My "What I Did Over Summer Vacation" Essay

I went to Narnia this summer.

I've only been one other time; I took my son when he was 10; he's going to be 34 in a few weeks. These last few months I had the strongest urge to go again. I'm so glad I did. There are so many lessons to learn there. Also, the animals talk.

As a much younger mother, I had read Lion and Caspian before venturing back and reading all seven books with my children. By the time the three of us went together, I had begun a random list of people I hoped to have lunch with some day in the afterlife. Lewis was definitely on the short list which included people like Joseph Smith, Anne Frank, and Helen Keller. I loved the idea of visiting with people who had not just made a difference in the world at large, but made a big difference in my world - in me. Then one day the most absurd and important idea popped into my head: What exactly do you have to say when you meet Mr. Lewis?

I realized I might want to be more intentional in what I consumed mentally (see Louis L'Amour quote on home page) so I would have something substantive of my own to bring to the table. Dull lunch indeed, if all I did was reenact the hysterical Chris Farley character from SNL, interviewing various random famous people. ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NHPQFPdj8ko&pp=ygUoY2hyaXMgZmFybGV5IGludGVydmlldyBmYW1vdXMgcGVvcGxlIFNOTA%3D%3D)

But I digress. (Imagine) This summer, I revisited one of the loveliest journeys of my life as a mother - taking my precious children into a treasured book. In typical fashion, Megan forged on ahead of us and finished on her own, leaving Grant and me to carry on for most of the series. We read them in Mr. Lewis' preferred order, chronologically:

1. The Magician’s Nephew

2. The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe

3. The Horse and His Boy

4. Prince Caspian: The Return to Narnia

5. The Voyage of the Dawn Treader

6. The Silver Chair

7. The Last Battle

This summer, I saw more deeply the themes of Christianity Lewis wove into the fantastical world. Lewis' ability to make profound lessons about human nature simple enough for children served to underscore them somehow. These endearing characters taught me through their own lessons.

In The Magician's Nephew, my children saw strong people manipulate and exploit weak people. We read of an entire world destroyed by pride. We watched a little boy full of self-justification learn that despite all excuses and extenuating circumstances, it's impossible to lie to Aslan; your heart simply won’t let you, and neither will He.

In The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, we watched an innocent little boy become addicted before he even knew something was bad for him - all with the promise of importance over siblings with whom he often felt overlooked. It's so important to learn that if someone's offering you something which sounds too good to be true, it is. I love that my children saw Lewis' symbolic telling of the importance of sacrifice and atonement - gently teaching of the ultimate Atonement of Jesus Christ in the sacrifice of Aslan.

In A Horse and His Boy, we saw the life of a seemingly unimportant little boy become terribly important in saving a kingdom. Every unfortunate thing that happened to him forged his character and taught him he was carefully watched over by a benevolent power much higher than his own - for a higher purpose than he could ever have imagined.

In Prince Caspian, we learned your personal instructions from God may look completely different from everyone else's around you - probably will - but to trust what you know is true. We learned that power in the hands of evil is always for selfishness, but power in the hands of virtue is for service and sacrifice.

In Dawn Treader, we met a terribly obnoxious little boy who thought he could restore himself when he recognized what a rotter he was. What a valuable lesson: though more painful, at first - Aslan's way of redemption was a sweet relief. It was equally valuable to watch that obnoxious little boy not be completely transformed afterwards, but forever committed to practicing his new, non-obnoxious ways.

In The Silver Chair - we ventured far beneath Narnia to rescue someone terribly beloved and valued - who had been enchanted into a complete forgetfulness of his true identity. We learned a lesson of following instructions as exactly as you know how, and that distractions can lead to a dangerous downward incline.

In The Last Battle, we were surprised to meet a counterfeit Aslan - with so many horrendous things done "in his name" that when the truth was finally revealed - far too many were jaded and contemptuous of the real Aslan going forward. It was important for my wide-eyed little boy to hear the story of a king who knew it was worth dying to not disappoint Aslan.

Just the other night, I relived one of the most tender moments of leaving Narnia with my little boy twenty-four years ago. I read with great emotion some of the last lines in our adventure:

Spoiler alert: this is literally the last page of the last book:

[Aslan speaking to the children, of never having to leave Narnia again]: "The term is over: the holidays have begun. The dream is ended: this is the morning."

"And as He spoke He no longer looked to them like a lion; but the things that began to happen after that were so great and beautiful that I cannot write them. And for us this is the end of the stories,... All their life in this world and all their adventures in Narnia had only been the cover and the title page: now at last they were beginning Chapter One of the Great Story, which no one on earth has read: which goes on for ever: in which every chapter is better than the one before."

I was touched that there were tears in my little boy's eyes besides mine as I shut the book. There was that lovely pregnant pause at the end of every good book: that deep sigh of satisfaction of returning from a journey well worth taking. We smiled at each other with great affection.

"Now that's someone I want to have lunch with some day," Grant said.

I agreed most wholeheartedly. And twenty-four years later, I still do.