Madeliene L’Engle died yesterday.
As any long-term reader of this blog can attest, L’Engle has been a part of my life since I was 12. (Just search for “L’Engle” on this blog to see four posts I’ve written previously, one as recently as last month.) Whenever I reread her works, I feel as if I’m listening to an old, dear friend, speaking her heart to me — just for me.
And so, with her death at age 88 (which seems so young to me — only 53 years ahead of my age, and I would like to live longer than 53 more years) , I feel an odd bittersweetness: Bitter, because she is no longer in this world. Sweet because I believe she is finally at rest with God, whom her heart has always been living and aiming for, all of her life.
Fare thee well, old friend.