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You know, if you want to dabble in fiction, you can do some great things with a door. When I was a high school missionary kid living in Singapore, we all got to take a tour once on the U.S.S. Nimitz. And I now have a sci-fi film in my collection, about a time-travel portal that opens up and allows that very aircraft carrier to go back from now to the year 1941. In fact, it’s December 6, 1941, just one day before the bombing of Pearl Harbor. What an opportunity – all of America’s awesome nuclear arsenal, with heat-seeking missiles and the latest in supersonic jet fighters and bombers . . . and the Japanese army has these little putt-putt Zeros tiptoeing toward Honolulu at 90 miles an hour with their one-propeller engines.

H. G. Wells opens the door to his time machine and goes instantly from one era to another, tracking down Jack the Ripper and falling in love with a woman who lives a century later than he does. Doors open up new dimensions, new worlds, a new matrix, a new life.

But there’s one door, and really just one, that I care about today. I care about that closet door that opens up to a world where Aslan the Lion lives. I want that door to be real; I want its promises to be true.

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