When Faith Means Stepping Into the Unknown

Courage, change and becoming: reflections inspired by The Chronicles of Narnia

There are some stories you can come back to years later and somehow they meet you in a completely different place.

That happened to me this past week.

A rather unpleasant gastro bug has been making its way through our household - vomiting, diarrhoea and all the glamorous things nobody puts on social media! 😂 - which meant I found myself doing a lot more sitting around than usual.

So somewhere between feeling miserable myself and waiting for everyone else to recover, I decided to re-watch The Chronicles of Narnia movies.

And oh my goodness... what an absolute delight.

I hadn't properly watched them since our homeschooling years, when the kids would read C.S. Lewis's books and then we'd watch the movies afterwards and compare the two. Back then, I think I was watching them mostly through the eyes of a homeschooling mum.

This time?

This time I watched them through the eyes of a woman who has lived quite a bit more life.

And I found myself pondering each movie more deeply.

There are so many beautiful themes running through the Narnia stories - sacrifice, forgiveness, redemption, courage, loyalty, temptation, identity, faith and that age-old battle between good and evil.

But as I watched, one thought kept coming back to me.

Sometimes the greatest battles we face aren't happening around us at all. They're happening within us.

Courage isn't the absence of fear

One of the things I love about the Pevensie children is that they don't arrive in Narnia as fearless warriors.

They're children.

They are confused. They argue. They doubt. They get jealous. They make mistakes.

And sometimes they're downright annoying. 😂

But when the moment comes, they still have to decide whether they're going to step forward even though they're afraid.

And perhaps that's what courage really looks like.

Not feeling completely confident. Not knowing everything is going to turn out beautifully. Not having some wonderfully detailed map showing you where you're going and exactly how you're going to get there.

Sometimes courage simply says: I'm afraid. I don't know what happens next. But I'm going anyway.

Sometimes courage is simply taking the next step

“And goodness me… isn’t that life?”

We often talk about stepping into the unknown as though it is terribly adventurous and glamorous.

“Take the leap!”

“Follow your dreams!”

“Just have faith!”

Which all sounds fabulous after the story has been told and everybody already knows how it ends. 😂

It's the middle bit we don't talk about quite as much.

The waiting.

The uncertainty.

The questioning.

The moments when you wonder whether you've just made the biggest mistake of your life.

The bit where the excitement wears off and you discover what you're actually made of.

My own first big step into the unknown

I was thinking about this while watching the movies because one of my first really big steps into the unknown happened when I was still very young.

Just before starting high school, I migrated to New Zealand without my parents.

I'd been given the opportunity to go in pursuit of a better education, and I chose to take it.

Looking back now, I think, Wow... that was actually pretty brave.

At the time?

I had absolutely no idea what I was getting myself into. 😂

I had to grow up very quickly.

And that decision became the first of many times in my life when I would step into something unfamiliar without having any guarantee whatsoever about how it was all going to work out.

Sometimes those decisions opened incredible doors.

Other times, the reality certainly didn't live up to the hype of, “Oh, it'll be great!”

There were lonely seasons.

There were difficult seasons.

There were times when the excitement of taking the leap disappeared and what remained was the hard work of actually living with the decision I'd made.

And yet those seasons built something in me.

My darling Mumma (may she rest in peace) used to tell us, “Aua le faalogologo kiga. O mea ia e fai i ai le loko.”

Essentially, it means that some challenges aren’t overcome with physical strength or muscles, but with an inner strength that can only be built through the lessons life teaches us. Over time, those lessons shape us, strengthen us, and become the incredible character traits we carry with us throughout our lives.

“Your inner person has to become stronger - your will,” she would say, “sometimes has to become almost iron-clad if you’re going to make it through certain things in life.”

I understand what she meant far more now than I did back then.

Because sooner or later life has a funny way of asking: What are you made of?

And faith has a way of quietly answering: More than you thought.

Mustard-seed faith

Lucy has always been one of my favourite Narnia characters.

