Homestead Heritage is an agrarian Christian community a few miles north of Waco built around a fusion of Anabaptist tradition and Pentecostal theology. In 2005 Christian historian and theologian, Roger Olson, characterized the group as “a bold experiment” in intentional Christian community, and, as with any countercultural stream, the group has had its share of proponents and detractors.

For six years I’ve worked among these people for eight hours a day, Monday through Friday. My family and I have visited their craft village several times, dined in some of their homes, welcomed them into our home, and taken part in many of their special activities. We have friends in their community, we have friends who have almost joined their fellowship, and we have friends who have once been a part of their community, but, for whatever reason, decided to part ways. I believe we’ve seen them from just about every angle possible, without actually being part of their congregation.

With that said, this post isn’t about theology (though it will, at times, wax theological), and it’s not about what I disagree with them about, but rather it’s about what I’ve learned through them, and how I believe that my family and I have benefited in so many ways from the good, positive things that have been modeled through their day-to-day lives.

I’d like to also add that it’s not my intent to turn this into a forum for ex-members to discuss problems and disagreements with Homestead Heritage doctrine, practice, or theology. Therefore, please be aware that I will be moderating the comments (assuming this post actually generates comments).

Now, on to the point of my post: What I’ve learned from Homestead Heritage. The list is long and varied (I won’t list everything here), and, in reality, my wife and I have had many similar convictions to Homestead Heritage before we were ever acquainted with them (e.g. homeschooling, complementarianism, et cetera). This list is in no particular order:

Did you receive the Holy Spirit when you believed?

That’s the question that Paul asked John the Baptist's Ephesian disciples in Acts 19:2, and, as one of the Thinklings’ patron saints, John Piper, has said, “Now that is a remarkable question for contemporary American evangelicals who have been taught by and large that the way you know you have received the Holy Spirit is that you are a believer” (see Piper’s sermon, What Does It Mean To Receive The Holy Spirit?). Homestead Heritage has helped me appreciate the fact that the baptism (or filling) of the Holy Spirit is, as Piper also said, “experiential, not just inferential.” When a Christian is filled with the Holy Spirit, he (and others) ought to know it. It’s not merely an inferential, theological position, but a manifested reality.

Like most branches of the Pentecostal tree, Homestead Heritage emphasizes “the Holy Ghost,” and unlike many thinkers from my childhood Baptist heritage (which I’m indebted to), they see the baptism in the Holy Spirit as a distinct, essential component of Christian discipleship that’s manifested in an experiential manner. To once again quote the incomparable Piper:

We scratch our heads and say, "I don't get it, Paul. If you assume we believed, why don't you assume we received the Holy Spirit? We've been taught that all who believe receive the Holy Spirit. We've been taught to just believe that the Spirit is there whether there are any effects or not. But you talk as if there is a way to know we've received the Holy Spirit different from believing. You talk as if we could point to an experience of the Spirit apart from believing in order to answer your question."

And that is in fact the way Paul talks. When he asks, "Did you receive the Spirit when you believed," he expects that a person who has "received the Holy Spirit" knows it, not just because it's an inference from his faith in Christ, but because it is an experience with effects that we can point to.

As Piper infers, it’s important to ask yourself the question Paul asked the Ephesians, and Homestead Heritage has, in many ways, helped me realize that.

Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your might ...

That’s what the Preacher of Ecclesiastes said, and working (or laboring) with all one’s might is a noble and valuable character trait for any Christian. As another founder of our feast, C.S. Lewis, said in Mere Christianity, “God is no fonder of intellectual slackers than He is of any other slacker.” Lewis’ point, I think, speaks to the idea that a strong work ethic is essential to Christian growth and discipleship, and I’m sure Lewis’ New Man (as described in the same book) would be someone who works for the joy of labor, as a means of communion with the Vinedresser (John 15:1), and not merely as a means to an end.

In other words, Homestead Heritage has taught me that work is a joy -- and, with that in mind, I believe work can be seen as something very similar to a sacrament. God is proactive, He’s creative, and His Gospel advances through the Kingdom of Darkness. God works, and so should we. What's more, we should work with joy. Our culture sees work as a way to get what it wants, and not as a way, as the 17th century monastery kitchen worker, Brother Lawrence, said, to “practice God’s presence.” (Brother Lawrence was continually in the presence of our Lord while doing his job -- washing dishes -- so much so that he said he saw no distinction between that time of work and fixed hours of prayer.)

For in Him dwells all the fullness of the Godhead bodily (Colossians 2:9).

When the great -- though not uncontroversial! -- 20th century theologian Karl Barth visited America in 1962, he was asked to sum up his theology (which had been expressed in his voluminous Church Dogmatics), he responded, “Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so.” Homestead Heritage has reaffirmed a simple truth that I believe I have known since I was a child: that JESUS does love me, and that it’s alright -- necessary, even -- to worship Him in all His fullness. While I tend to doubt that Homestead Heritage’s theologians favor the often-misapprehended Barth, I think they’d agree wholeheartedly with his conclusion.

And Yahweh God planted a garden eastward in Eden, and there He put the man whom He had formed (Genesis 2:8).

A little over a year ago my wife and I bought a small 2-acre farm north of Waco. Since then we’ve tilled the ground, raised animals, slaughtered animals, worked the land, and have witnessed the ancient rhythms of life that humanity has been an intricate part of since Yahweh placed Adam in Eden. Out on a farm you feel seasons, you witness the principle of sowing and reaping first-hand, and you find a place of tranquility, being at one with God and His creation. It’s a beautiful life, and we wouldn’t trade it for the world. If we hadn’t met Homestead Heritage, we would have likely never pursued such an existence.

While I could think of many more examples, I won’t belabor the point: I have learned so much from an imperfect community of people who are, in many ways, strangers to me. My wife and I have, to some extent, walked among them, but we are not part of them. By no means do we believe that the fellowship is a panacea, but God has been faithful to allow us to learn from them, and to be all the better for it. We’re thankful. I’m thankful.

