The Lion, the Muslim, and the Dryer

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If I'd just read the books for fun and then put them away to go out and play, it would've been no big deal. But I would read them with a flashlight at night. I would dawdle in the morning and be late for the bus because I was voyaging on the Dawn Treader with Eustace Scrubb and Edmund and Lucy Pevensie--and not for the first time.

I was hoping for an Aslan-like protective figure in my life. I was dreaming that I would find a Mr. Tumnus for a friend, or a Reepicheep for an ally, or a Professor to gently indulge my fantasies. My parents wanted me to think of Allah (SWT) All-Mighty as my ultimate best friend, guide, and protector. They were afraid I was blurring the lines between reality and fantasy, that I was happier within the pages of Narnia then living my life as a Muslim girl in Grand Forks.

And for a time I was happier when I was reading, when I was traveling the paths with the Pevensie children, when I was fighting the White Witch, when I was there for the creation of Narnia. (But not when I was reading about the demise of Narnia in "The Last Battle," even though Aslan led everyone to a new, wonderful land.) It was the ultimate battle of Good versus Evil. Certainly much more satisfying then the dramas of elementary school.

Like most children, I had difficulty drumming up such overwhelming affection, reverence, and respect for religion. Religion was such an amorphous thing, plagued by lessons and rules and things that made me different from everyone around me. Narnia was an escape, and something I knew other children also enjoyed. Narnia was spirituality to an 8-year-old mind who wanted to believe in something wonderful and promising.

I think my parents never truly worried about the depth of my love for "The Chronicles of Narnia." Of course they did worry about my tendency to lose myself in books rather than partaking in other joys of childhood. But what really mattered was that, at the end of the day, they were fine with my lightweight practice of Islam.

That I more or less willingly obeyed the rules, did my prayers and seemed well-adjusted was enough for them. That I did not understand the deeper, spiritual meaning of Islam or develop a profound relationship with Allah at that tender, young age was not a big deal. My parents knew better than me that the dueling hands of my religious spirituality and love for "The Chronicles of Narnia" would adjust itself as time marched on. And it has.

My children will be given my beloved copies of The Chronicles, as well as my well-thumbed English translation of the Qur'an. I look forward to graduating from reading out loud "Where the Wild Things Are" to reading "The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe" to my kids. And they'll learn about their faith and be encouraged to love Allah (SWT) and be spiritual in their own ways. And I'll hopefully supervise their own venture into our dryer.

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