New Territory begins with "No"

When asked by Judah this morning, "Miriam, can I have my pirate eye-patch, please?" Miriam, for the first time in her life, uttered the word, "No." She's 18 months old.

For a negative response, Miriam has been in the habit of shaking her head or making an awful sound (grunting, squealing, pouting, crying). Until now, she has refrained from the proverbial first and favorite toddler word: no.

New territory awaits . . .

Speaking of new territory, we spent time this weekend with someone we admire, a leader, a mentor, a friend . . . and discovered that his teenager is in state custody. He's beside himself with grief . . .

A girlfriend of mine who spent time on the mission field with her husband is in the midst of an ugly divorce. She's clinging to her Rescuer and Redeemer, hoping it gets better. It must get better . . .

My neighbor's kid and his friend passed by our house a couple hours ago on skateboards. When I offered him and his friend a piece of watermelon, he said "No, thank you." His friend said, "Sure." Then, as we got to talking, I ask if either of them has an older brother. The friend says, "She does." She. Not a boy. A girl. My brain is reconnecting the dots. "I think I've met your mom," I say. "I have two moms," came the response. It took a while to figure out the situation. I figured she had a mom and a step-mom. Nope. Both moms live together in the house across from mine.

It's times like these that I think I want to take my family and escape into my own little happy, carefree world. Like Eustace and Jill nearly did this morning in The Silver Chair of The Chronicles of Narnia by C.S. Lewis. The witch-Queen tried to convince them and Prince Rilian and Puddleglum that there is no sun, no Aslan, no Narnia, no Outerworld. It's all a dream. All that exists is what you see before you. The only world is the Underworld, an underground kingdom shrouded in complete darkness and silence. "After a pause, and after a struggle in their minds, all four of them siad together, 'You are right. There is no sun.' It was such a relief to give in and say it."

Eventually, after a few futile attempts at breaking the spell, Puddleglum says:

"Suppose we have only dreamed, or made up, all those things--trees and grass and sun and moon and stars and Aslan himself. Suppose we have. Then all I can say is that, in that case, the made-up things seem a good deal more important than the real ones. Suppose this black pit of a kingdom of yours is the only world. Well, it strikes me as a pretty poor one. And that's a funny thing, when you come to think of it. We're just babies making up a game, if you're right. But four babies playing a game can make a play-world which licks your real world hollow. That's why I'm going to stand by the play-world. I'm on Aslan's side even if there isn't any Asland to lead it. I'm going to live as like a Narnian as I can even if there isn't any Narnia. So, thanking you kindly for our supper, if these two gentlemen and the young lady are ready, we're leaving your court at once and setting out in the dark to spend our lives looking for the Overland. Not that our lives will be very long, I should think; but that's a small loss if the world's as dull a place as you say."

You said it, Puddleglum. The spell is broken. To Narnia and the Overworld!

Such timely reading for such a day as this.