For Aslan.

Two posts in one week. Maybe I can keep this thing up…

Over the past couple of weeks, I have felt myself wrapped in the familiar embrace of depression. Not only depression but despair. Along with the despair, my severe sense of lack and jealousy, also ravaged my thoughts. I couldn’t snap out of it. Truthfully, I didn’t want to. When I get this way, it’s really hard for me to think or see myself clearly. I wanted to let it consume me. I wanted an excuse to seek the familiar comfort of my eating disorder. My dear friend told me this week that our maladaptive coping skills sometimes can mimic the pain and suffering we’ve experienced. So, when I seek my eating disorder, what is the wound that restriction is trying to imitate? I spent the last few nights crying over the state of my body and my failure to carve it into something I find beautiful – my failure to protect it, as well. Sometimes it’s so exhausting to be stuck in-between these two equally strong and opposing forces. I get crushed and it leaves me feeling nothing but numb. I had prayed these past few nights. I asked God when this was all going to stop. When I’d be done hating myself. When I’d finally be able to say that I’ve healed from my eating disorder. When I could find a partner that could see me in this state and not leave me. When I’d finally be able to see myself the way that He sees me. I curled up into a ball and imagined Him hugging me. I cried even harder into my pillow then googled “what do thick tears mean” because if I’m not trying to know myself even when in the depths of despair, then who even am I…

Yesterday morning, as I drove to work, late as usual, I was listening to White Flowers Take Their Bath by Meredi as I passed between trees capped with freshly fallen snow. It was beautiful and pure – there was that vibrant contrast of the bark and the powder and as I watched the scenes, I could feel the warmth spread from my heart to my mouth as I smiled. It felt as if the coldness, the deadness, I had felt the past couple of weeks cracked and melted – at least enough for me to experience some joy. I found myself thanking God for the beauty and the serenity. It’s moments like these, witnessing creation, that I find myself most aware of God’s presence.

Later that evening, I ran an expressive therapy group at work. I watched the kids brainstorm for a creative project. Some were engaged and collaboratively working while some isolated, and my heart both rejoiced and cried. Here it is again, I thought, the oscillating of joy and sorrow. Witnessing the kids, loving them for who they are, makes me see God at work. It connects me to Him in my shared humanity with them.

This morning (I swear it’s all connected) I watched the Chronicles of Narnia. One of my favorites. Every time Lucy and Susan meet Aslan in the darkened woods, I anticipate what is to come and my heart tugs at itself; I feel it pulled downward and in, deeper into my chest. I watch as Lucy and Susan gently hold on to Aslan’s mane. I see their expression of anxious anticipation and confusion. I observe the change in facial expression when Aslan tells them that he has to go the rest of the way alone. I watch as he willingly approaches the hordes of hellish creatures. I stare and cry as they mock him, knowing that Aslan is meant to represent Christ. I consider the sorrow that Christ must have experienced knowing what was to come – betrayal and abandonment by His closest friends and unimaginable pain and suffering. Yet, He accepted and fulfilled all He was meant to, Submitting to His Father’s will. I happened to be watching the movie at my desk while working on Christmas presents for the kids at work. Above my laptop, nailed into the wall, is an icon of Christ The Bridegroom. For those that may not know what that is, it is an icon, an image, of Christ, wearing a crown of thorns, with downcast eyes. It depicts Christ prior to His crucifixion. Every time I watch The Chronicles of Narnia, I cry most heavily as the creatures mock and kill Aslan. At first, when I think about the biblical parallels, I think of all the people that mocked, tortured, and killed Christ. I think about how He must have felt. I think about all of those people who acted so cruelly towards The One who was trying to save them. As I have those thoughts I feel like I’d be Christ’s defender and stick by Him – be His friend. And then, once my ego subsides, though ever briefly, I remember that I’m no better. I think of myself and how many times I have betrayed The Son of God – how many times I’ve been jealous of others, how many times I’ve hurt my family and friends, how many times I’ve hurt my body, starved it, hated it, harmed it. I reflect on all of the ways that I have abandoned Christ – how I willingly choose to avoid prayer or meditation or contemplation, how I choose to watch endless hours of reels or shorts or simply rot, instead of talking to Him. As I watch the movie I always find myself thinking about how much I crave the physical presence of God. I think about how badly I’d just like Christ to hold me. Sometimes the words recited in prayer are not enough. Sometimes the beautiful imagery, the frescos and icons, the hymnodies, are not enough. What I long for most is to be physically with God – in His presence. When I hate everything, when I can’t find any semblance of my true essence, when I wish I could ignore and eradicate my existence, I truly want nothing more than for Christ to embrace me and tell me He knows me, that He knows my heart, that He knows my pain, and that He knows who and what I truly am and who and what I was created to be. I want to know that though I have done all those things, that I mentioned above, avoided Him, betrayed Him, hurt Him, I’m still precious to Him.

Sometimes, especially in the mire of depression, it is so hard to know these things and believe them. But then I see Him reflected in everyone around me and it lightens my sorrow. I see God’s joy in the laugh of a girl who hasn’t smiled in weeks. I see God’s mercy in the tears of a girl who is in the hardest battle of her life. I see His love in the eyes of a girl, who is so brilliant and wonderful and loving but she refuses to see it. In this way Christ is very much present. When my friend hugs me or comforts me. When my sister laughs with me. When my spiritual father hears me and provides counsel, God is there. God showed me today what I had cried to Him about. He is here.

This post may be all over the place, but in my ADHD brain at 3:30am, it makes sense. For Aslan!