Courage, Dear Heart

I drank coffee too near to sleeping, and instead I lay awake thinking about my tattoo.  "Courage, dear heart," Aslan whispered in Lucy's ear.  I smiled at the idea that God might whisper those words to me.  That was nice.  What a fun game.  I started thinking about what else God might whisper to me.

"Stop doing that."

"You can do better."

I curled under my sheets, twisting into myself.  God doesn't say those things, I know.  I KNOW, right?  But immediately that's what I imagined.  God wants me to try harder, to avoid sin, to display the fruits of the Spirit.  I should be more than I am.  That is what the god of my imagination demanded.

In immediate contrast, I had "Courage, dear heart" carved into my skin.  I pressed into the sore flesh to remind myself of the words in the dark.  Maybe they were truer words than the ones cycling through my thoughts.  I desperately wanted to believe that God would see my failures and my self-righteous striving and instead of commenting on any of those things, He would say, "Courage, dear heart."  He would remind me that this is not the end, and that holding on to Him is all I need to do.

I will be courageous if He will make me courageous.