On a recent whim, I bought the entire Chronicles of Narnia collection in one
volume from a thrift store. I then proceeded to read it. Actually, I stayed up
way too late for too many nights and devoured it. I’d seen the three Narnia
movies, but I hadn’t had my nose in any of the novels since my third-grade
teacher read a few of them aloud in class, so many of them were completely new
to me.
As I finished one novel and started the next, I felt
a little sad each time because at the end of each novel, with the exception of The Horse and His Boy, the children from
our world who are brought to Narnia have to leave. After participating in a
great adventure, making new friends, growing in wisdom and understanding about
themselves and the world around them, and walking side by side with Aslan the lion,
the children have to say good-bye to Narnia and take up their ordinary lives
again. The children actually handle this reality pretty well; I, on the other
hand, felt a heaviness on me each time it happened and was tempted to chuck the
whole book in the trash.
It’s like the feeling I get when I have to leave what
my mother used to call a “mountaintop experience”—an empty sort of ache that
comes from the realization that once a moment has passed you can never get it
back again. I remember back in college when I volunteered as a camp counselor
for a week each summer, after I went back home I’d write mournful poetry in my
journal and lament the fact that all I had left of my week were memories and a
few photos. Leaving China after living and working there for two years caused a
similar ache that lasted for months and still pops up occasionally because I
knew I would likely never see again this side of heaven many of the people I’d
come to love. I feel an ache even now when we have to come back to the city
after spending time up in northern Wisconsin near Lake Superior, a place where
I feel more at peace than anywhere else on this earth. Just a few weekends ago
I got choked up when I had to leave my grandma’s house after a visit. We had so
much fun together as she taught me to sew. She’s 93 years old; I don’t know how
many visits we have left. The older I get the more I realize the value of
special moments and want to hang on to them as long as I can.
When I got to the last book in the Naria series, The Last Battle, I approached the end
with caution, my heart beating faster with every page as I silently longed for
the children to get to stay in Narnia. Please, Mr. Lewis, let it end well! Mr.
Lewis did not disappoint; in fact, he caught me by complete surprise. If you
haven’t read the book, be warned that I’m going to give some of it away.
It was a rollercoaster, this last book. Through the scheming
of Shift, the evil ape, and the Calormenes, Narnia is destroyed, and nearly all
the children who had been to Narnia from its beginning, though some of them were
now quite old, find themselves together, walking with Aslan deeper and deeper
into a world that is strangely familiar and yet different—better—than the
Narnia they had known. As they walk, they grow lighter in spirit and find that
no matter how far they run, they never get tired, nor are they able to feel
afraid. Along the way old friends from their adventures greet them, and they
experience more joy in these reunions that they ever knew was possible.
And then they ask the question that had been on
their minds (and mine!) the whole time: Would they get to stay this time. Aslan
explains that they are in the new Narnia, the real Narnia, Narnia as it should
have always been, and that this time, because they had all been killed in a
train crash, they never again have to leave. “The dream is ended,” he says.
“This is the morning.”
At this point in the book, I was sobbing into my
pillow from both relief and a strange sort of euphoria. Something about C. S.
Lewis’s depiction of eternity resonated with me so deeply that my whole
perspective changed.
I’ve known since childhood God’s promise of heaven,
but to my younger self, the thought of standing around in a white robe singing
praise all day didn’t sound too exciting. As I grew older, the idea of seeing
my grandparents or other loved ones again in heaven became more and more
appealing, but I wanted to get a bit more out of life on this earth before
going down that particular road. Now, though, things are different. Now I’ve
known loss that has wounded me and left scars. Now I know I’ll never be able to
think away the hollow spot inside me that grows a bit bigger every time I had
to say good-bye. Now I feel so deeply the discouragement of a broken world.
By the grace of God, I’m never without hope; I’m just
waiting for the morning.
I know it
might sound morbid to say I can’t wait to get to heaven, because unless Jesus
returns first, death is a certainty. But going to heaven is not about dying;
it’s about living! It’s about using every breath and gift I’ve been given right
now to live
deliberately—to hug a stranger who’s hurting, speak the truth boldly and with
love, give away things I want to hold onto, and pray constantly. It’s
about remembering that God didn’t put me on this earth to settle in comfortably
and make a good life for myself until he calls me home; he put me here to serve
and glorify him, no matter the difficulty or the cost.
As God’s
own daughter, I know the best is yet to come. This wonderful knowledge gives me
the courage to face my fears and follow God’s lead, even though doing so might
push me beyond my comfort zone. It also gives me a new perspective on the happy
times in life. I don’t need to hang onto people I love with a white-knuckled
grip anymore because I’m afraid I’ll lose them. Of course I’ll lose them—that’s
part of life in the shadowlands: everyone dies. So I take advantage of the time we have together, apologize and forgive, and choose to be patient, loving, and unselfish
(and pray for a lot of help in those areas!). When God blesses me with mountaintop
moments, I accept them with thanksgiving, enjoy them, and then let them go. I
realize now that no matter how hard I try, I can’t keep them forever, and that’s okay!
Even though the children loved their time in Narnia,
it was only when they experienced life in the new Narnia, Narnia as it should
have been, that they knew what it was like to really live. When
this temporary life is over and my life in heaven begins, I’ll know joy, peace,
hope, and love in ways I’ve only caught glimpses of here on earth. Not to mention, I'll get to attend the best reunion ever! Even my
happiest moments in this life can’t compare to the joy of heaven. Can you imagine?
Narnia may
be a fantasy, but God’s heaven is not. Morning is coming. Praise God!
