I think Madeleine L'Engle must have read Lewis.
I've been reading A Wrinkle in Time and A Wind in the Door all day, while the weather called no attention to itself outside and the fire was only warm and not necessary for coziness.
So the worlds I've been to during these hours...I can hardly believe that children read this. Well, I can. I just know some adults who would have their minds exploded if they went to these worlds and really believed. As usual, I have no top to my head today.
I've been thinking about how valuable books are, especially this kind. I have learned more. I have more human in me. My mind has gone to places of cherubim and mitochrondia and delightful boys like Charles Wallace(I will never forget him) and ordinary, loving, impatient girls like Meg.
Now it's finally snowing, as if the weather let out its breath, and I am bigger. More human. More Named by the One who calls us all by Name.
It is true that if we know who we are no one can take that away from us. That is why we are safe in Him, because He calls us by our true Names. We rest there, though wars and darkness and cold rage around us.
I have so many books, I am rich with books that need to be read. And they are all humans expressing what they think of God and Naming and Nothingness, all in different ways. Myriad, various ways, like Proginoskes' eyes. Too many do not understand who they really are, who anyone really is.
But enough know. Or begin to.
The strange thing is that it's strange. We find out who we are through Charlies and Janets met on the street, through late-night wonderings about angels, through puzzles, through food, through clothes. I am afraid that every moment God is telling me who I am, and I can only think of what else I should be doing to find out.
I want to learn to shut up and listen.
He knows the stars by Name.
He knows every beautiful word, and what it really means.
He knows the souls on the streets.
He knows us all.
He knows me.
As Mr. Murry said, "I am not in a doubting mood."
