The Truths We Don't Believe

I'm not sure when I fell in love with the Chronicles of Narnia, but I think it was sometime around six years old, when the first, non terrible BBC movie came out. But I really fell in love with Narnia when I was eight,  and in the Prince Caspian play at CATS. But I'm not here to talk about that.

When I first watched TLtWatW, I thought it was funny when Aslan called Edmund, King Edmund, the Just. This was because I didn't know that just actually meant fair, and not average. (Like, that's just a muffin, and not a cupcake. Get it? Good.) After my sister told me what just really meant, I didn't think much of it. Until today.

I've been super bored this week. As I said in my last post, I didn't end up going to NITOC this year, so I sat around watching OUAT and bad Disney channel movies. I really don't have any idea as to why I was thinking about Edmund the Just today, but it occurred to me:

Edmund probably didn't think he was just.

He had gone and betrayed his own family. He probably didn't even think he deserved to be king. At that moment, he wasn't feeling very just.

But that's what Aslan called him. Not only just, but king. The person lion who had just sacrificed himself for this traitor called him king. And I seriously doubt that Edmund felt deserving of those things. And, truthfully, he wasn't.

Aslan saw something in him that Ed couldn't see himself. Aslan, the great lion, the very embodiment of kingliness and justness, called someone who was a traitor those very things. And because Aslan said it, Edmund could believe it.

I got to thinking today, maybe we're the same way.

Before I got medals and trophies and green check-marks, I know that I was.

I didn't think I would ever be good at anything- seriously, that's exactly what I thought. I'll never be good at anything. At all. I would never as good at speech as my siblings. Never be as good at writing as my favorite authors. Never be good at singing or dancing or piano. I didn't compete when I was twelve because I was afraid. Afraid that I'd never be good enough.

The summer before my novice year of speech and debate, I went on a mission trip called MPACT. (You remember. Last year I got sent home.) A few weeks later, my awesome youth leader, Sarah, asked me to give a little two minute speech about my experience at MPACT. I had to get up in front of the church, on stage, and talk about how I had no friends. (Seriously.) I'm really bad at guessing numbers, so I won't. It's a small church, so there weren't a whole lot of people. I thought I'd be fine. Until, you know, the actually day that I was supposed to do it.

In the minutes leading up to my big speech, my stomach became an Olympic gymnast and my hands started sweating like the place was on fire. Shaking like the epicenter of my own earthquake, I walked on stage and stood in front of the microphone that was low enough for short little me. It took everything in me not to burst into tears and run off that stage. I looked at my dad and pressed through my story, sniffling and um-ing and trying not to pass out. The whole experience was a real shot to the heart of the little hope I had of ever achieving anything, forensics wise.

At least, I thought it was.

I was shaking like nobody's business. I was on the verge of tears. I was saying 'um' like there was no tomorrow. But despite all that, I was getting words out. I was pressing through it. I was swallowing those tears and clenching my fists. I fought through it.

Up on that stage, sniffling up a storm, I didn't feel it. I didn't look it. I didn't believe it.

I was brave.

I know dozens of speech and debaters who could've got up on that stage and delivered a flawless presentation. And now, nearly two years later, maybe I'm one of those CHSADKs. But I wasn't then.

When I couldn't believe it myself, God told me I was brave.

With a microphone, a bent up notebook, shaking hands and watering eyes, God whispered in my ear- brave.

Since my little MPACT speech, I've given countless more, in and out of tournaments. I've gotten fifth and belows, I've gotten firsts, I've even gotten an eighth. Even after all those speeches, all those tournaments, I still get nervous. My palms sweat like the ocean, my hands shake like San Fransisco, my heart pounds like I just ran three miles. But, every time, I get up there. I give my speech to the judges. Whether it's DI or OO or impromptu or TP. I stand up and speak. Sometimes I have to push through tears to do it. Sometimes I do it in slippers. But I do it. I don't always win. I don't always loose. But with every round, every ballot, every tournament, God whispers 'brave.' 

I guess I'm a little bit like Edmund. I would think that nothing good could come from me, because of my past failures. But God redeemed those failures, like Aslan did Edmund's. Aslan called Edmund just. God called me brave. What's He calling you?

Vote affirmative, even if you don't believe it. (Okay, that didn't make any sense, but whatever.)