1. You must love Jesus. I don't care if you're a "good Christian boy." I was one of those too. So I know the tricks. I'm going to ask you specific, heart-testing questions about your spiritual affections, your daily devotional life, your idols, your disciplines, and the like. I'll cut you a little bit of slack because you're young and hormonal and your pre-frontal lobe isn't fully developed yet, but I'll be watching you like a hawk. I know you. I was you. You will think you can fool me, and you likely have fooled many other dads who didn't pay much attention to their daughters' suitors, but I will be on you like Bourne on that guy whose neck he broke. Which guy was that? Every guy. So love Jesus more than my daughter or go home.

2. You will install X3Watch or Covenant Eyes on your computer and mobile devices and have your regular reports sent to me.

3. I will talk to your dad and tell him I will hold him responsible if you don't treat my daughter like a lady. If he thinks I'm a crazy person, you fail the test and won't get to date her. If he understands what I'm saying, that bodes well for you.

4. You will pay for everything. Oh, sure, every now and then my daughter can buy you a Coke or something and a gift on your birthday and at Christmas. But you pay for meals, movies, outings, whatever else. Don't have a job? I'm sorry, why I am talking to you again?

5. You will accept my Facebook friend request.

6. If it looks like you need a belt to hold your pants up, I will assume you don't have a job. See #4.

7. Young people dating are putting their best face forward, so if you appear impatient, ill-tempered, or ill-mannered, I know you will gradually become more so over time. I will have no jerks dating my daughters.

8. If I am not your pastor, I will talk to the man who is. If your pastor is a woman, why I am talking to you, again?

9. You don't love my daughter. You have no idea what love is. You like her and you might love her someday. That's an okay start with me, so put the seatbelt on the mushy gushy stuff. Don't profess your undying love, quote stupid love song lyrics to her, tell her you'd die for her, or feed her any other boneheaded lines that are way out of your depth as a horny little idiot. A lady's heart is a fragile thing. If you play with hers, I will show you yours.

10. If you ever find yourself alone with my daughter, don't panic. Just correct the situation immediately. If I ever catch you trying to get alone with my daughter, that would be the time to panic.

11. It may sound like I'm joking in threatening you harm, and while I might not physically hurt you if you offend my daughter or violate her honor, when I am addressing the issue with you, you will not be laughing.

12. You may think all this sounds very legalistic. That's fine. You can be one of the many antinomians not dating my daughter.

1. Spending quality time with family, close friends, or the Son of God.

2. Reading. It's by far the best use of non-relational leisure time. Drop the video game controller. Turn off the boob tube. Pick up a piece of literature. :-)

From my infancy I was passionately fond of reading, and all the money that came into my hands was laid out in the purchasing of books.
-- Benjamin Franklin

3. Playing chess.

Four daughters, one clueless dad, and his quest to win their hearts.

"Let's be honest. I am completely unqualified to write an advice book.Thus begins the prologue to Daddy Dates, and it is in this vein that Greg Wright launches into his book. While I may differ with him on his qualifications, I like the tone. He is not a person who would normally be writing an advice book. Greg Wright is a professional coach, speaker, and - from all indications - all around regular guy from Austin. But in my opinion he is imminently qualified to have written this book because he's a dad who obviously loves his four daughters dearly.

This book had me at hello, mainly because I'm a huge fan of what we also in my family call "Daddy dates". I'm a dad of two daughters and two sons. Though both my daughters are out of the house now - one is married and one is away at college - I have treasured memories of many, many Daddy dates with Molly and Bethany.

Wright gets the importance of dating your daughters. The epiphany came to him, as he writes in his chapter "the tree and me", early on. As he sat under a tree, trying to make sense of his mission as a dad of four daughters, he began thinking about what he did when he met his wife.

And then it struck me that when I met my wife, I didn't know anything about her either, but I was lovestruck and did what a guy does when he thinks she's "the one." I made it my mission to find out what she liked so I could be her hero. (Or at least have a shot at being one.) I decided to discover who she really was and what she loved and feared and wanted in life. I pursued knowing her with gusto and wound up with the woman who gave me the greatest gifts of my life.

This book is a chronicle of Wright's pursuit to really know his daughters. He is a creative guy, and obviously one who thrives on relationships, but the book is not a systematic approach to dating your daughter. In fact, though he offers many very good and creative ideas that any dad who is in earnest about this can use to build a better relationship with his daughters, Wright continues to reinforce the basics:

So here's the core list. Do call her up and formally ask for the date. Do hold the door for her. Do tell her she looks nice. Do have her choose the music in the car. Do give her a flower. Do talk to her. But more important, listen and ask follow up questions and share some personal - but appropriate - things about yourself.