He drew a deep breath. 'Well, I'm back,' he said.

Today I woke up in time for breakfast (I had missed it yesterday) and then decided to walk into Oxford. It's a pleasant walk, and the weather was perfect for it. In Houston I'd be a puddle of sweat before fifteen minutes had passed, even at 8:30 am. It's August, for crying out loud! But in the temperate climate of England I was fine.

I didn't have to meet Andrew until 9:55 am, so I took advantage of the time and got some shopping done, exploring up High street to Cornmarket street, then to Magdalen street and back. I met Andrew at 9:55 at Christ Church gate, which has been the center of our orbits this entire week; we headed from there back to Magdalen street, as I had one main goal today: to get to Wolvercote cemetery to visit J.R.R. Tolkien's grave-site. We stopped in a store and bought a spray of flowers for two pounds - it wasn't much, but it was all I could find at short notice - and then we caught the #6 bus to Mere Road. Mere road is only 600 meters or so from Wolvercote, though we had to take our lives in our hands crossing the lanes in a very busy roundabout to get to Five Mile street which leads to the cemetery.

I hadn't been able to get a precise location of Tolkien's grave on the internet, and it was a bit daunting for us as we walked through this beautiful cemetery which contains several hundred graves. We finally found some men who appeared to work there, and they pointed us in the right direction.

We came upon the grave of Tolkien and his wife Edith (pictured above). It's a beautiful grave, and it was decorated with flowers and a green bush growing out of the top of the grave. On the headstone Tolkien had engraved under his wife's name the name Luthien. Luthien is the elf-maiden in Tolkien's epic poem referenced in Lord of the Rings and expanded more fully in the Silmarillion. When he died, two years after his wife, the name of Beren, Luthien's mortal love, was engraved under Tolkien's name. From all accounts, Tolkien and his wife had a lifelong romance.

I wanted to leave a note with the flowers, and I hadn't been able to find a blank card, so I tore a sheet out of my notebook and wrote the following on it:

"The grey rain-curtain turned all to silver glass and was rolled back.
And he beheld white shores and beyond them a far green country
under a swift sunrise."

This is a quote from the end of The Return of the King. I wrote a few other quick thanks and blessings, and signed the note on behalf of the Thinklings. Andrew, an honorary Thinkling himself, having mooted with us several times, was also named on the note.

I found myself, unexpectedly, choking up while I read the note. I am so thankful to God for J.R.R. Tolkien and his magnificent work, as I am likewise thankful for C.S. Lewis.

The thought occurred to me this week: without Jesus, C.S. Lewis is just another brilliant English scholar who I've never heard of. Without Jesus, there has been no Narnia, we haven't been brought to our knees in worship in Perelandra, we haven't marvelled at God's redeeming patience in Till We Have Faces, we haven't been strengthened in our faith through Mere Christianity, or gained wisdom from The Screwtape Letters, or found solace in A Grief Observed. And I believe that without Jesus, we never would have had the epic tale of friendship, courage, sacrifice, redemption, and triumph over evil that is The Lord of the Rings. Without Jesus our hearts are never broken by "beauties which pierce like swords or burn like cold iron". Without the witness of Christ in his life, Tolkien does not produce that work.

I honor these men, but all true honor goes to the Lord who inspired them and gifted them so magnificently. This is one reason why I don't despair over the apparent or observed dearth of noteworthy creativity coming out of Christian circles today. An amazing thing happened in Oxford a half century ago. That is not so long ago in the scheme of things and, though we may be at low tide (our entire culture, both Christian and non-Christian, may be) the wave will crest again.

But I digress. Andrew and I spent a few more moments by the grave, and then made our way back to the city center and ate a lunch of pizza bagels and ice-cream.

At 1:15 we met up with some of his Baylor classmates and made our way to Magdalen college for a tour and some class time. Andrew's professor, Dr. Hanks, was gracious enough to allow me to take part in this. Before I describe the tour, I'd just like to say that Andrew's classmates are all top-notch people. They were gracious to me, polite, well spoken, obviously very intelligent, and a joy to be around. The whole afternoon was a treat for me.

Magdalen College is absolutely beautiful. It has to be seen in person to be fully appreciated (although my pictures, linked at the bottom, will give you a taste). Magdalen's buildings are festooned with gargoyles. Magdalen students claim they have the best gargoyles at Oxford and, though I haven't seen every building in this university, I'd be hard pressed to imagine better gargoyle work. Magdalen is also the greenest, lushest place I've seen thus far.

We took a tour of the outer portion of Magdalen chapel, which has amazing stained glass work, carvings, and paintings, and then made our way around the campus, ending up with a view of the building C.S. Lewis lodged in while he was a professor here. It is a "newer" building, having been built in 1751. Dr. Hanks pointed out Lewis' rooms. We then followed the path called "Addison's Walk", which is the walk Lewis took with Tolkien and Hugo Dyson the night he was convinced of the truth claims of Christianity. Addison's walk is beautiful, lined with stately old trees and lush greenery.

We ended up on a short bridge leading to a gate which itself leads into the pasture land where the Magdalen deer herd is kept. It was on this bridge that Dr. Hanks held class. The subjects of the class were two of the books in the Narnia series: The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe and The Last Battle. Dr. Hanks teaches with a Socratic method, so the students were very involved in the discussion. Gosh, they're smart. Together the class explored the parallels between TLTWATW and Christianity. One student noted the parallel of the cracked Stone Table and the law of Moses. This is one I hadn't considered before. There was also a lively discussion on the themes of The Last Battle, including a discussion of Lewis' inclusive theology as evidenced (possibly) by the Calormen Emeth's acceptance by Aslan. All in all, I was fascinated and felt privileged to get to be an observer of this class.

When class was done, Dr. Hanks let us know that we had been given permission to tour the inner part of Magdalen's chapel. The main attraction there was that we each got to sit in C.S. Lewis' chair and have our picture taken. This seat is currently owned by another Magdalen don, but there is a memorial plaque honoring Lewis on the chair.

