My Narnia Trip

 I’ve never been a die hard fantasy fan. I mean, I like my movies realistic. Makes it more… “real” for me.

 So naturally, fantasy, sci-fi, and the outlandish movies don’t normally trip my trigger. Until Friday, when I took a trip to Narnia.

 I know, I’m supposed to just watch the movie and admire the special effects and snicker at the absurdity of another Disney fantasy.

 But I was transported there by the plot and characterization. If you’re familiar with the C.S. Lewis book “Voyage of the Dawn Treader,” you may be intrigued by the current movie with the same title.

 A third in the Narnia series, I admit I like them all. But this one was especially meaningful to me. Perhaps the reason is because the characters battle their thoughts, which become real and more powerful than anything else. They are forced to confront their temptations and weaknesses in vivid depictions of the struggle for moral life and death.

 Two things unique about the voyage: Edmund is the protagonist, yet still finds himself at odds with himself. Ditto for the protagonist, an impudent intelligent brat of a cousin to Edmund named Eustace Scrubb.

 Eustace becomes the thing he fears most, as he caves in to greed and is turned into a fire breathing dragon. The climax for me was when Eustace realized he couldn’t free himself of his “dragonhood”. He had to rely on the Lion Aslan to save him and transform him miraculously back into a boy. But in so doing, fire burned away the dragon, causing Eustace great anguish.  I found myself, like Edmund and Eustace, in a virtual battle of the mind. My thoughts controlled me. At least, I allowed them to. Every selfish, self-indulgent whim that came my way, I caved in and justified my behavior, telling myself I’d just pray for forgiveness from God and my wife.

 The convoluted thinking turned me into a duplicitous doppelganger of my real self. No longer was God in control. No longer was I in control. I was fighting thoughts the size of the bigger-than-the-boat sea serpent, just like Edmund.

 My thoughts of lust and pride were strangling me. I was at their mercy.

 Until, like Eustace, I succumbed to the almighty power of the Lion of the tribe of Judah. Aslan admits he is known by another name here on Earth.

 I know Him. You know Him. He is the most powerful being ever. And today, January 16, 2011, during a Sunday morning service, it all came crystal clear.

 The preacher was talking about how unrighteousness kept many Christians from holy living and peace. My life is a shambles. My wife asked for a divorce. I have no money, no income, and no hope.

 But I have everything when I let the Lion, Jesus Christ, roar away my own selfishness and greed. And in His mighty blast, all is revealed.

 Tears welled up as the preacher gave the invitation to come forward. I was sitting out in the foyer, watching the sermon on the screen. I reflected how close I’d come to not attending services. In a last minute fluke, I went.

 And I’m so glad I did.

 I got up from the foyer seat, said to my wife, “please buy the CD of this sermon, and bolted for the sanctuary back door. I was the first one down to commit my life in rededication to Jesus Christ. My friend from college, who is the executive pastor, met me at the end of that isle. I told him I was there to rededicate my life to Christ.

 Tears coursed down my cheeks as the final song ended and a group of us went to a side room to pray. A man who’d led a group for people with life controlling issues I’d attended in the past was the one who prayed with me.

 I poured out my heart, telling him how messed up my life is and how much I’d tried to fix things on my own. “But I’m not ready to do that anymore,” I said. “My wife may divorce me, but I still want God’s outcome and I’m not going to leave Him and try to do things on my own ever again.”

 I signed several prayer request cards. One, for my marriage, another, for a job or an income source, and third, for me as a person to conquer the life controlling issues that have plagued me most of my marriage.

 It’s time to turn around. It’s time to stop running. It’s time to leave Narnia and enter the real world of trust and absolute faith in God.