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Narnia and Me
I was introduced to the land of Narnia when I was 7. It was love at first read. The first of the seven Narnia chronicles I read was called ‘The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe’. The story is about four children who are transported (through a magic wardrobe) to the land of Narnia. Narnia is a land of talking animals and fantasy creatures such as Fauns, Centaurs and Dwarfs. But all is not well in Narnia. It has been cursed by an evil dictator called ‘The White Witch’. Because of this curse Narnia is always in winter and anyone who disagrees with her is turned to stone. It is up to the children and a talking lion called Aslan to save Narnia from the witch.
I loved the main human character (Lucy) and really related to her openness and imagination. I had never encountered talking animals before and I really liked that idea. We had three pets at the time. Bobby and Kate were cat sisters but very different. Bobby (who was a girl, but I named her after my grandfather anyway) had attitude. She was the boss. And if she sat on your knee, it was utter rudeness to move. Bobby was my favourite cat. We also had a dog called Pokey. Pokey was a small, yappy, snappy dog. She often snapped at my heels when I climbed up trees or swung around on the clothesline. I tried very hard to make them talk to me but it didn’t work. I still wish it had.
But most of all I loved the character of Aslan. If you don’t know the story Aslan is a talking lion who is a kind of spiritual king in Narnia. He is kind and good and terrifying all at once. Aslan, we are told, is in other worlds including our own world. I wondered at the time, who Aslan was in our world. But I just didn’t know.
At one point in the story Aslan dies a gruesome death at the hands of the ‘White Witch’ and her army of monsters. He goes to his death willingly as a substitute for Lucy’s brother Edmund who had been treacherous and betrayed his family. Lucy and her sister Susan accompany Aslan on the road to his death before hiding in the bushes to watch the spectacle. The story is told through their eyes.
On that first reading I did not expect Aslan to die. In the book it says that Lucy and Susan cried until there were no tears left. Well so did I. I had fallen in love with Aslan and seen him as a saviour (even thought I probably didn’t know what that word meant at the time). But, despite my tears, I couldn’t put the book down. I kept reading.
When Aslan was resurrected, I was filled with wonder and joy. Like Susan and Lucy I wanted to cuddle him and sink my face into his fur. The resurrected Aslan then helped the children to defeat the white witch and her army, and free Narnia from its oppression. I felt so strongly about the story that I told everyone, including my Nanna.
That Christmas my brother Adrian and I went to Hobart for some of our long school holidays around Christmas time. Hobart is the largest city in the island state of Tasmania but it is like a little town compared to Melbourne, which was where I was living at the time. At that time it didn’t even have a zoo.
My Nanna and Papa lived in a huge, white, two storey house, with a very large garden. Papa had grown up on a farm and he loved tending to the fruit and vegetables. At the time I thought my grandparents were weird. They went to protests, museums and art galleries. I enjoyed those and learned a lot but…I was aware that other children had grandparents who made biscuits and scones and were far more old- fashioned in their views.
But, that Christmas when I was seven years old, I was given the greatest gift of all time – a complete set of the ‘Chronicles of Narnia’. I hadn’t realised that there were six other books! I was beside myself with joy. Although ‘The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe’ will always be my favourite the other books really helped fill out the world and spark my already strong imagination.
The first and last books of the series – ‘The Magician’s Nephew’ and ‘The Last Battle’ – got me to think a little deeper. In ‘The Magician’s Nephew’ a child called Digory and his friend Polly watch as Aslan sings Narnia into life. It is such a beautiful scene as each of the animals and mythical creatures come bubbling out of the earth. I had never before really thought about how worlds were created. I was too young to know the scientific and spiritual theories of our world. So it really made me think.