And snap a few photos once in a while. You don't want to forget how she smiled at her daddy, especially in a pretty red dress with roses on it.

- From the chapter "good to go"

Later, in the chapter "tweening", he writes:

The whole point of a Daddy Date is not so she'll experience your world, but so you will experience hers. If she hates bowling, then don't take her any place with ten pins and bad chili. If she doesn't like wings, don't go to Pluckers. If she doesn't dig your music, then don't play it.

You can torture the family with all that stuff in a group.

The book is a quick read, often funny, and, though it is organized, sort of, into, chapters that progress through the eras of a daughter's life, it is casual and conversational in tone. You can read it in a day.

If you're the dad of a daughter, you should read it. This book resonated well with me. Greg Wright knows what he's talking about, not because he's read research on this subject, but because he's lived it. I've seen it myself; as someone who has worked with students for many years, I can tell you that there is a tremendous - and heartbreaking - difference between a girl whose father not only loves her, but knows her and has pursued that knowledge and has cherished and protected and honored her, versus the girl who has been denied that type of father.

I highly recommend Daddy Dates.

It took me awhile to realize that parenting isn't a business, though, and after I drafted pages and pages of lofty language, I finally drilled my Dad Mission Statement down to three simple words.

Don't screw up.

Yeah, that works.

- final paragraph of the chapter "the tree and me"

[Full disclosure: I received a complimentary copy of Daddy Dates for review from Greg Wright's publicity assistant]

Last summer, I was extremely blessed to be able to go to Oxford, England, to visit my oldest son during his five-week semester at Christ Church College, Oxford University. It was an awesome trip.

Ridiculously . . . I got to go to Europe again this year. This time on a nine day tour with my youngest son's soccer club (they are in red in the picture to the left. The other team is a British club). We saw four professional matches - including an amazing game (the Spanish Super Cup) featuring Barcelona versus Real Madrid, and showcasing Messi and Ronaldo, arguably the two best players on the planet. Blake's team also played four matches, two in England and two in Spain, and won three out of four!

It was exhausting and incredible. If you're interested in seeing some pictures and reading about it, I posted daily reports on my solo blog, here.

"Gospel is good news, not good advice." I'm not sure who first used that phrase, but it has been sticking with me. (I think I first heard it when John Piper was defending inviting Doug Wilson to a "Desiring God" conference.)

Jared's Gospel Wakefulness, and call to Gospel Centeredness has been sticking with me too. I've been chewing on, meditating on, and trying to figure out how to explain it to others, and more importantly, how to model it.

This morning, while perusing Jared's awesome blog, I watched a Rich Mullins video that he posted. Which led me to another one. In this one, Rich talks about how God has no taste...because he loves you, and that we should be glad about that.



And that got me thinking. Isn't that the good news of the Gospel? We don't measure up, and it's OK, because God's already "knocked out about you", to use Rich's phrase.

Wow.

Now how do I live that? How do I explain that to my children?

Which leads me to my question for you. How do you teach, and by that I mean show, the Gospel as GOOD NEWS (not good advice) to children? Too many "Gospel for children" messages are object lessons that go from the concrete to the abstract. (I have learned not to use objects in my children's sermon unless the object I use represents the object it is, not something else. Kids just don't make the leap, like grown-ups do.)

Is the parable of the two Lost Sons (i.e. the prodigal son) the answer? What story do you tell? Maybe you just tell the story of Christ's crucifixion...but how do you tell a story, or explain to a four year old or a ten year old, what the Gospel really is? Or maybe the key is to show them? How do we do that? Please tell me your thoughts. I really want to learn from you!

Who has suggestions?

Do you have a favorite speech from a movie that you share with a friend, spouse or family member? You know what I mean. Where at the appropriate moment, something happens, and one of you cites the first line, and then in glee the two of you finish the speech together. Or one of you starts it, and the other finishes it. And in that moment, you've bonded. :-) Or maybe it makes the two of you laugh out loud every time. At the very least, it's an inside joke that makes you smile.

Share some with me under comments and don't forget to tell me in what contexts you use the speech.

Here's one of our all time favorites. We use it every time we want to say that something stinks.

