JR and I are working our way through Madeleine L’Engle’s Time Quintet. I remembered loving A Wrinkle in Time when I was a kid, and once I read the opening sentence (“It was a dark and stormy night”), JR was hooked.
At this point, we’re a few chapters into the audio version of A Swiftly Tilting Planet. It’s the third book in the series and is built on the premise of Charles Wallace’s task to travel through time (and through people’s mind) to prevent nuclear war.
Yeah. Heavy stuff, given the current whackadoo feeling of the times.
JR is partial to the first book, but at this point I’m all schmoopy over the second one: A Wind in the Door, due much in part to a paragraph that occurs early on in the story. Mr. Murry is attempting to comfort his wife in a moment of desperation. Not just desperation, really. More like borderline hopelessness. He says…
Those words were like a punch in the gut to me when I first read them. But a good punch, if there is such a thing.
Yes. That. I remember thinking, feeling a lump rise in my throat as I read the words allowed to our son nestled in the crook of my arm. I had to pause and blink back tears before I could go on. There’s something about holding my boy tucked into his bed that makes everything about the world–good and bad–seem so much more…more. Everything feels so big and so small at the same time.
You see, I want those words to be true. Sometimes I even believe they are. And in the times when I’m less sure of them, I want to at least be one of the people Mr. Murry is talking about.
I want to be a person who keeps promises. Let’s all be that. It’s a start.
It’s quite something, really.