A Wardrobe Mind

You are our portal to those hidden havens
Whence we return to bless our being here.
Scribe of the Kingdom, keeper of the door
Which opens on to all we might have lost,

Generous, capacious, open, free,
Your wardrobe-mind has furnished us with worlds
Through which to travel, whence we learn to see
Along the beam, and hear at last the heralds,
Sounding their summons, through the stars that sing,
Whose call at sunrise brings us to our King.

~Malcolm Guite from “C.S. Lewis: a sonnet”


This is the 57th anniversary of C.S Lewis’s death in 1963, overshadowed that day by the assassination of President John F. Kennedy.

Sign on the Lewis wardrobe built by C.S. Lewis’ grandfather that served as his inspiration for “The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe” — it first stood in his childhood home and later in his home “The Kilns” at Oxford.
Now part of the C.S. Lewis collection at the Marion Wade Center at Wheaton College, Illinois:

“We do not take responsibility for people disappearing.”

This is no mere piece of furniture;
Enchantment hangs within
Among the furs and cloaks
Smelling faintly of mothballs.

Touch the smooth wood,
Open the doors barely
To be met with a faint cool breeze~
Hints of snowy woods and adventure.

Reach inside to feel smooth soft furs
Move aside to allow dark passage
Through to another world, a pathway to
Cherished imagination of the soul.

Seek a destination for mind and heart,
A journey through the wardrobe,
Navigate the night path to reach a
Lit lone lamp post in the wood.

Beaming light as it shines undimmed,
A beacon calling us home, back home
Through the open door, to step out transformed,
No longer lost or longing, now found and filled.

3 thoughts on “A Wardrobe Mind

  1. “Sign on the Lewis wardrobe built by C.S. Lewis’ grandfather —
    it first stood in his childhood home and later in his home
    “The Kilns” at Oxford.
    Now part of the C.S. Lewis collection
    at the Marion Wade Center at Wheaton College, Illinois:”

    Furniture connecting us to our past.
    I have my father’s cradle.
    I purchased it when my paternal grandfather’s possessions were sold.
    It has been in my space since 1976.
    I was determined to find a place for it,
    when I moved to my one bedroom apartment in June.
    It holds my childhood doll and four teddy bears
    made by a friend using the fabric of my morther’s last winter coat.
    Memories, Memories. Memories. Wonderful memories.
    My dad recovered from the pancreatitis that hit him last Thursday.
    He lost much strength.
    Now he’s in Short Term Rehad just across the parking lot from my apartment.
    As he says, “So close and yet so far away.”
    I’m not allowed to visit. So sad. So draining emotionally.
    How can we expect a tired, weary 98 year old father to rehab back to where he was.
    Only time will tell.
    From cradle to grave.
    He lived through the drpression and now has to be isolated from family though the pandemic.
    Why is the journey through the wardrobe so difficult for some?
    My mother passed from a sudden heart attack at 67 in 1989.
    Why Lord? I find myself asking that question quite often these days.
    I should go back and read C. S. Lewis again.
    Linda Ziegler

    Liked by 1 person

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