This weekend, a few girls and I went to see C.S. Lewis's house and grave. I had forgotten to grab my gloves and jacket, so my fingers felt like they had turned to stone, but it was neat to see the house where one of my favorite authors had lived, as well as seeing the cemetery where he is buried.
We spent a half hour or so, walking around and reading different tombstones. As I saw the different epitaphs, I got a very solemn and holy feeling about life. The people I was reading about all had lives: families, jobs, joys and disappointments. Now all that remained to inform a stranger about them was a sentence or two carved on a stone.
At first glance, this may seem like it diminishes the value of an individual life, but I don't think it does. By seeing fragments of this community's past generations, I felt at peace with the knowledge of my own mortality. Death is a part of life, the conclusion to each individual story. But not to the greater story. Each person lying beneath the ground represented a significant thread of a greater story, and it warms my soul to think on it.
The rest of the weekend continued charmingly: on Sunday afternoon, a couple from church invited a group of SCIO students over to their home for lunch, so my goal of being in a real British home has been accomplished! On getting back to The Vines, we were asked if we had had a "traditional British Sunday lunch", but no... We had the most delicious curry and rice. An episode of Fawlty Towers. And ice cream. So good. After coming home, the rest of the afternoon was spent eating more food and reading aloud.
I do think this is the charmed life.
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