With that, our tour was over. Andrew and his friends Brooke and Brittney joined me for cookies at Ben's Cookies, and at this point my time in Oxford was starting to run short. Andrew had some things to do before dinner in the Great Hall this evening, but still had perhaps an hour, so he and I went to the two pound bookstore near Christ Church. That's right: every book, two pounds. And there are a lot of good books in there. I bought P.J. O'Rourke's On The Wealth of Nations in hardback and Andrew bought Tolstoy's Anna Karenina. We then went to the St. Aldtate's Tavern where I ordered a fish and chips that we split. We talked for awhile, and then it came time to go. We're guys, so we didn't make a big deal of it, we just hugged and said goodbye, but I miss Andrew already.

On that note: I'm so glad Andrew was given the privilege to study at Oxford, even just for five weeks, and I'm so thankful that God provided so that Andrew could go (and God certainly did that, and has continued to provide). It was pleasing to hear people, from his classmates to Dr. Hanks, speak highly of Andrew to me and, most commonly, note the profound nature of his comments and observations in class. Everyone seems to like Andrew.

Most of all, it's great to have a twenty-year-old son who actually wants to spend time with his dad. I will never forget this vacation, and the hours we got to spend together exploring Oxford and talking about the things we love.

It's been a great trip. Tomorrow I will bid Oxford farewell and start my journey back to Houston, arriving hopefully in time for my sweet Bethany's 17 year birthday party. I'm a very blessed man.

Thanks for walking along with me in these posts. Now, go read some Tolkien or Lewis, it will do you good!

Cheers!

(If you're interested, you can view all the pictures I took today here)

Built into our plans for the week was to have a day without a lot to do. The day following our whirlwind London trip seemed as good as any, and so we kept Sunday as open as possible.

I let Andrew sleep in - we had originally made plans to attend Christ Church cathedral for services together, but looking at him struggle to stay awake on the train Saturday night convinced me that maybe he deserved a break from my schedule for awhile. So Sunday morning I made my way alone to the Christ Church main gate at 11:15, in time for the Cathedral Eucharist service. If you are attending the service, the derby-wearing Christ Church protectors allow you to walk to the Cathedral through the "forbidden zone" of the Quad. That was a treat, and I snapped a few pictures surreptitiously coming and going.

The Eucharist service was wonderful. It was an Anglican service, a first for me, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. I struggled to keep up, however; I had received a paper program that summarized the hymns we were singing, but I realized once things got rolling that I missed out on the bound booklet that contained the real keys to the service. I'm sure they're used to the slightly dazed look a clueless tourist adopts during the service when he doesn't have a booklet, but I hung in there. The songs were high hymns, and there was a men's choir that sang several prayerful songs, a few in Latin. The message of the day was on materialism, and it was a very good one. The priest spoke of how we often invert the roles of the Spirit versus the Material. Both are good, as Christ's Incarnation proves, but the Material is to be in subjugation to the Spirit, and is to be used to build the Kingdom. He warned us that if we get this backwards, we will see the material things which are our true treasures turn to "spiritual dust in our hands". This was thought-provoking for me, and I profited from it. At the end of the service we took communion, with wafers and a shared communion cup (filled with wine, not the grape juice I'm used to).

Following the service I met Andrew for lunch; we went to Old Tom's pub (just another ale-house that's been around for three hundred years) and I ordered fish and chips. I know English food gets a bad rap, but I have completely enjoyed the fare I've received here. It's good, simple food and it suits me well.

Following lunch, Andrew trekked with me back to Windmill road, where I'm staying. I got some down-time and even took a nap, and Andrew worked on a paper that he has due. Around 5:00pm Andrew headed back to Oxford to get ready for dinner in the Great Hall, and I followed around 7:00pm to meet up with Andrew and a number of other Baylor students at Bodleian Library for a performance of A Midsummer Night's Dream. The Bodleian has been in existence since 1602 and is the main research library for Oxford, and it is a magnificent building with a large courtyard. Also attending the performance was one of Andrew's professors, Dr. Hanks, who is one of the kindest and most engaging people I've ever met. I was very impressed with the students as well. They are all top-notch young people, polite, cheerful, friendly, and smart. The company I got to keep last night was very good.

This was to be an outdoor performance of A Midsummer's Night Dream, performed by an acting troupe from Shakespear's Globe Theater (!!!). The performance took place in the large Bodleian courtyard; the Globe players perform after the manner of the plays done in Shakespeare's time, complete with very limited technology, just a simple set and some lighting, no sound system, and with a minstrel-show feel in between acts. The costuming for the play would have been foreign to the Globe players of yore, however; it was done in 1920's style, and included a rarity: a female Puck dressed as a 1920's flapper. You can see the stage and the setting in the picture, above.

The play was fantastic. This was Shakespeare in all his comedic grandeur, complete with a good dose of Shakespearian bawdiness and excellent performances by the Globe players. They all did a fabulous job, and they sang and played instruments too (and danced the Charleston in between acts to boot). We laughed heartily throughout. The play ended around 10:30pm, with multiple curtain calls.

I parted ways with Andrew and his Baylor colleagues and began making my way to the bus stop. It was just around this time that I realized I hadn't eaten anything all day except the fish and chips I had earlier. So I found a street vendor and bought a cheeseburger, which had that European tilt to the flavor from what I'm used to, but was still good. I was making my way toward the bus stop to head back to Headington when a policeman pulled over and motioned me to his car. At first I thought he was going to ticket me for jaywalking (which I was guilty of) but instead he gave me a look of concern and said:

"Is that a camera yer holdin' in yer hand?"

"Um, yes officer."

"Well, take my advice and stash it away. Yer jest askin' to be robbed."

I thanked him and shoved my camera in my front pocket, waited for the bus (surrounded by a bunch of teenagers and a priest), caught it and made my way back to Windmill road.

