Of Rainy Days and Narnian Thoughts

I returned to my room this afternoon in a state of “whatever”. Actually, I had been in this floaty, largely self-pleasing state the whole day. I didn’t really feel like teaching today. My heart wasn’t in it, I was unproductive during my non-teaching hours at work, and my attitude matched the dull, rainy weather outside. Nothing exciting: just wet, inconvenient, and blah.

As I do whenever I find myself in these pensive, floaty moods, I began to give myself permission to not think about work and just lay on my bed with thoughts of purpose and meaning meandering through my tired mind. I looked around at the pictures in my room, and began to realize that my life is changing. My family and most of my good friends are hundreds of miles away, and I’m here in Mexico, teaching kids who, when they see me approach the classroom, groan in anticipation of another boring English class. And then it dawned on me yet again that this is no mission trip: I get to do this for a whole year: during the autumn rains, the mountain cold in wintertime, spring’s newness, and summer’s heat.

Then I desperately turned my thoughts to God. “So, I’m here by your will, huh? It sure better be worth it, because I’m missing a lot back home, you know. What’s the point? I came here…I’ve been her for a month now, and I’m really starting to miss the nice life I had before. Are you going to give me some great revelations, fill me with profound experiences, lead me on great adventures? Because so far, my time with you has been pretty silent, frustrating, and…well…pretty dull. I keep reading the Bible like a good Christian and I’m not really understanding it. What’s the deal?” Although these weren’t exactly my words, they definitely summed up my attitude toward God at the moment.

I just recently finished reading The Horse and His Boy, the third book of C.S. Lewis’ Chronicles of Narnia series. I started it on Sunday evening, and finished it last (Tuesday) night. Monday and Tuesday after school, I returned to my house with nothing on my mind except finding the book and devouring its juicy pages. It was a wonderful escape: in picking up the book, I lost track of my responsibility and entered into a foreign and exciting world of runaways, chases, deserts, high mountains, lush valleys, haughty dark lords, humbly noble princes, giants, fauns, centaurs, talking horses, and best of all, a sweet battle at the end where the good guys win and bad guys lose. I hadn’t read the book since I was 12, so although the story was vaguely familiar, all the details had to be gloriously rediscovered.

At one vital part of the story, the main character, a boy named Shasta, meets Aslan (the great Lion from whose creation-song Narnia came into being) for the first time, although he had unknowingly encountered him several times before. Shasta was lost, very discouraged and bemoaning his “unlucky” state, and suddenly Aslan appeared next to him, an immense and ominous presence, temporarily invisible, in the midst of a terrible fog high in the mountains. He asked Shasta to tell him all about his unfortunate situation. After telling his whole story (which was rather unfortunate from a human perspective), Shasta finally asked, “Who are you?” Aslan answered by saying, “Myself” three times, once deep and thundering, once very clear and loud, and once extraordinarily quiet and intimate. Then Aslan revealed to him that he had been with him before, especially in times of trial and important decision, even though Shasta didn’t know it. The fog suddenly cleared, and Shasta beheld the Lion. Boom. Wow. You ought to read it sometime soon.

For some reason, this came back into my thoughts today as I selfishly complained to God about my discomfort. God is Himself, in three glorious Persons. A deep and thunderous Father on his Throne; a loud, clear Son who is the manifested Word; a quiet and penetratingly omnipresent Spirit. Ok, my circumstances are uncomfortable, but I can’t contest with the reality of HIM. He who knows the beginning and the end, He who is capable of crushing the mountains into dust and speaking gentle peace into an unquiet soul, He IS. My weeny life-situation can’t change that eternal, abiding reality. And I am called HIS. Boom. Wow.