Lucy was my favorite. She was brave. With a beautiful heart. And an even fiercer determination. She loved her siblings through their failures, and through their victories. But most of all, she loved Aslan with abandon and the tears she shed for him when he lay on that stone table mirrored my own. She loved him. And I loved him.
Then, Peter, Edmund, and Susan also captured my heart. The siblings who bickered, who were young and ridiculous, also grew to be regal Queens and Kings. They were imperfect. So many flaws. But they persevered.
|Map of Narnia|
Then, I began to read beyond Narnia. Who was this man who had written these stories and wound his way into my heart? How I wished I could weave a tale like him. Who was he and why did he make me feel like I could fly? He encouraged my own bravery. My own love for people. And my own quest for queenship. For I knew in my heart that I was no simple human, but a princess in the making, and a future queen of a kingdom far away. Who was this man?
He was a simple fellow, from a simple family, who served in a war, and who had died when my parents were the age that my sweet firstborn is now. He was oddly named. Clive? Staples? Lewis? Three names that were unfamiliar to me. Though, of course he went by his childhood nickname of "Jack" and lived a strange life in a big old house with some obscure people.
I was in love. I read every book that I could get my hands on. My favorites still were among the Narnian tales. Once a King or Queen of Narnia, always a King or Queen of Narnia. We even named our second-born son, Lewis, after this man.
Happy Birthday Jack. You've made my life so colorful. I struggle, even now, for the words to express my deep gratitude.