After reading ‘The Last Battle’ I cried and cried. ‘The Last Battle’ is the end of Narnia. It is the confrontation between the ‘good’ Narnians and the ‘evil’ Calormenes who worshipped a god called Tash. A clever and evil ape was able to convince many of his people that Tash and Aslan were the same. I read with sorrow how Narnia was defeated. But…after the defeat of Narnia the children in the story (Eustace and Jill), as well as many Narnians, go to a new world. This world goes on forever and is supposed to be even better than Narnia. I had never thought much, before that, of an afterlife. My mother had told me the stories behind Easter and Christmas, but I was too distracted by the celebration itself to really ponder what it pointed to. But Narnia sowed a spiritual seed in me, a seed that, in my adult life, drew me to Christ.
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Why I’m a Christian
My spiritual journey started very young – my first memories start in primary school. When I was nine years old to be exact. We had just moved to Somerset, a small town in Tasmania’s North West. I distinctly remember having ‘scripture classes’ with an older man who talked a lot about ‘sin’ and ‘hell’. This would have put a lot of children off, but it fascinated me. I liked the idea of people being punished for hurting me, or those I loved. I used to pray to this God every time someone wronged me. I would also often then feel guilty and tell God to cancel that prayer.
Although I didn’t know it at the time my favourite books – the Narnia series – were also deeply Christian. I loved the lion Aslan who was both strong and loving. When I realized that he was supposed to be a Christlike figure I felt confused. I was strongly drawn to Aslan but I also had very negative views of what adults called ‘organised religion’. I often heard Christians being criticised as hypocrites, and I didn’t want to be a hypocrite. Plus I wasn’t sure that God existed. Not at that stage anyway. I had inklings but I wasn’t sure.
I became sure that God existed when I had a severe asthma attack when I was fifteen years old. I went down a white tunnel where I felt an overwhelming sense of love and peace. As I neared the end I heard a voice. It said ‘It is not your time to die. You must go back. There’s something you must do.’ I woke up in a hospital bed. At the time I didn’t tell anyone about my experience, or the fact that I now believed God existed. It was too strange.
The next year I made my first Christian friend. She was unlike most of my friends because she connected on a deeper level. I felt that she truly understood me and cared for me. I started going to church and, at the time, I thought I was following Jesus. In reality, however, I was still confused. Although the people were loving and different there seemed to be a lot of rules that I didn’t understand, and didn’t want to obey. I was both rebellious and confused. Eventually, after a disastrous relationship with a Christian man, I gave up my faith.
Looking back, however, I think that God never gave up on me. I remember running into an old flat mate in the year 2000. She was different. When we met she had been quiet and withdrawn. She was now enthusiastic and open. She told me how Jesus had cleaned up her life. She said that we have a ‘God-shaped hole’ in us. This made sense to me as I felt something was missing in my life – that my life lacked meaning and purpose. This was despite the fact that I was studying Honours in English Literature, which I really enjoyed.
In 2001 I attended my friend’s church where she shared her testimony. I related to what she said, and I wanted what she had. I remember the pastor saying, ‘There’s someone here who has a similar testimony and God wants you to come to him.’ I grabbed hard at the seat. I was, again, confused. I didn’t want another set of rules. So I went to her church the next week where a guest pastor said that Christianity was about a relationship with Jesus, not a set of rules. ‘Okay, God,’ I prayed ‘I will commit to you.’ I felt a sense of relief.
But it was not just experiences and friendships that converted me to Christianity. It was also the person of Jesus. When I read the gospels I was amazed. This was not some insipid, boring, good person. This was someone who divided people – some people followed him everywhere and others wanted to kill Him. He was a man of great compassion who longed for people to come to him and find rest and healing, but He was also a man who felt incredible anger at hypocrisy and oppression. I had never encountered anyone like Him, and I guess I never will. That’s part of the point.
The other part of the point was that this Jesus claimed to be able to forgive people from their sins. I had been aware of sin in my own life for many, many years. I was a very anxious and guilty child, and now I’m an anxious and guilty adult! But the difference is that now I’m able to tell myself that I have been forgiven, which helps me let go.
