Lucy looked along the beam and presently saw something in it. At first it looked like a cross, then it looked like an aeroplane, then it looked like a kite, and at last with a whirring of wings it was right overhead and was an albatross. It circled three times round the mast and then perched for an instant on the crest of the gilded dragon at the prow. It called out in a strong sweet voice what seemed to be words though no one understood them. After that it spread its wings, rose, and began to fly slowly ahead, bearing a little to starboard. Drinian steered after it not doubting that it offered good guidance. But no one but Lucy knew that as it circled the mast it had whispered to her, “Courage, dear heart,” and the voice, she felt sure, was Aslan’s, and with the voice a delicious smell breathed in her face.

I think often of this passage in Voyage of the Dawn Treader. I’ve repeated to myself so often, “courage, dear heart” during this season of my life. In truth, the reason why this passage resonates with me so much is because I desperately desire to be like Lucy. To hear God’s voice and know with certainty it is Him.

I’ve lost that clarity. I think with age, more noise enters into our “God” space, more voices demand attention, more trends promise to be fulfilling, more people take precedence, more loves become more important.

When I was a kid, I used to just know Him. I used to just feel Him. My mom always tells me about when I was a kid, telling her that when I lied, it “hurt my heart.” I’ve held that pain for so long, a pain I grew to love. The pang of guilt was a reminder of my savior’s nearness.

I’ve gone so far from that these days. My heart doesn’t hurt anymore, and I’m angry for it. I’ve pushed so hard, so hard, I’m afraid, God doesn’t live there anymore at all.

My heart doesn’t feel that pain. It also doesn’t feel courageous. I miss the strength I used to so naturally draw from my God. I miss the way it felt to trust Him. I miss the way it felt to know His love.

The thing is, is that this isn’t a pregnancy or infertility issue. I’m not so naive to believe that this rift in our relationship came from one trial–no matter how excruciating. The truth is that I’ve been building up a wall between me and God for a long time, I just finally enclosed myself within these last years.

I’ve been mourning a relationship that has long been decaying when I should’ve seen what I now know God is showing me. We weren’t meant to rebuild what we had. We are meant to have something new.

The love I had for Him was one of a child. The one I am called to have for him is not so simple. It should hold the same pureness and certainty while also rejecting the new forces pushing me away from Him. A faith like Lucy’s.

All I can do now is pray. Pray for healing and certainty and for the beautiful pain that marks his presence. I have so little strength left, I don’t know that I can even pursue. I can just fall to my knees and hope that He meets me there.