This whole vacation has been a mid-summer's dream come true for me. I've had an incredible time. Only one more full day left.

If you'd like to view the pictures I took yesterday, you can see them here.

Yesterday, Andrew and I had only one thing on our itinerary; to leap into London with everything we had; to "rub one's nose in the very quiddity of each thing, to rejoice in its being (so magnificently) what it was." (C.S. Lewis).

That's a big challenge when considering a city like London, and for a day with only so many hours in it. But we gave it our best shot. We boarded our train for Paddington at the Oxford railway station and enjoyed a nice, fifty-five minute commute into London. Andrew had worked diligently to have all the directions we'd need to fulfill our itinerary, acting as our navigator for the day, and he did a fabulous job, as I would have immediately gotten myself lost hopelessly in London's warrens. I will give London this credit, though: unlike Oxford, London labels its streets plainly and in large letters. In Oxford, there's no sense labeling a street because five paces after the sign the street will have changed its name.

Our first goal was to get something to eat. Our second goal was to arrive at the British Museum. We accomplished both in one fell swoop. We rode the Tube toward the museum and, upon arriving, discovered a hot dog stand right outside it. The hot dogs there were excellent, by the way, and Andrew was pretty excited because the stand carries his favorite soda, Sunkist, which he hadn't yet seen in Europe. From his reports it ended up tasting like Fanta, but it was still good.

The British museum was - you'll hear this word a couple times in this post - overwhelming. We rammed through much of it in about an hour and a half, but probably only saw a small fraction of one percent of what it offered. It's just huge. We walked through ancient Greece and Rome, ancient Egypt, ancient Ur and Babylon, and much of the history of Europe.

There were lots of sculptures and busts in the museum: busts of various kings and emperors, including an impressive collection of Roman emperors. These were important in their day: without mass media the Emperor needed a way to get his image out in front of the populace, so the emperors are represented in sculpted images of exaggerated youth, vitality, and heroism. There were large displays of armor, helmets, swords, spears, and the other implements of war. Toward the end of it, I found myself becoming a little depressed; it's amazing how much of mankind's history revolves around conquest, intrigue, wealth, weaponry, and politics. This morning at Christ Church cathedral we sang a song that reminded me of what I saw in the histories yesterday at the museum:

Cure Thy children’s warring madness,
Bend our pride to Thy control.
Shame our wanton selfish gladness,
Rich in things and poor in soul.
Grant us wisdom, grant us courage,
Lest we miss Thy kingdom’s goal,

- God of Grace and God of Glory, v. 3
Following the British museum, we again hopped on the Tube and made our way to the Imperial War Museum. Once again, it was overwhelming. We spent some time in the main room admiring the aircraft, tanks and rockets on display there, and then made our way down into the trenches of World War I. The trench simulation was very good, with the sites and sounds (but not the smells, thankfully) of trench warfare in the Great War faithfully reproduced. We heard interviews of soldiers who had "gone over the top" into no man's land and were the only ones left standing of their platoon,

All wars are awful, but World War I gets win, place, and show in the most hellish war imaginable sweepstakes. It was such a terrible, stupid war, full of waste and senseless bloodshed. I'm amazed at the English people for what they endured in the 20th century: not one but two world wars right on their doorsteps that stole entire generations of their young men.

Peace to them all . . . Ypres and the Somme ate up most of them. They were happy while their good days lasted.

- C.S. Lewis, Surprised by Joy, chapter VI - Bloodery
We moved from the Great War section to the section on World War II, and were again met with tales of great courage and heroism on all sides. But also of troubling hatred.

"They were all murdered because we hate them."

- Felix Landau, SS sergeant, speaking of the victims of the Holocaust
I'm thankful to all those who sacrificed so much for our freedom, against such evil.

We finally left the War museum as dinner was calling us, and we had to make our way to Trafalgar square, again on the Tube. We had dinner in a nice pub called Garfunkel's, where we ate some very good Italian food. We were both footsore and brain-weary at this point so we took our time over dinner, and then headed to the National Gallery which is a magnificent building at the head of Trafalgar square. It was closing in about 45 minutes, so our visit there consisted mainly of a nearly-blind rush through room after room of paintings. To give you a sense of the scope of this art gallery, I think we went through about eight rooms devoted to the 17th century alone. The paintings were magnificent and my one regret is that we didn't have more time for this museum. I saw Monets, Van Goghs, Gaugins, and Rembrandts, among many, many other artists, and we stayed until they started shooing us out.

This completed our museum-hunting for the day. We also had on our plans the Churchill museum, but that proved unrealistic in hindsight. So we made our way to the Queen's Theater to see Les Miserables, which has been running in London for twenty five years. I had never seen Les Mis and was unfamiliar with the story, so I bought a playbill and read up on it while we waited for the play to start. It was magnificent! Not only was it a great, entertaining musical skillfully done, it was also surprisingly redemptive. It's a tale of sacrifice and forgiveness from start to end, and I walked out uplifted. Uplifted and also dead-tired, as it was now past 10:30pm at the end of a long, full day.

We still had a long road ahead of us, though. We trekked the few blocks to the Piccadilly Circus Underground and rode it to Paddington Station, arriving about five minutes till 11:00pm. We had to run to catch the Oxford train that was boarding at Platform 9.

"Uh oh," I thought as we boarded. The train was packed, with barely room for us to stand just inside the doors. And it was hot. So, dog-tired, Andrew and I stood sweating among teeming masses, including a young gent and his lass who decided that this would be the perfect place to start snogging.

To take my mind off the snogging happening four inches away from me, I tried to engage in conversation with the middle aged British couple crammed up against the door. I could hear them discussing Les Mis, as they had also attended that night, so I tried to join in, using my best Texas opener, "So, did you have good seats for the play?". But they didn't appear to be much interested in conversing with the sweaty American invading even the small personal spaces that Europeans value, so, since they were staring at me like I had a third eye, I decided to drop my attempts at communication. I resigned myself to a long, uncomfortable journey home.

