Courage, Dear Heart

Lucy stands in the crows nest, high above the deck of The Dawn Treader, with an arrow ready on her bowstring. Ahead of her lies the dark tunnel, a lump of blackness and despair that seemingly cannot be penetrated with any physical light. She shivers. Her heart quakes as she looks ahead at this test, this foolhardy adventure, and in her heart she prays for the one light that she knows can go with her anywhere. As the ship nears the entrance of the dark tunnel, she looks back one last time at the Sun and sees something in the shape of a darkened cross against the brightness. She blinks as she sees it getting larger and then realizes that it is a bird of the sea, an albatross. And suddenly it is above her, circling around the mast, closer and closer until it whirrs near her head, surrounding her with a glorious perfume and the whispered words: Courage, dear heart.

* * *

I wake up overwhelmed. I am exhausted. It is still dark out, and I am already worrying about the outcome of my day. It is not merely that this single day has me stumped, but that the weeks to come are looking blacker as the February zooms closer to midterms. And this morning--I have a paper to finish, a bed to be made, and some semblance of physical presentation necessary before I arrive at work in so short amount of time. I take the time to open my Bible, to be assured that my strength is indeed inadequate and that God's strength alone is perfected in my weakness. All too soon I set about my other tasks and finally find myself running to work to make it on time, praying. Something moves on the ground in front of me at the base of one of the large campus trees, leaving the ground and flapping up to the lowest branch. I stop running, noting already by its size that it is a hawk, musing that it is likely the red-tail I have often seen down by the dairy. I am within twenty feet of it now, and it still sits there, looking around, seemingly unconcerned. I keep walking, and it flies to a tree on the other side of the side-walk, its brown and white speckled chest clearly visible. I walk nearly underneath it, stop, and gaze up at its eyes, at its folded wings, at its curving beak. I stand there and know that I am already a minute or two late for work, that my paper is not as I would like it, and that there are yet many hours until Sabbath. But that is okay. Courage, dear heart.