For about 30 minutes during the summer of 1994, time was frozen for me in the churchyard of the Headington Quarry parish church as I knelt at the grave of C. S. Lewis. Never has the weight of our mortality bowed me down more severely than at that moment. For I had been hanging on every published word of this man for over twenty-five years. He had saved me from apostasy when I wa…
ChristianGlobe Networks, Inc., The Widow of Nain's Son, by Donald T. Williams