Thinking

My sister gave me a gift certificate to Bas Bleu this past Christmas. This is a catalog/web-based book company, which in French means "blue stocking" or literary woman. They offer a fascinating selection of titles, both modern and vintage.

One of the books I settled on was a A Year with Aslan: Daily Reflections from The Chronicles of Narnia. Its new, permanent home is the scratched surface of our dark kitchen table. While my family has not read The Chronicles of Narnia (someday!), I appreciate the opportunity to discuss life lessons, based in fact or fiction, with my sweet brood.

How could I resist such excerpts with titles like: "Never Forget to Wipe Your Sword" and "Eustace the Dragon Tells His Story." Swords? Dragons? My six-year old is all ears. My soon-to-be three-year old is all belly. He interjects with shouts for more dessert.

Last evening we read a brief scene in which Aslan the lion meets the Witch. His golden form. Her marble whiteness. The main questions: "Why can't the Witch look Aslan in the eye? When have you not been able to meet someone's eyes? What was the reason?" The reasons flowed. Shyness was my oldest son's first thought. Shame quickly followed. Fear. Deceit. So many feelings the heart holds.

Rarely do I ration my time to think. My day is about doing. My night is about doing more. Thinking is reserved for the shower. Time to pass while the suds bubble. Rinse. Repeat. I'm thankful for my Aslan book and its provoking questions. Even more, I'm thankful for the moment it offers to chew on an idea and discuss its deepness. The gift of thinking.