"I Was the Lion"
when God is near and we don't know it
Towards the end of The Horse and His Boy by C.S. Lewis, Shasta, a young runaway, meets Aslan, the lion. The meeting takes place at night where Shasta can’t see the lion in the dark. He doesn’t know Aslan is the King and Creator of Narnia. He only knows that there’s a presence beside him. The meeting goes like this:
"I can't see you at all," said Shasta, after staring very hard. Then (for an even more terrible idea had come into his head) he said, almost in a scream, "You're not--not something dead, are you? Oh please--please do go away. What harm have I ever done you? Oh, I am the unluckiest person in the whole world!" Once more he felt warm breath of the Thing on his hand and face. "There," it said, "that is not the breath of a ghost. Tell me your sorrows." Shasta was a little reassured by the breath: so he told how he had never known his real father of mother and had been brought up sternly by the fisherman. And then he told the story of his escape and how they were chased by lions and forced to swim for their lives; and of all their dangers in the Tashbaan and about his night among the tombs and how the beasts howled at him out of the desert. And he told about the heat and thirst of their desert journy and how they were almost at their goal when another lion chased them and wounded Aravis. And also, how very long it was since he had had anything to eat. "I do not call you unfortunate," said the Large Voice. "Don't you think it was bad luck to meet so many lions?" said Shasta.
Allow me to interrupt. Over the past week, I’ve become aware of a number of “lions” that’ve accompanied me through life.
For as long as I can remember, I have found a sense of wonder, delight, and comfort through interacting with various scenes that pop into my mind. I think most people would call this daydreaming or using my imagination or spacing out. Mind you, these are not scenes where I save the world or win an argument or receive a standing ovation from a crowd. Those kinds of scenes pop into my mind too, but that’s not what I’m talking about.
The scenes that pop into my mind are more like the stuff dreams are made of. They’re seemingly random adventure, sci-fi, and fantasy scenes. Here are some examples that’ve popped into mind in the five minutes I’ve been sitting here writing this blog.
Scene 1: Someone reaches into a dark enclosure and pulls out a tiny bottle of purple liquid. The liquid glows. The bottle is set in the embrace of an ornate silver dragon attached to a chain necklace. Who is this person and what’s that liquid for?
Scene 2: Two people are climbing a tree. They’re attached by a rigid teeter-totter-like contraption that propels them higher one at a time. How does the contraption work and why are they trying to get to the top of the tree?
Scene 3: A fancy-dressed young woman is standing on a skiff that’s being pushed down a busy canal. Street vendors line the canal. It’s market day. Everyone is busy. No one notices the girl, but she is determined to do what she needs to do. What does she need to do?
Scene 4: I’m two inches tall and I must get from one side of this room to the other. How will I do that?
I think you get the idea. Some of the scenes hold my attention for a few seconds. Other scenes repeat for weeks or months at a time. The repeated scenes often become mental “playgrounds.” While playing with the scenes, I attempt to discover what events led to this scene or what might happen after this scene. I try altering characters, scenery, or dialogues. And then quite suddenly, a scene no longer interests me and I no longer visit it.
When I became a mother, I had periods of shaming myself for entering these mental playgrounds. “I shouldn’t be daydreaming; I should be appreciating every moment with my kids.” “I shouldn’t be thinking about this; I should be praying.” “I shouldn’t be enjoying myself so much in an imaginary world; I ought to be enjoying myself in the real world.”
There were also periods of time when the scenes were used as an escape. These scenes were safe and, to a degree, within my control. Real life isn’t. During COVID, when I completely surrendered my thought-life to the Lord, I put all my imaginative worlds on the altar for the Lord to have. I gave them up, so to speak. But the Lord didn’t take them. They no longer occupied the place the Lord would have, but they weren’t gone.
In the past several years, I’ve had the uncanny feeling that these repeated scenes are neither an escape nor simply a pleasurable past time. The most recent scenes seem to correlate with what I’ve been struggling with in motherhood, relationships, and big decisions. The characters and action match real life in a metaphorical sense. Not only that, but they seem to be answering my most repeated prayer: “God, I don’t understand any of this. What am I supposed to do here?”
I don’t mean that God had been telling me what to do through these scenes. Rather, these scenes seem like places to unwittingly examine my real life dilemmas in terms I better understand. These scenes seem like the answers to my prayers for clarity. They’re like God saying, “Abby, what you’re facing right now is like this…”
I am floored by this. I’ve already seen how multiple scenes have matched up to real life situations, both in what I was dealing with and what I needed to do.
Could it be that when I’ve been praying and crying and seeking the Lord for answers, that God has been answering me without my knowing it? I thought God would answer me in words or scripture or diagrams, but what if God has been interacting with me in the language I know best, that is, in imaginative story-making?
If this is the case, then God has been with me far more than I ever gave Him credit for. He has been like Shasta’s lions.
"There was only one lion," said the Voice. "What on earth do you mean? I've just told you there were at least two the first night, and --" "There was only one; but he was swift of foot." "How do you know?" "I was the lion." And as Shasta gaped with open mouth and said nothing, the Voice continued. "I was the lion who forced you to join with Aravis. I was the cat who comforted you among the houses of the dead. I was the lion who drove the jackals from you while you slept. I was the lion who gave the Horses the new strength of fear for the last mile so that you should reach King Lune in time. 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." (163-165)
For a long time I’ve believed that these scenes were just my own brain cooking up something fun to play with, but what if the Lord has been using them to softly call me like the Lord did to young Samuel serving in the temple?
When I was crying, “God, what does all this mean?” “What am I supposed to do?” God was there. He came quietly when I was willing to give up the struggle and surrender my mind to the joy of imaginative play.
I share this with you in awe. I also can’t help but think that this same “lion” is pursuing all those who call upon him. Maybe it’s not through scenes in your mind, but in something that brings you comfort and joy, something that you surrender yourself to after all the striving and straining of the day. I don’t mean alcohol or T.V., that deadens the senses. I mean perhaps a sport or adventure or creative outlet or service rendered. Maybe the comfort of that experience is the vehicle through which the Lord is communicating love, comfort, and truth to you. If so, I pray you see Him there.
Yes, God has been there for us all along!