When I was nine years old, I read C.S. Lewis’ The Chronicles of Narnia, starting with The Magician’s Nephew (my favourite in the series) and ending with The Last Battle.

Those books, those stories, changed my life. The most dominant, entrancing character for me was Aslan the Lion, himself. Please remember I was nine years old when I first read these; there were no thoughts of allegory or What Lewis Really Meant or even What He Intended, there was only the story in the mind of a fourth-grade boy.

Narnia was the first series that entered my heart as well as my mind, becoming a focal building block, a foundational core, of my inner mythological landscape. Narnia had a purity, a hope, a we-can-all-work-together ethos that charmed my young heart. Talking animals with manners and tea and British proper-ness? Yes please!

I fell in love with them, with all of it. I saw Narnia begin in The Magician’s Nephew and saw Aslan sacrifice himself in place of Edmund in The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe. And through it all, I felt as Lucy Pevensie did: She loved Aslan unreservedly. And he, in turn, loved her with all the honesty of the wild and spiritual.

Even back when I had no idea about Christian this and English Culture that, this relationship was pure. So, too, has my relationship with Aslan been.

To me, Aslan is no storybook lion. He is no representation of someone’s personal deity. He is, rather, a symbol of protection, caring, and purity to me— in the way that only an animal could be: wild and instinctual and natural.

Too, Aslan is Hope. Every time he appears, things improve just a little bit for having seen him. He guides, he leads by his mere presence. He is our souls’ voice, as I see him, speaking to us from within the truths we already know, to help us feel steady and sure as we navigate life.

I have never “outgrown” fairy tales; I have always viewed them as the truths we tell our children through story in a way they can understand: moral fables of caring and sharing, to show them how to be their best selves. So too did I realize Aslan meant more than just some words on a page, or an inspiring battle scene or a triumphant roar; he meant that Spring was coming, that Winter was over, that happiness and joy would return; he was a promise.

He still is.

When I think of Aslan, I think of a lion-shaped concept that is beyond any mere fiction or human deity; he is a wish, a thought, that I/we can all be better, seeking truth and light and watching out for each other. Aslan tells me in his inner voice that it’s all going to be okay, that I don’t need to fear what I don’t understand, to persevere and discover.

Aslan-the-concept is always with me. From him I find my joy. From him I find my strength. And I don’t want to mislead you into thinking this is a religion or a Faith-capital-F. It simply is a concept that captured my heart. A wonderful writer told a wonderful story, and it changed me, and I think for the better.

I trust my Aslan. I seek that feeling in myself and others, and I love to share the joyful light it brings me. I encourage each and every one of you to remember that when you’re creating, you could be creating an Aslan for someone else, someone that desperately needs it.

Don’t doubt your words or your feelings; put them out there. Roar with me, into the wind, and hope that our words, pictures, hopes and dreams are carried to the ears of those that need them most; for these are all our stories, our shared dreams, seeking expression at one end and fertile soil in which to grow at the other.

Keep creating, keep believing in your “Aslan.” And when you’re ready, when you feel its presence…

…Roar into the wind.

—Michael