A year after I committed my life to Jesus my mental illness became unbearable. I was unable to work or study. I struggled to even cook or clean. People often wonder why I kept on with Christianity despite my life being torn apart. But that’s the point. I need Jesus even more now than I did when I first believed. Because I don’t have much else in my life to comfort me.
I have also stayed a Christian because of the love of the people of God – from various churches. So many of them have been like Jesus to me. They have fed me, kept me safe, encouraged me and loved me. Many of them are like a second family to me. Having them in my life has made me feel truly blessed.
So – in a nutshell – I’m a Christian because I had experiences that I couldn’t explain any other way, because the people of God loved me as their own and because the Jesus of the Gospels was someone I wanted to follow. I still struggle in my daily life but my faith is one of the things that helps me persevere.
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How mental illness made me a better person
I would never wish my mental illness on my worst enemy. It’s the hardest thing that I have ever dealt with. In fact there have been many times when I haven’t wanted to be alive. As well as this sometimes I have been incredibly self-destructive, hysterical and aggressive when in the acute stage of my illness. And, even though mental illness has made me a better person, I would still rather be a bad person with good mental health than the other way around. I’m just saying that there is a silver lining. Well maybe not exactly silver. Maybe a black canvas with speckles of white.
Although I have struggled with depression since I was in my teens I was able to function normally. I got good marks at school and University, had a wide range of friends and acquaintances and participated in a wide range of hobbies, with writing being my favourite hobby. I wrote almost every day during my youth and young adulthood, and it brought me much joy.
I started teaching in the 1990’s. This was the first time that I had struggled in any work related area. Looking back I really wish that I had continued my studies and become an academic, but you can’t take back the past. Even though I had so much support from the staff at various schools the students triggered me emotionally and I was unable to maintain discipline. By 2002 I was no longer able to function, not just as a teacher but as a person. I couldn’t even cook for myself and showering daily was a huge burden.
Before 2002 I was incredibly intellectually arrogant. I knew I was smart and I looked down on those who weren’t as smart. It was a source of pride. In saying this there’s nothing wrong with being smart. The thing that’s wrong is looking down on other people. Since my plummet from being a professional person to being kind of untouchable I learned to value qualities such as kindness, loyalty, perseverance and love. I also found that everyone has strengths and weaknesses in terms of their skills. Some people are good with their hands, for example, or good at sport. I am not good at either of these things. Being clever is just one type of intelligence.
Before my breakdown I was incredibly selfish. I had little time or compassion for those who were struggling and often accused them of being lazy or melodramatic. I am now able not only to feel strong compassion I’m often able to act on it, in various ways. I have become a better friend and family member. Someone who always looks out for those close to me. I have also been able to advocate successfully for the rights of the mentally ill. And lastly, because I have been discriminated against, I am more conscious of the humanity of people with other disabilities, and people of other races. I am now a more selfless person.
Although I had been around churches since I was a teenager I had a shallow, superficial faith that was easily rocked. In fact I spent about ten years away from the church after a short but disastrous relationship with a Christian man. Since my illness I have developed a stronger and deeper faith. I have devoted myself to thinking deeply about Jesus and the scriptures, which has led to a deep character transformation. Like me Jesus suffered. And like me he persevered. Although my stronger faith has sometimes been confronting for people I feel that it has helped me be more generous, more loving and more thoughtful.
I hope this post has been encouraging. That there is hope amidst darkness. And character amidst suffering. I sincerely hope that you don’t have to suffer what I have suffered. But, if you do, hold onto hope and love.
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A different kind of Nanna
Throughout my troubled years my Nanna, Bronwen Meredith, was both a soul mate and a mentor. But it didn’t start like that. Like olives my Nanna was an acquired taste.
As a child I just thought she was weird. Everyone else’s grandmothers were busy baking cookies and wearing pearls. Mine went in protest marches. In fact, she even spoke at the marches. She also wore terrible, boring clothes which, she told me proudly, she got from an op shop. I did not want op shop clothes. I wanted brightly coloured, brand new, feminine dresses that I could spin around in.
