Dear Lucy,
I know what it’s like to see everything and to bear the weight of the truth. I know what it’s like to see something beautiful, to lead someone by the hand to it and to wait to see if they see the beauty too. I know the swaying back and forth, the number of intakes of breath it takes to wait for someone to experience Patriot’s Park or my four-cornfield-360-degree-view-of-the-sky or the walk from chapel to Burritt in the fall. I hug my knees and hide my face, peaking ever so often to see if they see, because seeing leads to knowing and knowing to loving. Or maybe seeing leads to loving and then to knowing. I’ve never quite figured it out, but I think that’s why you and I have always understood one another.
And if I’m being honest, Lucy, the seeing isn’t enough. It’s in the delighting that I find my closest friends and community. The moving past the seeing into loving relationship and experience with the world and everything in it. The intricacies of discovery, the familiarity of visiting the same woods over and over again. You and I have always agreed that Narnia exists and can only be stumbled into, which is why we are always ready to experience ultimate joy and beauty and love in the ordinary. It’s only because we’ve become somewhat experienced at stumbling into goodness over and over again.
I’m sad for the people who don’t see or who choose not to see, but there’s still hope for them, because there is so much that I do not see or did not see in the past that I stumbled upon later, people or places that changed absolutely everything. It’s the people who see and choose not to delight or experience that I can’t live with. I find myself saying, “If you’re not moved by this in some way, I don’t know what to say, I don’t know what to do. You must choose how you will live this life. I chose a long time ago.” And my choosing was absolutely shaped by the smells of the lilac bush and the clothes out to dry outside my childhood windows, by the hayloft and the snow hills perfect for sleds and the picnic table we hiked to in the middle of the timber. I didn’t have a choice but to live this way because it seems as if imagination chose me. The wardrobe presented itself early. I entered Narnia before questions of worthiness were formed.
So this life of being a guide to the beautiful places, of finding beauty and peace with all things? I’m glad you’ve shown me how to be bold and to trust my eyes, because other people don’t trust their own feet with which they’ve walked through many an experience. And sometimes all that’s necessary is taking the ridicule, grabbing someone’s hand, and saying, “I’ve seen Aslan. He’s real. It’s more than a wardrobe.”
Help me to be patient, Lucy, for others to see what I know to be real. To hope that the delighting will come.
Love,
Emily
Emily is a good friend and a kindred spirit. We met only last year, but had both walked through Narnia for so many years that from the moment we met we knew our souls were the same. And we know we are not alone in this. If you have a letter for Lucy or another character whose heart beats in tandem with yours, send it via the form below to see it posted!