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“I know what you’ve suffered,” Sween said, crossing to lay a hand gently on Dote’s arm. “I know it well. But we must think of them not only as they have been but as what they might become.”
“It’s always hard to forgive, but it’s never not worth it.”
“It feels like I will fail everyone in the end, and no one I love will live to see the mending.”
Weezie wrapped her arms around him and held him. “If we don’t see the mending, it won’t be because of you. If any of us ever do see it, then we’ll have you—in a big way—to thank.”
“You might never die, Miss Longtreader,” Aunt Jone had said, her eyes sparkling as she smiled her toothless smile. “I never have.”
“It’s ‘my place beside you,’ not ‘my place blocking your view.’”
You mean to win for a mending, but you die in its ending.”
She remembered that time with tenderness, but a deep delight welled up within her as understanding grew that the present joy far outshone the pale light of past happiness. Her ever new and ever renewing delight carried within it every sweet remnant of what it had in the past, but it thrummed within her now and swelled to a perfect pitch.
As children we pretend at play, but it is always us pretending, and our make-believe is made up from what we believe. We love to make believe, and we make believe about what we love.
May the Ancient Author bless and keep you. May the Holy Hero be your rescuer forever. May the Story find you, through every painful passage, at home with him in the end. May you delight in his love and exalt in his victory then. May you always aspire to live as a character you admire. May you know the delight of finding out that the Story isn’t mainly about you. May you know and love the truth and be brave to obey it. May you make a hard dart at the darkness with whatever light you bring, reflecting, like the moon, a light far brighter than your own. May God give you joy!
