We Are Not Most Unfortunate

I listened to The Horse and His Boy by C. S. Lewis as an audiobook in my early 20s, having never made it beyond The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe and Prince Caspian when I was younger. I was checking a book series off the list, meeting the goal of exposure to and familiarity with classics, and finding meaningful depth in Lewis’s God-focused brilliance. As I was drawn into Shasta’s story, I could not have anticipated how meaningful it would be to my own.

Shasta’s Story and Aslan

In Chapter 11, “The Unwelcome Fellow Traveller,” Shasta rides a non-talking horse in the dark on a path flanked with trees, having run on foot to warn King Lune of coming invasion, having then been left behind as the experienced horsemen thundered ahead.

Even though he had gotten to the King in time, was met with gratitude, and was looked upon with recognition by the King because of his resemblance to the Prince, the current circumstances and the hardships leading to them brought him to a dark place inside.

“I do think,” said Shasta, “that I must be the most unfortunate boy that ever lived in the world.” Then, having become aware of someone or something in the woods nearby, “...being very tired and having nothing inside him, he felt so sorry for himself that the tears rolled down his cheeks.”

After finally interacting with the unseen creature nearby, Shasta recapped his unfortunate life, and the Large Voice responded, “I do not call you unfortunate,” then recounted Shasta’s story from his own perspective.

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 midnight to receive you.

This Lion, Aslan,  had been there through all of it, even the parts Shasta did not know. 

My Story and God

A few years after hearing this beautiful interaction and repeating it a few times, I found myself in a remembrance moment of my own, recounting the hardest moments in a conversation with God. The weight of the sum total of these had crept up on me, and I had an emotionally, spiritually bare interaction with Him.

I revisited the pain not only in my thoughts but in my heart as it cried out. More generally than what I said that day—I told Him about painful treatment from peer friends, about the impact of death in the family, about pastors not dealing with grossly detrimental sin patterns in the church, about Christian school leaders misrepresenting him and not facing accountability, about OCD-like germ fears that had taken over the daily rhythms of my youth, about many pieces of my story—with some of the deepest feeling I have experienced at one time, I cried out to Him after each example and finally at the end: “I felt so alone!”

My family had always been there, but no family can shield from everything in this life, and sometimes families walk through the same unchangeable grief together. In this moment, I expressed my raw feelings to God.

Then there was an internal pause—a grand realization, a light that suddenly spread over the entire landscape—“I was there,” He said. I sensed Him inviting me to walk back through each one and see Him there…and I found His grace in my story at every point. 

Further Reflection on Shasta and Aslan

It was only after this that I remembered the parallel to Shasta and Aslan. The part of the book I had replayed multiple times somehow became, with its own shape, part of my journey. 

As I recalled Shasta's story, I was particularly fond of the night at the tombs—the night Shasta was shut out of the city, and his friends had not come, leaving him to sleep alone, susceptible to the jackals and other predators. A friendly cat came to guide him and bring him companionship and comfort. Then a lion let out a terrifying roar when the cat stepped away, scaring away the predators.

Aslan was both the comforting companion presence and the fierce protector. Even though he did not protect Shasta from every hardship that day, he was there in the darkness. I find so much truth there in my own life—God allowed hardship in my young life, and also, He was there. He was there, both strong and kind, bringing some protection and comfort, leading me then and now toward wholeness.

Moses, the Israelites, and God

As I reflected on Shasta's story, I was reading in the Pentateuch for my daily Scripture time, and a connection between Moses, the Israelites, Shasta, and me emerged for me in the Exodus narrative.

God had shown up to Moses in chapter three after providentially allowing him to survive the massacre of male babies, and his adulthood drive to be a leader of his people was squelched by fear of Egyptian retribution, leaving his Israelite story shelved as a simple, unknown shepherd far away. Then God promised to use him to free the Israelites from Egyptian captivity as He had promised Abraham hundreds of years previously (Genesis 15:13-14). 

In Exodus 5:22-23, the timeline was not going as expected—Pharaoh was refusing to allow the people to go with Moses despite mighty signs and, in fact, had made their workload impossibly heavy, even beating the Israelite overseers. “Then Moses turned to the Lord and said, ‘O Lord, why have you done evil to this people? Why did you ever send me? For since I came to Pharaoh to speak in your name, he has done evil to this people, and you have not delivered your people at all.’” 

Conclusion and Invitation

Shasta thought himself most unfortunate, Moses thought himself to be forgotten and misled, and I thought myself to be alone (to be open, unfortunate and forgotten in ways as well). None of us were right.

God reassured Moses and told him about evidence he would see of His working, and Aslan reassured Shasta of his past presence—he was even the lion Shasta had never known, the lion who made sure he got to a person who would take care of him, the Royal Son of King Lune in desperate times.

Since that memorable day of God speaking into my story, showing me His presence and work at every moment, despite the hard stuff, my paradigm shifted, and a peace over and through the narrative reshaped the past pain. These moments also invited me to live in new hard moments in a new mindset.

He may allow devastating pain, yes, even the failure of church leaders through their own agency, but He never leaves or turns away from a responsive heart, and He never ceases to work for good or to keep His promises.

I invite you to tell God if there are parts of your story that feel as if He wasn't there, or if it feels as if He isn't there now. I invite you to join me in allowing Him to speak over the landscape of your life, and then you find Him there. If you feel like Shasta or Moses or me, tell Him. I am certain you will find Him there, faithful, good, strong, and kind.

Shasta was not most unfortunate.

Because of God, neither are you, and neither am I.