She sees what other people don't see.

She believes when others doubt.

And she trusts Aslan even when she doesn't completely understand what he's doing.

I think sometimes we have this idea that strong faith means never questioning anything.

Never being afraid.

Never wondering what on earth God is doing.

Always knowing exactly where He's leading.

But my experience of faith hasn't really looked like that.

Sometimes faith is tiny.

Mustard-seed tiny.

Sometimes faith sounds more like: “Lord, I really can't see very far ahead here... but I trust You enough to take the next step.”

And that's very different from having all the answers.

Perhaps that's why so many of the biggest decisions we make in life require faith.

Marriage.

Parenthood.

Moving countries.

Changing careers.

Starting something new.

Ending something that no longer belongs in our lives.

Beginning again after loss.

Forgiving someone.

Standing up for something we believe in.

Usually there's no guarantee attached.

There's just an invitation to take another step.

We all have our Turkish Delight

And then there's Edmund.

Poor Edmund. 😂

His story is uncomfortable because, if we're completely truthful, I suspect most of us probably have a little bit of Edmund tucked away somewhere inside us.

He wants recognition.

He wants status.

He doesn't particularly enjoy being underneath somebody else's authority.

And the White Witch knows exactly where his weakness lies.

She doesn't tempt him with something he hates.

She offers him something he desperately wants ~ Turkish Delight!

And isn't that often how temptation works?

Our “Turkish Delight” might look completely different.

• Approval.

• Money.

• Recognition.

• Control.

• Being right.

• Being admired.

• Feeling important.

• Comfort.

• Security.

Something that looks sweet and harmless enough at the beginning.

But Edmund discovers that something can taste wonderful while slowly gaining power over you.

What I love, though, is that his story doesn't finish with his failure.

Edmund betrays his family terribly. He makes an awful decision. But his worst decision doesn't become the end of his story.

Aslan intervenes.

• Grace enters.

• Forgiveness is given.

• Sacrifice is made.

And Edmund becomes somebody very different from the boy who first followed the White Witch.

I love that.

Because our worst chapter doesn't have to become the title of our whole story.

Growth doesn't mean we'll never be tested again

Something else struck me while watching The Voyage of the Dawn Treader.

By this stage Edmund has matured enormously.

He's wiser. Braver. More loyal.

But when he and Caspian discover the pool that turns everything it touches into gold, suddenly that old desire for status and power starts bubbling back to the surface again.

And for a brief moment...

There he is.

The old Edmund.

I thought, Yep. That's pretty true to life too.

Sometimes we imagine that because we've dealt with something once, we'll never have to deal with it again.

Wouldn't that be lovely. 😂

But maturity doesn't necessarily mean temptation disappears.

Sometimes maturity means we recognise it sooner.

We respond differently.

We become teachable.

We don't allow an old weakness to drag us all the way back to where it once did.

Maybe one of the greatest signs of growth isn't being able to say: “That never bothers me anymore.”

Maybe it's being able to say: “Ahhh... I recognise this place. I've been here before. But I'm not the same person I was last time.”

Sometimes we become the dragon

And then there is Eustace.

Oh, Eustace. 😂

He starts The Voyage of the Dawn Treader as possibly one of the most irritating children imaginable.

Selfish. Critical. Whiny. Superior.

He looks down on practically everybody around him.

And then greed gets hold of him and eventually, he becomes a dragon.

What an image!

All that ugliness growing on the inside eventually becomes visible on the outside.

But the most powerful part of his story comes when Eustace realises he cannot change himself back.

He tries.

He scratches away at his dragon skin.

A layer comes off.

And underneath?

More dragon.

So he scratches again.

Still dragon.

Eventually Aslan has to do for Eustace what Eustace cannot do for himself.

The transformation is painful.

The old skin has to come off.

But when Eustace emerges, he hasn't simply changed on the outside.

He's becoming a different person.

Kinder. Humbler. Braver.

More aware of the people around him.