But then, a miracle! Oh thank you, Glorious, Shining city of Slough! The train stopped at the Slough railway station (unexpectedly, as we had only one stop on the way in, at Reading), and a number of people exited the train. We still had to stand, but the young couple was able to take their intimacy over to a seat, and we had more breathing room. And then the next (unexpected) stop, and even more people got off, and Andrew and I were able to find seats into which we collapsed, until we arrived back in good old Oxford at midnight.

From there, Andrew and I each took our separate cabs back home: he to Christ Church and me to Windmill road in Headington. Upon arriving home, I skyped for a bit with my lovely better half - poor thing: I get to look at her while we skype and she has to look at me - and I was also able to talk to two of my kids, Bethany and Blake, as well. Finally, we said our goodbyes and, as the time neared 2:00am, I fell asleep.

London, thanks for a great day. I'll never forget it. But it's good to be back in Oxford.

If you'd like to see pictures from today, you can find them here.

This morning I woke up, ate an early English breakfast (which was awesome - more on that in a later post), posted the previous post that I was too jetlagged to post last night, and then walked over to Christ Church's main gate to meet Andrew at 11:00am. He and I found a little shop and got a slice of pizza and sat and talked for awhile, and then, around noon, caught the bus to Kilns Lane and Lewis Close, which is where you can find C.S. Lewis' house, the Kilns.

We had to wander around in this residential area a little while before we found the Kilns. It's a beautiful little house, lovingly restored (probably in much better shape than when C.S. Lewis actually lived there). We were a little bit early so we hung around in a nearby lane leading to the C.S. Lewis nature walk and pond. When our 1:00pm tour time approached we went to the door of the Kilns and rang the bell.

A matronly English woman answered the door, and when she found out that we were there for a tour, she asked us if we wouldn't mind waiting for a few minutes in the garden. So, Andrew and I took our seats in the garden that C.S. Lewis used to sit in. It is - I have to resort to a more British-sounding adjective here - lovely.

A few minutes after we sat down, a very nice lady popped out of the door of the Kilns and asked us if we'd like some tea.

Tea.

Would I like to have some tea . . . in C.S. Lewis's garden . . .

I avoided the temptation to shout "WOULD I? WOULD I?!?!" - and instead said something like "Thank you. That would be splendid." I actually don't think I said "splendid", I probably said something more American like "awesome", or "neat", but let's pretend.

She and another very nice "scullery maid" (that's how they laughingly referred to themselves) brought us tea on a very nice serving, with sugar lumps, cream, and cookies. I took a picture of it, above.

The aforementioned two ladies are Americans, by the way. Interesting.

Another group of five people joined us a few minutes later and tea was brought out for them as well. And then we entered the Kilns. We sat in the sitting room and listened as our guide, Kim Gilnett, told us the story of the Kilns and C.S. Lewis. He did a fantastic job. Andrew had already done this tour and confirmed for me that it's not a scripted thing. Kim is a Lewis aficionado from Seattle Pacific University (he's also an American) and he asked us about our interest in Lewis, shared anecdotes, pointed out photos, talked about Lewis' wife, Joy, and in general kept us spellbound for nearly an hour. Among the anecdotes shared were ones about Lewis's generosity: Lewis didn't feel right making money from writing about Christianity, so he gave a lot of his money away - always to needy individuals, rather than causes. And always anonymously. This helps explain why he, Warnie, Mrs. Moore, other boarders, his gardner, Mr. Paxford, their cook, and later Joy Davidman and her two sons, continued to live at this relatively small house that Lewis had bought in 1930 for $3,300 pounds, till Lewis' death and beyond.

As an aside, Kim is not a big fan of the dour portrayal of Lewis in the movie Shadowlands.

Following our time in the sitting room, Kim took us on a tour of the house, including the dining room, the kitchen, several of the studies that are in the house, one containing Warnie Lewis' typewriter upon which a large number of Lewis' letters were typed up from "Jack's" manuscripts, etc. We saw the room C.S. Lewis died in, the kitchen, and a number of bedrooms. It's not a large house by any means, but it holds a deceptively large number of rooms. We also met Jerry Root, editor of The Quotable Lewis, who was studying his Bible at the desk where Lewis often wrote during the time when he authored the Narnia series. Professor Root was preparing for a weekend seminar, where students come and are put up at the Kilns for several days to learn more about Lewis.

Our guide, Kim, has been a Lewis scholar since the 70s, and was a part of the restoration of the Kilns that started in the early 90s. There's a story there: After Lewis' brother Warnie Lewis, who also lived at the Kilns, died in the early 70s, the home was sold to a family that proceeded to change a bunch of things, even to the point of renovating the kitchen in the 1970s Avacado Green Blech™ style, so the restoration team had its work cut out for them. In addition, C.S. Lewis and Warnie pretty much smoked non-stop in the house during their waking hours, so there was quite a bit of heavy tobacco stainage that was discovered when the restoration team stripped the newer paint off. All in all I think they've done a fantastic job. The people who run the Kilns seem to have a genuine love and enthusiasm for Lewis and it shows.

I don't think I'll ever forget taking afternoon tea in the Kilns garden.

Once we left the Kilns we walked around the Kilns' pond, and then walked over to the church that C.S. Lewis attended where we viewed his gravestone, which is in the church cemetery.

Following this, we headed back to Oxford's city center and Andrew took me on an abbreviated Inklings walk. It was great - we walked by the first house C.S. Lewis stayed at after arriving in Oxford, visited the gravestones of a few of his Inkling friends such as Hugo Dyson and Charles Williams, walked past Magdalen college, and ended up at the Eagle and Child pub for dinner. It got me wondering what a "Thinklings walk" would look like. We'd start at BloDingle, probably, which was the site of our first few moots, and go from there, ending up, I suppose, in a quaint little town in Vermont . . .

But I digress: at the Eagle and Child we ordered some delicious "pie" (think pot-pie, not fruit-pie) and then I caught the bus back to Headington.

