(You can read this post on its own, but it will make more sense if you start with yesterday’s post.)

If you travelled back almost fifteen years ago on my timeline, you’d find a story told by C. S. Lewis--retold to me by a good friend and mentor. A story that reached in and pulled me up for air right when I needed it.

Here’s what happened. Fifteen years ago, I was a couple years into marriage, a couple years into grad school. Steve and I were both pursuing our Master of Divinity degrees full time and working part time. I was under financial pressure, academic pressure--and in the midst of it all I was struggling with all manner of emotional issues that decided this was the PERFECT time to surface. I was exhausted and depressed and I found it hard to get out of bed to go to classes; many times, in fact, I didn’t. I’d started going to counseling, which was awesome, but had the annoying habit of stirring up more stuff I’d need to wrestle with.

Meanwhile, God seemed very far away. Absent even. And when I did sense his presence, I was more likely to want to run from him (or pummel him) than run to him.

I pretty much didn’t like what God was allowing to happen. I got into the habit of taking laps around the lawn at the school and voicing my frustration with God. “God,” I’d say, “I don’t know what you think you’re doing. Here I am, trying to obey you the best I can, getting the training I need to do what you’ve called me to do, and you won’t even give me what I need to do it.  You won’t give me the energy or the money--or even your presence.  This is how you treat people who give their lives to you?!?”

I mean, seriously, by all accounts I’d been doing just fine before all this crap from my past had begun to surface. (Side note: Denial is highly underrated.) I’d built up a heck of a lot of strength holding it down. A nice tough skin. A great reputation as someone not to mess with. And now, God was messing with me.

And I was having none of it.

Then, one afternoon, one of my profs invited himself along for one of my walks around the lawn. And on that walk, Gary didn’t lecture me, cajole me, preach at me.  He told me a story. It’s a great story, from C. S. Lewis’s The Voyage of the Dawn Treader (one of the Chronicles of Narnia).

Sit back. Press play. I’ll tell you the story, too.

That’s the story Gary told me while we walked around the quad. And I began to see my life a little differently. For years I’d been putting on bracelets of degrees and projects and achievements that now seemed rather constricting. I’d added things into my life that I thought would bring power but bought only loneliness instead.

And I began to see God not as the enemy, but as the one who could undragon me. Yes the process would be painful and wrenching and would nearly kill me. But he had a power I did not--the power to peel away the layers of dragon. The power to make me human.

God was standing there. Patiently waiting. Ready with his (“not safe but good,” Lewis would say) claws to start tearing away at my dragonish self.

It was the story of Eustace that gave me the strength to start letting God do it.

Anything in the story connect with you? I’d love to hear your thoughts/feelings. I’ll post some more of my dragonish thoughts next time.

photo credit: http://www.flickr.com/photos/wili/2628869994/