My dear child,
It broke my heart to read your last letter. But it was not on account of anything you wrote. You did not offend me (how could I be offended with the truth?); you did not surprise me (how could I be caught off-guard by what I already know?); nor did you anger me (how could I be angry at a letter written out of such turmoil?). It broke my heart because I cannot grant your request.
I know this season in your life is difficult, and I know you are looking for solace everywhere you turn. "If I just knew why everything has to be this way, maybe I would find some peace. If I just had a clue about why this has to happen to me, I'd be all right." But truth does not often bring peace. It often brings fear and despair, and with them a greater heap of questions. Knowledge can be a greater burden than mystery, and many terrible revelations are followed by a desperate effort to unlearn them.
But there is something far greater than mere ignorance: a confidence that can never be shaken. It comes from knowing that you are between my paws. It comes from knowing that you are beloved. It comes from looking at the lives of men and women who have gone before you, reading the record of history, and seeing what they did not see at the time: No matter how difficult the road may be, how uncertain the journey, how distant the destination, all shall be right, all shall be right, and all shall finally be right.
That is why I lay on you this question—the thing that lies at the heart of the matter:
Do you trust me?
With everlasting love,
Aslan
