We stood alone in Holy Trinity Church and soaked in the silence. There was something special, holy even, about that quiet moment, not least of which was the fact that it was so vastly different than moments we’d shared earlier that day.

Public transportation can be tricky business. My wife and I were in London for our honeymoon, and we’d planned to get around using various forms of public transport for the week. In London, the tube system is extensive, and while it took some getting used to, we quickly began to feel comfortable using it to explore the city. Anytime we needed to get from one place to the next, I’d search the next location on Google Maps, and I’d be given directions to the nearest underground station along with the line we needed to take. The details were impressive, down to the specific platform and train needed to get us where we wanted to go. With the tube, there were designated routes, fairly consistent schedules, and clearly communicated stops so we always knew where we were and how long we had until our next stop.

Not every public transport service operates the same way, though. On Saturday, we hopped on a train to Oxford, expecting the same sort of system. To be fair, the train operated much like the tube, with set stops and a clear schedule. I couldn’t find a list of the stops, though, so when the train stopped and I saw Oxford Park on the sign outside, I led us off the train, thinking we’d arrived a bit early. Seeing no sign of the city, we walked into the station and were kindly told that we’d gotten off one stop too early and would need to take the next train into the city proper. This mistake cost us about 30 minutes and led me to panic at the strain on our schedule, but we eventually got to Oxford.

Then came breakfast. We’d planned to eat and wander around a bit before our first tour of the day. After losing 30 minutes from the train mistake, we felt more urgency to find a quick meal, which was heightened by the fact that the restaurant we’d chosen took longer to find than expected. But we ate and finished with a few minutes to spare, giving us just enough margin to get to the location of our tour and struggle to find the entrance. We eventually got there, but only barely.

At this point, we felt a bit frazzled, as we’d arrived late or nearly late to every event we’d planned so far. When it came time to leave for our next tour, we managed to find our bus stop easily enough, and after some confusion about how to get a ticket, we were on board and on our way.

I was quite excited at this point. Our next tour was of C. S. Lewis’s house. Lewis has been a major influence on my life and writing, and I was so looking forward to visiting the house where he lived and worked along with the church where he worshipped and was buried. But I was also nervous, as I couldn’t get my maps app to show me the route for the bus we were on. We’d told the driver where we were going and were sold tickets, so we felt confident that we’d be dropped off at the right place. I was hopeful that things would go smoothly. Then I noticed that none of the stops we were passing looked familiar, and our GPS dot on the map began to leave the town and head further and further into the country. We began to panic. By the time we realized we’d missed our stop and would need to get off, the bus had entered a highway with no stop in site. What’s more, we couldn’t figure out how to stop the bus short of actually talking to the driver.

When we finally stepped off the bus, we were far from where we were supposed to be with the tour starting shortly. We hopped on a bus going back the way we’d come and missed our stop a second time because we still couldn’t figure out how to signal for a stop. Thankfully, we caught the next stop after the bus driver pointed to a button in front of us that we’d both missed. We exited, flustered and stressed and a bit embarrassed, and walked quickly through a light mist, knowing we were over 20 minutes late but hoping to be let in.

As we arrived at the Kilns, though, we were soon calmed. Despite being so late, we were welcomed in and told we could join the tour in progress. We caught up with the group as they were moving into their next room, and we felt something that had been absent all week: community. Sure, we’d been surrounded by people everywhere we went, and we’d just toured the Bodleian Libraries with a small group. But here, something was different. Rather than just meeting friendly faces, we were met with hospitality. We walked past a bowl of cough drops with a sign to please take one (a welcome gift after a long walk through the cold, damp air). Our guide, Esther, asked us where we were from and helped to settle us after we joined the group late. The stories she told of Jack, Warnie, and those who frequented the house felt more like family memories than mere history. After the tour, she spent a few extra minutes with us in the sitting room to catch us up on what we’d missed, going above and beyond in kindness and generosity. We felt a warmth there we didn’t realize we were missing, in part because for the first time on our trip, we knew we were around other believers. We felt at home there in a way we hadn’t elsewhere in England, and that made all the difference in our day. We entered the house flustered, cold, and discouraged. We left humbled and encouraged and thankful.

After the tour ended, we took a short walk to Holy Trinity Church, where Lewis is buried. To get there, you have to walk through the neighborhood, past quaint houses and narrow lanes, until you reach a gate opening to trees. The church isn’t large at all, and the churchyard isn’t flashy or pronounced. It’s simply there, as it’s been for years, quietly tucked away in this corner of the world. After finding Lewis’s grave, we entered the church itself, where a few others who’d toured the Kilns with us were just leaving. Then we were alone in the old church building.

There in the quiet, after the craziness of the day, we both enjoyed a moment of peace. And there was a sense of rest in that stillness as well. I wonder if that moment would have been as special if it wasn’t for the stress that had preceded it. Similarly, I wonder if the tour, and the intentionality of the hosts, would have meant as much if we hadn’t been so late.

Life is interesting. On one hand, we don’t desire setbacks or sufferings. We try to avoid them if at all possible. Yet some of God’s greatest gifts come on the heels of such experiences, sometimes even because of them. Our reason for being in Oxford in the first place is another example of this, as it was our honeymoon, a celebration of marriage following years of struggle and silence. Those years were filled with bitterness and suffering, as my wife and I were both working through some of the hardest seasons we’ve ever faced. And yet God was at work in and that time, leading us through it to each other. All things really do work together for good, as Paul wrote in Romans 8. And though we often forget it, God proves the point over and over again in our lives. That day in Oxford is a sweet reminder that God is good and that he is generous and kind even in the midst of frantic circumstances.