The Sick Child and Her Father

If the name of my blog isn’t an indication, The Chronicles of Narnia has a special place in my heart. I feel such a connection to the Spirit in these stories, even if they are fairytales for children. I’ve rarely needed that connection more than I have in these last two months.

My illness continues to worsen, and so much remains unknown. The specialists I have seen yank me around with varying answers; and as grateful as I am for the abnormal test results, remaining positive feels impossible. I have done my best to stay hopeful, but laying in bed for over 14 hours with such severe vertigo that I am bent over a trashcan, unable to see, hearing near gone, violent ringing in my head that exacerbates the pain of the migraines accompanying my issues, being forced to rely on others to help me to the bathroom because I can’t walk and my eyes aren’t working as they should…hopelessness doesn’t feel strong enough of a word. I don’t know how to live like this forever. And I am terrified that this is my forever. 

One week ago today, I was laying in a hospital bed for the fourth time in 7 weeks, after having to beg to be admitted and receive the tests I knew I needed. At 6:30am, wrapped in wires that monitored my heart and hooked up to an IV that pulled at my weakened muscles, I cried and wept for the Creator of the Universe to stop it all. To even just give me a damn break.  

But as I wept, words from one of my favorite books in The Chronicles of Narnia, The Horse and His Boy, rushed through my head without my own prompting; fully from the Spirit. 

“I was the Lion who forced you to join with Aravis.” 
You are the God who forced me to accept the community of brothers and sisters surrounding me with prayer and support. 

“I was the Cat who comforted you amongst the houses of the dead.” 

You are the God who has comforted me amongst the unknowns, laying upon me layers of inexplicable peace. 

“I was the Lion who drove the jackals from you while you slept.” 
You are the God who drives away my nightmares and drowns out my fears, keeping watch over me as I rest. 

“I was the Lion who gave the horses the new strength of fear for the last mill, so that you should reach King Lune in time.” 
You are the God who provided me the strength and discernment to go and advocate for my care, so that I could get even one of the answers I was desperate for. 

“And I was the Lion you do not remember, who pushed the boat in which you lay, a child near death, so that it came to shore where a man sat, wakeful at night, to receive you.” 
And You are the God who pushed me into Your loving arms, where you sit day or night, ready to receive me where I am.

“Who are you?” asked Shasta. 

“Myself,” said the Voice, very deep and low, so the earth shook. And again: “Myself,” loud and clear. And a third time: “Myself,” whispered so softly, you could hardly hear it, and yet it seemed to come from all around.” 

“Who are You?” asked the Sick Child. 

“I am Emmanuel,” said the Voice, very deep and low, so her heart could feel the words. And again: “I am El Roi,” loud and clear. And a third time, whispered so softly in the hospital room she could hardly hear it, “I am your Father. I am El Shaddai, Elohim, Jehovah Rapha, Jehovah Shalom - and I receive you in My power, presence, soul-healing, and peace.” As His ‘with-ness’ encompassed the sick child’s bleeding heart in that desolate bed, the Father reminded her that she had been safe and accompanied all the while. That when she walked the cliff of uncertainty, the mountain of pain and illness and fear, ‘He stood between her and the edge the whole time.’ That He has been faithful in the past, and this time will be no different. 

“But after one glance at the Lion’s face, he slipped out of the saddle and fell at its feet. He couldn’t say anything, but then, he didn’t want to say anything. And he knew he didn’t need to say anything.” 

So now I sit here, in His presence, a week later, knowing that I don’t have to worry about saying the right things while my brain struggles to keep up. I can lay in bed for those 14 hours and still be surrounded by His unyielding love. In my pain and my suffering and fear and depression and devastation and sorrow, I don’t have to be afraid, because He is with me. My Father will cling to His sick child, and this sick child will cling to her Father. 

Selah.