It was a great day. Tomorrow, London!

Click here if you'd like to see the pictures I took today.

If you don't have Facebook, try this link to see the pictures.

I arrived at Heathrow yesterday morning at 7:30 after a pleasant flight from Houston. I was somewhat bleary because I don't sleep well on planes, but I can't complain. Catching the Oxford Express at the airport I arrived at Headington, Oxford and made my way to my lodgings (a nice little B&B off of Windmill road). After getting settled in and exchanging a few emails with my eldest, Andrew, who is studying at Oxford this summer, I began my trek towards Christ Church college.

The weather was cool, about 70, and the skies were overcast. It was an enjoyable walk. It occurred to me that C.S. Lewis must have made this walk thousands of times, as the Kilns is less than a mile from where I'm staying.

Andrew and I met up near Christ Church cathedral and began our day. We made our way to the Kings Arms pub for lunch, where we both ordered bangers and mash, because what's better to start off a day of Oxford? It was delicious. We spent some time exploring the city and talking about its history as we walked. Oxford's city center is bustling with a great deal of pedestrian traffic, and the roads go every which-way and change names often, as roads in ancient cities are wont to do, so it took awhile for me to get my bearings. We walked down the Thames for a mile or two - I kept threatening Andrew that I was going to adopt my best rube American accent and ask a local where the "Thaymes" was" - and turned down a country lane that appeared to our right, passing by a soccer pitch and cutting through the meadows back to the city roads. During our walk we talked about Tolkien and Lewis and the works of literary genius those men produced. It's a wonderful feeling to be walking the same roads they did.

At 2:30 I bought a visitor's ticket into Christ Church proper - Andrew is a student there and has full run of the place - and we ventured into Christ Church cathedral and the Great Hall, where the students eat breakfast and dinner each day. I haven't seen the movies, but evidently Hogwarts is patterned after the Great Hall. Andrew gets to eat here five nights a week and, from a look at the menu and all his reports, the food is exquisite.

The cathedral was fascinating. There are memorial plaques and statues all over it honoring the departed and dating back centuries. There is also evidence of the Reformation-era expunging of any references to the saints, from blanked out faces on stained glass to the removal of saint's relics from the memorials.

Following our visit to Christ Church, we made another exploration through the streets of Oxford, ending up at St. Phillips book store where I purchased Lewis's The Discarded Image and Andrew bought a book by Hobbes, primarily because of who wrote the forward (the name escapes me). By this time I was starting to get a bit foggy, having been up for over 26 hours, not counting a few brief moments of dozing on the plane. So we grabbed a quick meal at Pret a Manger and then we popped over to the Bird and Baby to share a pint with Tollers and Jack. I read them some of my latest work. They both laughed heartily and pronounced it "pure rubbish".

Just kidding about that last part (but wouldn't that have been wonderful!). After dinner I caught City Bus #8 back to Headington, uploaded some photos, and crashed.

If interested, you can see pictures from Day 1 here: Oxford, Day 1. If you're not a Facebook user, try this link.

And now, off I go for another day in Oxford! Today Andrew and I will be visiting the Kilns, taking an Inklings walk, and perhaps visiting a museum after that.

We're thanking God that our two college kids are back home after successful semesters. They are growing up so quick!

And we're also thanking God for providing in such miraculous ways. We've got four kids, which equates to (under normal circumstances) sixteen years of college. Well, we've made it through the equivalent of three years of college - one of ours just finished his sophomore year, the other her freshman year - with neither ourselves nor our kids having to go into any debt thus far.

“There is no such thing as a non-working mother” (Hester Mundis).

That Moms are special is self-evident. Every person with a mother knows this. Many of you are mothers, or are married to a mother, or are friends with one. Thank God for mothers and motherhood.

Mothers make society better. Mothers make families better. Mothers make individuals better. In human society is there any force more powerful than a mother’s love?

For most of us, if the rest of the world abandoned us, one of the people who would still be there would be Mom. How great it is for a child to know that whatever he does, his mother is still going to love him. Someone once said, “A mother holds her children’s hands for a while but their hearts forever.”

There's a reason for the cliche "a face only a mother could love." A mother's love is simultaneously legendary and assumed. Pardon the reference, but was anyone surprised that the last woman on earth who would still stand by Tiger Woods was his mom?!?!?! (I'm pretty sure Lex Luthor's mom still loves him too.)And as a much more positive example, is it surprising to any reader of any culture to see that the very, very small group that still remained at the foot of the cross included Jesus' mother?

I know that the Bible reveals God as Father, so don't accuse me of saying otherwise. But can you see a mother's love as a reflection of God the Father's love for us? ("He created man in his own image, male and female he created them.")

The Bible says that "Every good and perfect gift comes from above." Everything good we have is a sign pointing us back to our creator. For example, marriage is given to us as a picture of Christ's love for the church. I believe that mothers are given to us as perhaps the best earthly picture of unconditional love, the kind of love that God has. (Only his is much more so.) But could we even imagine unconditional love if God hadn't given mothers the gift to love as they do?

The Bible acknowledges the great worth of mothers. I have adapted the classic passage about a Godly woman in tribute to modern mothers. As you read it, thank God for the mothers in your life.

“A good woman is hard to find, and worth far more than diamonds. Her husband trusts her without reserve, and never has reason to regret it. Never spiteful, she treats him generously all her life long. She shops around for the best deals and clips coupons. She's like a trading ship that sails to faraway places like Sam’s and Wal-Mart and brings back exotic surprises. She's up before dawn, preparing breakfast for her family and organizing her day. She looks for the best deal on the internet, then, with money she's put aside, she buys things for her family.

First thing in the morning, she dresses for work, rolls up her sleeves, eager to get started. She senses the worth of her work, is in no hurry to call it quits for the day. She's skilled in the craft of home and business management.

She's quick to assist anyone in need, reaches out to help the poor.

Her husband is proud to call her his wife.

