and put them back on again and again. But I made it to my bus and was even able to fire off some “I’m here, safe and sound” e-mails before leaving. The bus driver was great. Big guy. Funny. I sat in the front seat (best view), and he asked me if I wanted to drive. I told him I’d let him take the first half of the drive, and then I’d finish. He nodded and took his seat.

It was raining (of course), so I watched the rain beat down on the windshield of the bus on the freeway as we made our way north. Driving through Oxford, my jaw was on the floor the entire time. I’ve been here before (last summer), but I was still blown away. The university is basically a bunch of colleges interspersed throughout the city of Oxford. And most of the colleges are incredibly old. They look like castles. We even drove by Magdalene College, which is where C.S. Lewis studied and later taught. Unbelievable. I couldn’t believe I was actually going to be studying here…

The town was actually surprisingly busy, for this time of night (around 9:00 or so). Lots of people out. Walking around. Eating. I was dropped off at Gloucester Green, the bus station, and I quickly grabbed a cab. It was less than a mile drive to where we’ll be staying. 27 Northmoor Road (OX2 6UR, Oxford, UK). Very pretty neighborhood. Lots of big trees and big homes. I may have actually started singing the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air theme song in my head at this point. That’s kind of how I felt.

I was so happy to finally arrive. There was a note on the door left by the family I’ll be living with (they were out at a dinner), welcoming me to Oxford. It was rainy, of course, so the words were a bit smudged.

Our living space was built only a couple years ago. They refer to it as the Annexe. It’s basically an attached mother-in-law suite. It’s totally furnished, and it has everything we’ll need (kitchen, bathroom (complete with walk-in tiled shower and bathtub), washer and dryer, living room, office, bedroom…). Jane (the mother/wife of the family where we’re staying) stocked the kitchen with some staples for me so I had food when I arrived. Orange Juice. Milk. Cereal. Eggs. Bread and bagels. Peanut butter and fresh jam. Made me feel at home. Well, almost.

I took a hot shower, grabbed some tea and fired off some e-mails before Skyping with Jen. It was so nice to see her again and talk a bit before turning in.

Like I said, this is easily one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. But I’m excited. There is so much unknown in store. I feel like I just picked up a book I thought I knew, only to find the next chapter was a complete surprise. Something I had never seen before. I have no idea what’s going to unfold in this next chapter, but I am excited to dig in.

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