In 2001 I travelled to Oxford, to walk the paths that Lewis had walked, visit his college, Magdalen, and to thank him.  He rests in a modest, mossy burial ground of dappled sun and shadow, a perfectly suited resting place for the great man who loved green, quiet places, and who had struggled to walk a path of charity, humility, contribution, faith, and hope, and to light that path so that others might follow.  I had followed.  I walked alone carrying The Weight of Glory to his grave.  Sitting beside him on the grass, I told him why I had come, and quietly read his words aloud.  I was to return seven years later, as a guest at The Kilns, Lewis’ former home