She always faces tomorrow with a smile. When she speaks she has something worthwhile to say, and she always says it kindly. She keeps an eye on everyone in her household, and keeps them all busy and productive.

Her children respect and bless her; her husband joins in with words of praise: ‘Many women have done wonderful things, but you've outclassed them all!’ Charm can mislead and beauty soon fades. The woman to be admired and praised is the woman who lives in the Fear-of-God. Give her everything she deserves! Festoon her life with praises!” (Proverbs 31:10-31 -Adapted from “The Message” by Eugene Peterson).

“No man is poor who has had a godly Mother.” – Abraham Lincoln

Many people don't know that the Saturday before Mother's day is Birthmother's day.

The below is from my friend Marilyn's Facebook page (she and her husband have adopted their kids):

tomorrow is Mother's Day, but some of us are keenly aware that today is "Birthmother's Day". As most of you know, words are rarely in short supply for me, but today I find myself lacking the words to express the gratitude I feel for 3 amazing women. Without their selfless acts of love towards their sons, the world wouldn't have David, Jack or Zane and where would I be without my 3 men?!?! Thank you M, R and ?...

God bless those women who, though in dire straits, chose to give their babies life and to put them up for adoption.

Happy Birthmother's Day!

I've cleaned out our attic and I am currently going through the old boxes, deciding what to keep and what to throw away. In the process, I've come across some old journals, dating back quite a ways.

Here are excerpts from something I wrote on August 14, 1989:

Well, here I am at the brink of parenthood . . . I can't wait for that baby.

Some thoughts:

1. I'm tired of veiled warnings, dark sarcasm, etc . . . Just as in marriage (which comes with its share of warnings) I intend to value my child and take great joy in this gift. It's not work with that attitude . . . if the attitude is one of resentment, how can you help but be exhausted?

2. Jill is so beautiful.

. . .

How can I explain how I feel about parenthood? [interesting that I put this in the present tense, since our first child was still three weeks away] It's so different than anything I have ever felt before. I pray that I can be a good father and train up my child, love my child, and eventually let go of my child.

Bolding mine.

This entry was a reaction, I'm guessing, to the typical "oh boy, you're about to have a kid. You're doomed" snickering one gets when one is expecting progeny. The same dark warning are usually to be endured also before marriage, like it's going to be nothing but work, work, work. Well, yeah, there's that element. But, egad, if that's the sum total of one's attitude heading into marriage or children, I think some important truths and blessings are being missed.

I'm quite a bit older now than the young man I was when I wrote this almost 21 years ago. Being a parent has been and is still the greatest adventure of my life, and I have experienced the heights and the depths, more than I would have imagined. The jury is still out, but one day I'll stand before the One who will let me know how I did.

And I just high-fived my younger self, figuratively, of course, for this reminder - and especially that last sentence, which is where we find ourselves more and more now, most especially with the eldest two of our four kids.

And Jill is still beautiful.

Go check this out! What's In The Bible

Do watch his video where Phil explains that what he really wants to do is combat Biblical illiteracy in the church. And so, he is seeking to give kids an A-to-Z instruction. It's not just stories, it's the story. He is trying to give kids the content of the Bible in context and in order, so that they know what's where and why. It looks pretty good.

Here's a review from Dallas Theological Seminary:

I’ve just spent four hours with what I think will be two of the most life-changing titles of the year. Hang onto your seats. They’re children’s DVD’s called What’s In The Bible? They were so good that I watched each one twice.

Phil Vischer (creator of VeggieTales) has just released the first two of what will ultimately be a 13-DVD series covering the whole Bible. With puppets, animation and live-action craziness, you get the silly songs, clever jokes and what you might not expect–some great Bible teaching. Along with a good overview of Genesis and Exodus, the first two DVD’s hit some meaty issues as well. Canon, redemption, inspiration and salvation are simply explained by a Sunday School lady with a magic flannelgraph, a piano-playing pastor, a church-history-loving pirate and a lovable cast of characters. How many adults can answer the question of why Catholic and Orthodox Bibles have more books than the Protestant version? My favorite was the Popsicle-stick theater debate on how to depict God (I cheered with the conclusion). Now, I’m trying to figure out how I can get my adult class to watch these.

These DVD’s fill a huge void in presenting an entire overview of the Bible for children. With Biblical literacy at a low, these DVD’s need to be in the hands of every kid in the church. My real hope is that with repeated viewings, their parents will watch them and learn the Bible also.

They talk about canonization and theology? For the pre-school set? Wow!

So what do you think? Has anyone seen these yet? I'm thinking about getting them.

A few years ago we discovered that my son, Nathan, has Asperger Syndrome. I say "discovered" because we have never received a formal diagnosis, and we probably never will. (We're simply not sure that a diagnosis is something that is going to help him.) I think he was around five years old when we discovered his condition. My wife Brandi was a special education major in college, and she was trained in a specific type of therapy geared toward autistic children, so that certainly helped us pick up on certain clues in Nathan's behavior. As far as earlier detection, part of the problem for us was he was our first child and we simply expected him to be neurotypical. We didn't anticipate any roadblocks or challenges in his life.

Of course, as we all know roadblocks have a way of magically appearing, and there's no such thing as a smooth-sailing life of parenthood. During the past five years or so we've tried a handful of interventions, prayed for him like crazy, had the elders in our church pray for him, lamented his condition, and so on. He's now 10 years old and he's starting to mature, take on more responsibility, and figure out how to express his feelings and interact with other people (those things are often big challenges for Asperger kids). I'm not sure how much our interventions have helped, but I do know that he's made great strides in the way he relates to his younger brother and sisters, but the deficits are still apparent when he relates to people outside our family. I think most kids consider him strange, and most adults probably consider him quirky.

