So...I went at midnight last night to see the last ever Harry Potter movie.
It was funny: as the movie drew to a close, I couldn't help but feel sad. Harry and I have been friends for a long time. Longer than I've known my husband. Longer than I was in high school. Or college. Longer than I've been a parent. Or known who I want to be when I grow up. We have a history.
Say what you want about the Harry Potter books, but something much bigger is going on here for me. Something bigger than the story on paper. His story has become a part of mine, simply because he's been here all this time. There are other characters that are a part of me--Kinsey Millhone, Anne Shirley, Emily of New Moon, Nancy Drew, Jose and Ursula from *One Hundred Years of Solitude*, and Clay from *Memoirs of a Demon.* I know they aren't real, but I carry them with me and always will.
As an adult, the books that have made a lasting impression on me are fewer and far between than when I was a child. A book that lives and breathes and grows with you is a rare and cherished thing.
I have felt for a long time that God shows his abounding love for me in fictional literature. He created me this way--to read and write and enjoy. I am so thankful for his intricate planning and love for me that I can find such joy in the written word and turn my face to him while doing it.
Anyway, Harry, I'll miss you. It's been a good run.