Aslan, God, and reading to my daughter

Tori has finally developed the patience for being read chapter books.

We’re starting with my childhood favorite: The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe by C.S. Lewis. I’ve read the whole Chronicles of Narnia series hundreds of times in my life, so adept at reading them that I can do all seven books on an uninteruppted sick day, the books providing me with the kind of nourishment that I don’t get anywhere else.

Charlie hates what he feels is the underhanded Christianity of the books (which, of course, isn’t really underhanded at all) but hasn’t raised any of his atheist objections to my reading it to Tori. So we read it, and Tori’s face is solemn as she scrutinizes the tiny black and white drawings in the book, even though she’s already seen the movie version, and she knows what happens next.

She falls asleep now while I read, giving up her standard lullabies (which, by the way, is usually Amazing Grace because she loves it so). I usually sit for a minute or two with her after she’s asleep, listening to her breathe, wondering if Aslan is charging through her head, bringing Santa behind him.

There was a long period of time where I pictured God as Aslan, a great lion with a face full of terrible beauty, radiating love and tolerance but also a fierce challenge, asking you to be better than you are now, to meet his standards of being a good person.

Today I have a different picture of God, more of a beleaguered warrior with scarred hands, more full of forgiveness and patience than challenges. I’m not sure why it’s changed, but reading this book with Tori has reminded me of that much more fierce version of God, and I find myself feeling lacking, like I’m not doing enough, or being enough.

But this doesn’t make me feel shame or regret, no, instead it just makes me feel challenged. There are changes coming – again – the edge of the storm is here already, the wind blowing and the rain beginning to wash things clean. Instead of feeling afraid (okay; I’m a little afraid), I mostly feel eager, ready to see what’s next. Mostly.

Last night I was awake at 3 am, groggy but anxious, worrying about what’s coming next. Today I’m doing simple things, like writing this, going to the gym, answering emails, brushing my teeth, saying prayers for the people who are suffering right now. Because I am not among their number. Not really.

In this last day of November, the month where most of us think and talk about gratitude more than any other time, I feel grateful. I feel blessed that this year has been what it’s been and the lessons I’ve learned. I feel blessed that I feel like more of a writer again than ever before. I feel thankful for my friends, my dear friends that have made the day-to-day of my life better than it has ever been, and even for those friends that have grown and changed and have moved away a bit. Most of all, I feel blessed for my family, for my daughter that has become more independent in these last few weeks than ever, for my husband that loves me, and my mother who is that unique blend of supportive and exasperating that only mothers can be. Someday Tori will feel that same way about me, I’m sure.

So, deep breaths, everyone. Today will be a good day.