Bernice Pruitt: At home we had a pet skunk. Mama used to call it Justin Matisse. Do you think that's just a coincidence? All day long she would scream, "You stink Justin Matisse!" Then one day she just picked up a club and killed it.
Justin Matisse: Now that's a sad story.
Bernice Pruitt: If you liked the skunk, which we didn't.

From Hope Floats. The part of Justin Matisse was played by Harry Connick, Jr.

Makes me laugh every time.

Here is a BBC News column that asks, "Why do people get married after having children?" And the author is serious!

For many people having a child is the ultimate commitment to a partner. A life you have created together and are responsible for raising. It's a commitment many people make without getting married. But some then go on to tie the knot, like Ed Miliband and his partner of six years, Justine Thornton. Why?

There are the obvious financial and legal advantages to getting married. For older people issues surrounding pensions and inheritance are often the reason they decide to get hitched after years together. But Miliband and Thornton are still young.

And while the pressures on the leader of the Labour party will be slightly different to those of the average person, there is no mistaking that attitudes to marriage and family have changed. Getting married used to be about sex, living together and having children, but research shows this is no longer the case.

According to the latest British Social Attitudes (BSA) Survey, which was conducted in 2008, almost two-thirds of people now see little difference between marriage and living together. Fewer than a fifth of people took issue with it. Just under half thought cohabitation showed just as much commitment as getting married. When it comes to children, where opinion can often be a bit more traditional, only 28% said they believe married couples make better parents.

So why do it? Psychologist Donna Dawson, who has specialised in sex and relationships, says it is often about making a public statement. "Having the children take part is like a ceremonial creation of a family and a public statement that they are all in it together. It's very much a 21st Century ritual, which more and more people will be doing."

She says even when couples say there isn't a specific reason, there is "always something going on underneath. Sometimes it is about marking a different stage in a relationship, or they might have taken a long time because of the bad example they were set by their own parents. There is usually a reason, even if they are not fully aware of it."

Chris, 41, and his partner were together for nine years and had two children when they got married. He didn't feel any direct pressure from his partner or family, but says as his children got older he wanted them to have parents who were married. "For me a big part of it was the children," he says. "I didn't want them to be asked at school why their parents weren't married. I suppose you could say that was me feeling a slight pressure to conform to social norms, but if I hadn't wanted to get married in the first place I definitely wouldn't have done it."

Marriage statistics
In 2009 231,490 marriages were registered in England and Wales. It was the lowest number since 1895. The long-term picture for UK weddings is of decline, from a peak of 480,285 marriages in 1972

"Obviously, people wanted that freedom as soon as they could," says Mansfield. "The average age of people getting married was 21 for women and 23 for men. Now you can put a decade on those ages and that's because sex and cohabitation outside of marriage are largely accepted. Now I think people get married after the house and kids because it is very much a public celebration of what they have, rather than the passport to adulthood."

Guardian columnist Zoe Williams has been with her partner for six years and has two children - just like Miliband and Thornton - but says she thinks it is a "weird gesture" to get married at this stage.

"It's now socially acceptable to have sex, live together and have kids outside of marriage, so why spend £10,000 or more on a wedding?" she says. "Having kids is a much bigger deal than marriage, a much bigger statement of commitment. Personally, I just don't think about getting married. I simply have never felt a need to be married."

In the end it could all be about having a big party for Ed and Justine. According to BSA survey, 53% of people now think a wedding is more about a celebration than a life-long commitment.

Wow! Is this where America is headed? Are we already there? (I don't think we are there yet.) If this is where we are headed, then why all the fuss about homosexual marriage? I mean seriously, if marriage is an outdated and unnecessary institution, then why are so many progressives fighting to open it up for homosexuals? Could it be that they are more "traditional" than they realize? (Kind of like the atheist who describes the God he doesn't believe in as the Christian God.)

I wonder if the homosexual marriage fight is a uniquely American issue because Americans value marriage in a way Europe does not.

In his book, I Almost Missed The Sunset Southern Gospel singer Bill Gaither tells a cool story about something that happened to him when he and his wife were just starting out.

