Offering 1| End of Winter

Tumbling through wardrobes with achy hearts

When Dark Gives Way To Light (2018), by Meena Matocha¹

The smell of buttered popcorn hangs thick in the air. There is a lump tightening in my throat as I try desperately to hold the tears back that are threatening to spill over onto my cheeks. I am eleven years old, at the theater with my dad, and the cinematic experience of C.S. Lewis’s The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe flashes against the screen in front of me, unveiling a world of hope. Lucy Pevensie has just been crowned by Mr. Tumnus and Aslan’s voice thunders gently throughout the theater proclaiming her as “Queen Lucy the Valiant”. She is renamed courageous and I begin to wonder if maybe I am too.

from Disney’s The Chronicles of Narnia²

This is the first story that I can remember where something inside of me was cracked open, unleashing feelings and emotions that I wasn’t quite sure what to do with as I walked out of the theater with my dad on that December day. What I knew though and what I held onto was that Lucy gave me permission to be brave in a world that was cold and often left me feeling misunderstood. Being invited into Lucy’s world invited me into the greater world of Lewis’s literary adventures—a world that would shape me and carry me in some of the most challenging seasons of my life, particularly in a formative season of my adolescence.

Winter is well practiced in exposing our hearts to the bitter winds of her death, causing us to question the distant memories of life and growth that are now hidden by deep recesses of dirt and darkness. C.S. Lewis knew this well and characterized this vulnerable exposure through the life of Lucy Pevensie in a way that is both haunting and hopeful. Lucy teaches us what it means to take courage in this holy tension.

Lucy was the youngest of the Pevensie siblings and being the youngest of four siblings myself, I effortlessly connected with her story. But it was also more than that—Lucy was hopeful and enthusiastic but was often met by accusations of carelessness and immaturity. Tumbling out of that wardrobe from the land of Narnia, Lucy’s deepest truths and vulnerable convictions were found threatened and unsafe in the very places and people she longed for them to be found safe with. Hasty judgments. Belittling ridicule. Ungracious assertions. All of it made her feel small and fearful.

Dear readers, I do not know what kind of tears haunt and tease you, but may you remember that it is never a worthless pursuit to step back into the wardrobe once more and return singing the song in your heart—refusing to be silenced by the injustice of others. It is a great and terrible pain to be misunderstood, especially by those you love most. The memories of accusation will lurk closely beside as they gallivant around your soul, seeking to prey on all of the wounds that are trying so desperately to heal.

But go on we must, learning to untangle the fear and pain along the way—allowing the snow on our coats to remind us that Narnia is real and Aslan is alive; the curse is surely breaking, and reconciliation, even in this place, is not far off.

Narnia will soon be clothed with the blankets of springtime—our deepest truths are finding their way to safety.

The mysterious transcendence of this moment in the theater with my dad at eleven years old has followed me through many seasons of my life. Its distant memory is a gift that the Spirit often infuses into my mind with vivid imagery in moments where my soul is reminded of the pain of the bitter cold and the wounds that still require His tender care. I am now nearing the edge of another decade and the seed of possibility, the curiosity of being renamed courageous, that was once captured and planted in the heart of a fearful young girl, is no longer a possibility. It has blossomed and grown into the greatest reality and battle of her life.

As I was considering what to share with you all in this end of winter offering, I found myself in a particularly hurtful and unexpected situation. It was in processing that hurt that this memory was brought once again to the forefront of my mind and I was tenderly invited to unravel this memory and offer it to each of you who tumble out of wardrobes met by the harsh winds of a broken humanity.

While Lucy’s story carries with it a melody that is recognizable to some of us more than others, each of the Pevensie children carried a substantial and redemptive tune of their own. Each of her siblings eventually made their way into the deepest truths of the wardrobe, reminding us that we are all on journey together, stumbling in and out of the twisted maze of pain that we both cause and take the brunt of.

Through this blustery winter, we are all searching for the glowing light of the lamppost in Narnia—its soft warm haze is the only messenger capable of reminding us of Aslan’s promises as we march on with achy hearts through a world still laden in a blanket of white.

In her book Roots and Sky, Christie Purifoy writes,

“Is it possible for us to walk in the footsteps of the Magi? Is it possible today to follow a star all the way to joy? If it is, the journey must cut its path through darkness. This seems to me the only way. The only way to rid us of all our little, ineffectual lights. Our plans. Our strength. Our self-sufficiency. Until we know, deep in our bones, that only one light will do. Only one light will satisfy. The light that is the glory of the Lord.”