Building meaningful relationships is a challenge for Asperger kids, and autistic people in general (that's why one of the up-and-coming interventions is called Relationship Development Intervention). We've still got some challenges with Nathan in that area. He can sometimes not listen to what other people are saying, and he doesn't pick up on context clues (like rolling eyes or yawns) that might indicate that a person isn't interested in what he's vocalizing. And often times what he's saying sounds silly and meaningless (even though he typically knows what he means, even if we don't).

Of course, his silliness is what I so often love about him. Check out this email he sent me last week:

Subject: Outrangeous Bomb

I was thinking about making one that it is like this:

If it is a mile away from you,you will die.
If it is 25 miles away from you you will die.
If it is 50 miles away from you you will die.
If it is 75 miles away from you you usually will die.
If it is 100 miles away from you you usually won't die.
If it is 125 miles away from you you will feel some heat but not die.
If it is 150 miles away from you you will feel some heat.
If it is 175 miles away from you you usually will feel some heat.
If it is 200 miles away from you you usually won' feel some heat.
If it is 225 miles away from you,it will be fine.

That email is typical Nathan. He's preoccupied with bombs right now, and he's a fiend for numbers in any shape or form. (He first became obsessed with bombs when he saw The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. That opening scene where the bombs are dropping simply mesmerized him. He'd love to watch that scene over and over, ad nauseam.)

I've heard parents of Asperger/autistic children say that if they could wave a wand and make their kids neurotypical, they would not do it. Even Temple Grandin supposedly said that her autism is part of who she is, therefore she wouldn't change it. I'm torn between wanting a life for Nathan that's "typical," versus celebrating the fact that he's atypical and gifted in so many ways. Like many Asperger/autistic people, he's got an incredible mind -- a mind that can change the world. His mind wouldn't be that way if he were typical. Furthermore, he's probably the happiest person I've ever known; the kid is always happy and smiling. He loves everyone right down to his infant little sister, Evangeline. (I'll often times see Evangeline crying like crazy, screaming her head off, while Nathan is joyfully holding her in his lap, smiling like he can't even hear her earsplitting cries. It's very cool to witness him be that way, so happy and content with his little sister, despite her current mood.)

In the end I want him to understand JESUS' love for him. I want him truly, in the depths of his soul, as much as possible, to comprehend the breadth of God's love. The same God who holds Nathan in his lap, smiling the whole time. For my part I'll keep loving him, one day at a time.

He's easy to love.
Read the rest of this entry . . .

This post is a bit belated, I know.

It was a great, exciting game. But this was my favorite highlight from the Superbowl:



This is the definition of "once in a lifetime Dad/Son moment".

This morning my two year old got out of bed and came to see me, blurry eyed and still in his P.J's. "Good Morning", I said. "How did you sleep last night?"

"With my eyes closed," he said immediately.

Well, there you go. Can't argue with that. :-) But he wasn't joking. That was his honest answer and that's how he understood the question.

Children are concrete thinkers. They have difficulty with the abstract. Expressions and figures of speech are so often lost on them. Many an amusing moment when I do children's sermons on Sunday Mornings comes when a child answers a questions with a concrete or literal answer.

I wish I had started a journal of all the times my kids interpreted something I said literally. So many of those email jokes people send around with kids saying cute things to their Sunday School teachers are just kids understanding what grown-ups say literally. We laugh. But that's how they think. I always try to remind myself of that when talking to kids. But I didn't see this one coming.

I think our kids should be laughing at us. Do we realize how silly we sound?

What examples do you have of your kids answering you or understanding you literally? (Please don't paste one of those email joke things. I want to hear about your kids.:)

Or give me examples of silly things we grown ups say, if taken literally. (Like "I got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.")

My wife and I bought a new place about six months ago. We're way out in the country now. We're so far out that a local bumpkin we know told us, "Wow. You're further out in the country than we are."

If we wanted to (which we don't), we could link up with satellite TV. Other than that, though, our only option is to hook up our boob tube to the huge antenna on the side of our house. The coaxial cable, though, has been sliced and since I'm not much of a handyman, I've put off the project now for months upon months. Therefore, we've been without any network TV now for six months.

We do occasionally watch DVDs, but for the most part our TVs (we have two) go unused. It's refreshing to never hear the noise of television in our home. I don't think TV is evil (even though much of the content is evil), but I do think it makes a heck of a lot of noise. Not only that, those boxes are straight up ugly. I mean, unless it's a TV, who would want a big, black, dust-collecting rectangle in their living room? (We've got ours inside an armoire.)

With all that said, I'm going to have to figure out the coaxial thing because Lost is going to start up again in the spring. The Island doesn't accept any excuses.

Speaking of Lost, I still have yet to watch the last half of last season, so don't drop any spoilers in the comments!

Grace (6): "What does 'perish' mean? If having Jesus means you 'not perish,' it must be bad, right?"

Macy (8): "It means 'die'."

Grace: "We're all gonna die, Macy."

As if it couldn't mean that. :-)

My kids go back to school tomorrow.

It has come to my attention that the night before the first day of school seems to be one of high anxiety for most families.

It's busy and stressful. School clothes, school supplies, nervousness, bedtime, new schedule, who is the homeroom teacher?, who will pick the kids up, will they make friends and on and on.

This week, we started putting the kids to bed at their bedtime, and I turned on cartoons for them at 6:30am. (A priviledge they don't normally have.) I did this to motivate them to get up so their bodies could start getting used to the new schedule. I don't know if this was a good idea or not, I guess we'll see...


What is the night before the first day of school like at your house?

Do you have any advice, words of wisdom or creative ideas you can share?

Eldest son and eldest daughter (both college-bound in a few too-short weeks) recorded some songs today. The recording is simple and mainly first-takes, but what a great blessing! I've been wanting them to do this for a long time and I now have a CD in my hot little hands.

The song below, Grace upon Grace by Sandra McCracken, is one they sang for us at Molly's graduation party. I requested at the time that they record it, and today they did!

Thanks kids. I may post a few more of the gems off that CD in coming days.

Click here to hear Grace upon Grace.

Welcome to God's beautiful world, Evangeline. :-)