Bill and Gloria Gaither were teaching school in Alexandria, Indiana, where Bill had grown up, and they wanted a piece of land where they could build a house. Bill noticed a fifteen acre parcel south of town where cattle grazed, and asked around until he learned that it belonged to a 92-year old retired banker named Mr. Yule. Bill and Gloria visited him and told him that they were interested in his piece of land.
“Not selling,” Mr. Yule said pleasantly. “Promised it to a farmer for grazing.”
Bill replied, “I know, but we teach school here and thought maybe you’d be interested in selling it to someone planning to settle in the area.”
The old banker pursed his lips and stared at Bill. “What’d you say your name was?”
“Gaither. Bill Gaither.”
“Hmm. Any relation to Grover Gaither?”
“Yes, sir. He was my granddad.”
Mr. Yule put down his paper and removed his glasses. “Interesting. Grover Gaither was the best worker I ever had on my farm. Full day’s work for a day’s pay. So honest. What’d you say you wanted?”
And that’s how Mr. Yule came to sell the property to Bill Gaither for far less than what it was worth.

Nearly three decades later, Bill and his son were strolling around that beautiful, lush property that had once been pasture land. ‘Benjy,’ Bill said, ‘you’ve had this wonderful place to grow up through nothing you’ve done, but because of the good name of a great-granddad you never met.”

Think about all of the blessings you have now because of someone that has come before you. Perhaps your great-grandfather came to this country looking for a better life. Maybe your great-great grandmother prayed for her grandchildren’s grandchildren that she would never meet.

You already know that children are affected by how they are raised by their parents. Once those children grow up, they often treat or mistreat their own children the same way. And the pattern repeats itself through generations.

Christian singer Sara Groves sings: “Remind me of this with every decision. Generations will reap what I sow. I can pass on a curse or a blessing to those I will never know.”

Proverbs 22:1 says “A good name is more desirable than great riches.”

Character is a far better inheritance than money.

However Timothy’s grandmother left him the greatest inheritance of all. Paul wrote “I have been reminded of your sincere faith, which first lived in your grandmother Lois and in your mother Eunice and , I am persuaded, now lives in you also” (2 Timothy 1:5).

Think about the choices you are making each day. Think about what they reveal the goal of your own life to be. What legacy are you leaving for those you will never meet?

Around the house, I'm a song writer. Now if you know me, you know I can't sing or play an instrument. But I love to make songs to fit our situation. So I just write my own parodies depending on what's going on.

When a kid is sad and needs cheering up, I sing "The Crying Song" which is just "Heartbreak Hotel" only I say "cry" instead of "die".

When a kid is mellow, I sing "Born to be Mild".

I will also take a song I know and change the lyrics to be about whatever kid I'm hanging out with at the moment.

I wish I could name more for you, but I can't remember them right now. You see I've literally been up all night with four kids who were throwing up all night.

My theme song for the occasion?

"Everybody Hurls" to the tune of "Everybody Hurts" by R.E.M.

I know, I'm a cool dad.

What about you? Do you have family parodies? What are they?

My favorite self-diagnosed Asperger's syndrome having, accordion playing, toast loving, Kurd serving, Christian radio elevating, humorist-slash-provocateur with an important rant:

You're an adult. Get over your parents, for crying out loud.

Seriously.

You got married, that means you have a new family, a new primary relationship. "Oh, but he's still my daddy, and -- " Sure he is. But you remember that whole father "giving you away" part? Yeah, that means he gave you away. Like, as in, "away". Like as in, your not his, anymore.

"But he's still my authority, and -- " No, no he's not. No matter what he says.

"But doesn't the Bible say to honor your parents, and -- " Sure does! So do it: Taking on your own life, your own new family, your own marriage project, is not dishonoring mom and dad. It's honoring them. Congrats, parents! Your kid actually grew up.

That was their goal, right? That's honoring. Mom and dad succeeded, and their kid is now an adult, not some sycophantic, overgrown, whiny, baby-bird that can't... quite... fly...

"But my mom loves that I'm still kind of dependent on her, and -- " Of course she does. It's natural. And it's natural, too, for her to want you to gripe about your spouse to her, and confirm her suspicion that you're much, much better than the person you're married to. After all, you're an extension of her. So yes, it's "natural". Just like a lot of dumb, immature things are "natural". But who knows? Maybe she can grow up, too.

Maybe you read that whole thing in the Bible about, "leaving" your parents, and starting over? Maybe you think that's just too radical? Well, there are a lot of radical things in the Bible, and -- let's be honest -- this "leaving" thing was a lot MORE radical back in the day, when the rest of the ancient world was all about sticking with your parents until their dying day. It was just plain shocking, actually.

So yep, it's radical. But there it is.

Also "radical": Not repeating the same mistakes your dad made. Or acting like your mom. Or raising your kids in a new way. Or setting out on a new journey, a better one, that God has planned for you. Freedom is radical. So is maturity.