Shortly after reading Christie’s words, my daughter reminded me, quite comically, of these ineffectual lights we think we must hold onto. Her little three year old heart is in a new season of awakening to the reality of the darkness; her imagination running wild with fears of what that darkness might bring with it. Each night I pray with her and remind her that she can pray to Jesus if she feels afraid. We’ve been reciting nightly affirmations together too—“I am safe. I am loved. I can sleep in peace”. Alas, after countless attempts to console her fears and many nights carrying her sleepy little voice back up the stairs at 3 a.m. as she tells me “I pray to Jesus and I’m still sc-eer-ed”, we decided to order her a nightlight (a not so inexpensive nightlight with many bells and whistles, mind you) with hopes that it would make her feel safe.

She glimmered at the thought of having her own nightlight and waited eagerly for it to arrive in the mail. The day finally came when it showed up on our doorstep and she anticipated the safety it would bring her, enthusiastically reminding us multiple times, “I sleep with my nightlight tonight and I not be sc-eer-ed”.

Nighttime did indeed come, dear readers, and we got her light all set up, tucking her in tightly with gentle prayers and shutting her door softly with the hope of a well rested night (for all of us) that the warm amber glow had to offer.

No sooner had I walked two steps away from her room did a frightened and high pitched cry come rattling through the crack beneath her door,

“Mommmmy! I not like my nightlight!”.

Truly, there are no other lights that will do.

That was the end of the nightlight saga in our home. It still sits unplugged atop her dresser each night, reminding me of the truth that no other lights will do on our journey through this present darkness.

We grapple onward, offering our fears and prayers to the One who is carrying our own fragile souls up the stairs in the dead of night as we whisper through honest exhaustion and faith,

“I have prayed to you, my Lord, and I am still scared”.

One light, dear readers—only one lamppost that guides are feet along the paths of toiling and weeping that we meet on this long night. Its warm glow is the only truth capable of cupping our weary and fearful chins upward and reminding us that springtime is nearly here—we are surely being renamed and, as Franklin D. Roosevelt so boldly penned, “courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the assessment that something else is more important”.

His light is that something else—looking to it, being formed by it, sharing our lives through it, and allowing ourselves to be held and healed by it—this is the work of each of our lives; His work in each of our lives.

Photo by Krista Monique on Pixabay³

I am being renamed courageous…

…might you begin to wonder if perhaps you are too.

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WELCOME TO THE TRYSTING PLACE—

a contemplative space at the end of each offering for you to quiet your soul and slow down in the presence of your Creator. Settle in with all three sections or choose just one, moving through them at a pace that is right for you. This is designed to be a spacious place for your soul—a sacred rhythm for your life.

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CADENCE & CURIOSITY—

an invitation to quietly contemplate and become curious about what is stirring in the depths of your heart.

• What ineffectual lights are distracting you from the true light that is able to guard your heart? What needs to change in your life and heart to recalibrate your focus?

CADENCE & CONVERSATION—

an invitation to reflect on and share what the Lord is revealing to you in this season. Use this as a personal and private extension of reflection or use it to share your heart with other readers in this community of fellow pilgrim-souls. I’d love to hear from you!

• How is the Lord renaming you in this season? What is he renaming you? Fellow Narnia fans, perhaps you identify more with another Pevensie sibling—tell me why!

CADENCE & CUE—

The final stop in each offering—a cue to still your soul before the things that are good, true, and beautiful as you ponder how you might carry them with you into your season!

• Consider the painting above, When Dark Gives Way to Light by Meena Matocha. Still yourself in a posture of reflection—what stands out? What does the image stir up in your soul? Invite the Spirit to show you something about the image that you may need to see and reflect on in this season.

• Watch or rewatch Disney’s creative portrayal of The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe

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Why The Trysting Place?

You can expect to find the three sections above at the end of each offering under the heading The Trysting Place. A trysting place, according to Collins Dictionary, is “a meeting between lovers in a quiet secret place”. I first became familiar with this term in Hannah Hurnard’s Hinds’ Feet on High Places, a beautiful allegory of a girl named Much-afraid (like most of us) and her journey to the high places following the voice of the Chief Shepard (Jesus). Throughout the book, Much-afraid meets the Chief Shepard at the trysting place—a secret place of quiet contemplation where she is able to slow down and listen to the voice of her Creator. As such, each section you’ll find in The Trysting Place at Cadence & Canticle is designed to be a place of intentional contemplation—an invitation for you to quiet your own soul and slow down in the presence of your Creator.

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Thanks for reading Cadence & Canticle— I’m so glad you stopped by. May you leave this space blessed and heartened as you return to the soil and stewardship of your life. I’d love for you to join this community of fellow pilgrim-souls!

1. I was introduced to this stunning artwork by Meena Matocha in Tsh Oxenreider’s Advent book Shadow and Light. Titled When Dark Gives Way to Light, it speaks powerfully into the depths of the luminous mystery that overshadows all of us while we stand in the darkness.

2. I do not own the copyrights to this photo. Photo from the creative portrayal of Disney’s The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe adapted from C.S. Lewis’ The Chronicles of Narnia

3. https://pixabay.com/photos/snowfall-winter-snow-snowflakes-201496/