I’ve been trying to write about how I felt after I read a New Yorker article about Madeleine L’Engle.
I’ve been trying to tell you how encouraged I am by her complexity and imperfection. How something in me responds when I think a person could be rejoiced over and treasured and loved by strangers as well as by those who are close to her when she was evidentally far from perfect.
I’ve been second guessing all of that because it’s really scary that someone who has so much insight about the ideal of marriage and family and life and faith could have struggled so much with all of the above, and could have been so desperate to live in denial of some really harsh realities in the lives of her family members.
I guess what it boils down to is that as I read more about Madeleine L’Engle, herself, I find that I’m challenged in the same way I am after reading her novels and books: I’m challenged to accept the complexity of humanity as a whole and of the individuals in my life. I’m challenged to embrace and accept the complexity… to not to turn away from it… to not judge it or be repulsed by it, but to look for how God’s transforming love is at work there.
So that’s what Madeleine L’Engle teaches me. I think I’ll keep reading.