(Bonus: The Krusty Sage's wife thinks he's hot when he demonstrates he's his own man. She also thinks he's hot because of his awesome white beard and his awesome wooden throne-thing, but the whole "Chart our own course together" is pretty dang romantic, too. And this from a Sage who totally loves and enjoys his own parents.)

Quit letting them tell you where to be for Christmas. Quit being emotionally dependent on them. Don't borrow money from them, if you can avoid it. Quit the, "I can't believe my mom just did/said that!" routine that still gets you fired up. Besides, unless you're stupid, you CAN believe she said "that", because he's been saying "that" for years. Quit being shocked, repeatedly, by the same thing.

Do not let them have power over you. Oh, they still want it, God bless 'em. But too stinking bad.

Start over. Do everyone a favor.

Love your parents, yes; appreciate them, yes; be there for them when you're needed, yes. Perhaps, when they're old and frail, they'll need you. Wonderful. Just do your best so you don't need them, anymore.

Want to "honor your parents"?

Grow. Up.

Whether they like it or not.

Sheesh.

Do you remember when Home Alone came out? Man, what a phenomenon. Was there anyone who didn't see it? I remembered it fondly, so recently while looking for something that our 3,5, 7 & 9 year old can watch with their parents that we would all enjoy we picked that one. Whoops. Forgot there were some bad words in there and a reference to porn.

I just remember it as being so innocent. I had also forgotten that the criminals getting clobbered is only the last 20 minutes of the movie. You have to wait an hour until the real physical comedy happens.

So are you really curious about where all those Home Alone people are now?

Wonder no more, click on this link.

The most interesting one to me was what happened to the actor who plays Kevin's older bully brother named "Buzz."

But his most interesting post-'Home Alone' credit is undoubtedly as himself in the mockumentary 'Courting Condi,' in which he examines his love for former Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice by interviewing those close to her.

So what are your memories of the movie?

The Funniest Thing You Will See All Day. Possibly The Funniest Thing You Will See All Year.



Masterful. The dudes who came up with that deserve all the money they are making off of Toyota. It's Genius. I will be singing that song forevah!

Kill the spirit of fear, that is.

Have you ever thought about what feelings and imagery are associated with Halloween? Easter celebrates the Resurrection of Christ and so with it are feelings of joy, victory, celebration and new life. Images that come to mind are the empty tomb, flowers and springtime. Christmas celebrates the birth of Christ and so with it are feelings of giving and of family. Images that come to mind are the nativity, Christmas trees, presents and poinsettias. The Fourth of July celebrates America’s Independence and so with it are feelings of happiness, freedom and celebration. Images that come to mind are the flag, fireworks and hot dogs.

When you think about Halloween what images and feelings leap to your mind? Kids and costumes? Candy and parties? Those are positive things. And so for that reason, I’m not one of those people who are opposed to all things Halloween. Every child loves to dress up and eat candy. (A lot of grownups do too, including me!)

But those aren’t the only images and feelings that are associated with Halloween. There’s another big one: fear. At their tamest, Halloween images are jack-o-lanterns and black cats. But normally it’s skeletons, bloody axes, ghosts and death. As a Christian and a parent I struggle with that. I know that some of you are thinking, “Hey, it’s all in fun.” Forgive me, but I just don’t see the fun in dressing up as an axe murderer or a corpse. Christmas movies are about family, love and giving. Halloween movies are about mass murder.

The point of this post is not to make a statement about whether or not your family ought to celebrate Halloween or how. That’s up to you. I just wanted to take the occasion of Halloween to remind you what God says about fear. There are a lot of scary things in this world. But responding in fear is not the way of the Christian. Please read the following messages from the God who created you:

“For you did not receive a spirit that makes you a slave again to fear, but you received the Spirit of sonship” (Romans 8:15).
“God did not give us a spirit of fear but a spirit of power, of love and of self-discipline” (2 Timothy 1:7).
“God has said, ‘Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you.’ So we say with confidence, ‘The Lord is my helper; I will not be afraid. What can man do to me?’” (Hebrews 13:5-6).
The LORD is my light and my salvation – whom shall I fear? The LORD is the stronghold of my life – of whom shall I be afraid?” (Psalm 27:1).
“When I am afraid, I will trust in you” (Psalm 56:3).
“Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground apart from the will of your Father. And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. So don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows” (Matthew 10:29-30).
“There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The man who fears is not made perfect in love” (I John 4:18).

These are the things we should be teaching our children all year round.

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.

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