There is such a powerful spiritual truth tucked into that story.

Sometimes transformation hurts.

We pray: “God, change me.”

But I sometimes wonder whether what we really mean is: “God, change me... but could You please do it without making me uncomfortable?” 😂

Because sometimes God lovingly puts His finger on attitudes, habits, pride, fears or old wounds that have become so much a part of us that removing them feels painful.

Not because He wants to destroy us.

But because He is restoring us.

The danger of wishing we were somebody else

Lucy's struggle is much quieter.

She isn't betraying her family.

She isn't turning into a dragon.

Her battle happens inside her own heart.

She looks at her older sister Susan and begins wondering what it would be like to be more beautiful. More noticed. More admired.

And suddenly this children's story written decades ago feels incredibly modern.

Because we now live in a world where we can compare ourselves with hundreds of other people before we've even finished our morning coffee.

Their homes. Their bodies. Their businesses. Their families. Their ministries. Their holidays. Their achievements.

Everybody else's highlight reel sitting right there in the palm of our hand.

And if we're not careful, comparison can slowly convince us that who God created us to be isn't quite enough.

Lucy's temptation reminded me that when we spend too much time wishing we were somebody else, we risk losing something rather important.

Ourselves.

There is only one you.

Your personality.

Your story.

Your gifts.

Your experiences.

Your voice.

Your calling.

And maybe part of growing older - and hopefully a little wiser 😂 - is becoming increasingly comfortable with the person God actually created us to be.

Not constantly chasing somebody else's version of beautiful.

Or successful.

Or important.

The battles within...

Perhaps that's why these movies spoke to me so differently this time.

Years ago, as a homeschooling mum, I saw wonderful stories we could discuss with our children.

Now?

I see adulthood.

I see the battles we continue fighting quietly within ourselves as individuals.

Edmund's desire for recognition.

Eustace's selfishness.

Lucy's insecurity.

Caspian learning how to lead.

Fear of the unknown.

Greed. Pride. Comparison. Doubt.

That little voice telling us to turn around when the road ahead suddenly becomes difficult.

And through all of it, is Aslan.

Calling. Correcting. Forgiving. Restoring. Reminding them who they are.

Perhaps courage looks smaller than we think

At 56, I certainly don't think courage always looks like charging into battle carrying a sword.

Sometimes courage is simply getting up tomorrow and trying again.

Sometimes it's making the phone call you've been avoiding.

Starting the business.

Leaving what's familiar.

Going back to study.

Moving somewhere new.

Saying sorry.

Forgiving someone.

Changing direction.

Starting again.

Trusting God in a season when you honestly can't see what He's doing.

And sometimes courage is simply being able to say: “I'm scared - but fear doesn't get to make this decision for me.”

That young girl boarding a plane for New Zealand all those years ago couldn't possibly have known all the places life would eventually take her.

She couldn't have known the people she would meet.

The countries she would live in.

The joys that were coming.

Or the losses.

The opportunities.

The disappointments.

The things she would begin.

The things she'd eventually have to let go of.

There would be many more firsts.

Many more unknowns.

And many more moments where faith would be tested.

And I'm fairly certain there will be plenty more ahead.

That's life.

Maybe we aren't meant to know the whole journey.

Maybe, like Lucy entering Narnia, sometimes we're simply being asked to walk through the wardrobe.

One step. Then another. Then another.

Trusting that the One calling us forward already knows what's waiting on the other side.

So, if you're standing at the edge of something unfamiliar today and wondering whether you have enough faith, or enough courage to move forward, perhaps you don't need enormous faith.

Perhaps mustard-seed faith will do.

You don't have to feel fearless.

You don't need to know how the whole story ends.

You just need enough courage for the next step.

And when life eventually asks, “What are you made of?”

...you may discover that beneath all the uncertainty, all the fear and all the questions, God has quietly been building something stronger inside you all along.

“What is the next step you sense God asking you to take, even if you can't yet see where it will lead?