She had travelled the world feeding the hungry and giving justice to the oppressed. I had no interest in any of that. I just resented the fact that she wouldn’t supply me with chocolate, the way everyone else’s grandmother did.
Eventually we found common ground in children’s books. I loved reading and she knew lots about books. She had been a school librarian and so she knew just the sort of books that would inspire and excite an inquisitive child.
My Nanna also took her spiritual life seriously. She was a Quaker and so I spent many Sunday mornings sitting in silence, which is how Quakers worship. The Quaker meeting room had a window overlooking Mount Wellington, the beautiful mountain that is the backdrop to Hobart. At these still times I would wonder at its beauty and think of the possibility that some spiritual reality existed outside of my little world.
Nanna’s commitment to education started very young. At six years of age she went to the graduation of her uncle and observed that very few women were graduating. “Why aren’t there more women?” she asked. “Not very many women go to University,” she was told. “Well,” said Nanna “I’m going to go.”
And indeed she did. She studied for her Bachelor of Arts at the University of Tasmania and did very well, particularly in English Literature, where she achieved High Distinctions. She then went on to qualify as a teacher. According to Nanna University was a wonderful place, where ideas were discussed and minds open. And where women were finding that they too had good minds, and good ideas.
After marrying my grandfather (Papa) they had five children. They both had successful teaching careers, which included teaching in Papua New Guinea and Aboriginal children in the Northern Territory. They also worked for the Quaker aid agency which took them all over the world.
But, in my memory, Nanna and Papa lived in a big house a few kilometres north of Hobart. I spent many school holidays there as children and teenagers where we were exposed to politics, art and books.
Nanna and Papa’s house was filled with books on a range of subjects. There were novels, poetry, Aboriginal books, books filled with art, literature from ages past and religious and political tomes. Sometimes I just enjoyed looking at all the titles. I remember reading the poetry particularly. I felt so intellectually stimulated by their library.
Nanna and Papa protested against various things – including war, women’s rights and racism. Although I didn’t appreciated this as a child I did when I started University where I was exposed to these ideas too. I remember first studying Martin Luther King and feeling so angry at the racism he chose to combat. I felt I finally had some idea where they were coming from.
After Papa’s death and my breakdown Nanna and I became very close. I would walk up to her nursing home each week to talk to her about intellectual topics such as literature, politics, spirituality and the arts. Although we often disagreed Nanna was always respectful and said ‘Meredith’s have strong opinions.’ (Meredith is my last name and was also hers)
During my long mental illness Nanna tried hard to support me. She even went to see my psychiatrist when I was in hospital to try and work out how best to help. Apparently he told her to take me out and not to worry about me finding work until I had stabilised.
Nanna died in 2011. The day before she passed away I sat there stroking her hands and reading to her.
Some of my friends came to her funeral and were interested in the similarities between Nanna and me. We were both intellectuals who enjoyed reading and writing. We both had strong spiritual and political opinions, and shared similar values. And, lastly, we both struggled with cooking and driving.
I still miss my Nanna. I often think of things to talk to her about, then remember that she’s no longer around. I will always remember her kindness and her spirit.
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Sometimes help isn’t out there
Trigger Warning – Suicide, self-harm
It’s all very well telling people to get help for their mental health, but often the help they do get is less than satisfactory.
I have presented to the Emergency Department for many reasons – chest pain, asthma, bowel problems and mental health. And I can tell you quite definitely that the treatment I received for my physical health conditions was far superior to that I got when presenting with mental health issues.
Let me tell you a story….
In 2017 after a disastrous marriage and subsequent break up my mental health plummeted. On one particular occasion I attended the Emergency Department with a friend because I was feeling incredibly suicidal and unsafe. I was also hearing voices that were telling me that I was evil and should die.
I told the triage nurse what was going on and she told me, quite coldly, to take a seat. I was not shown any compassion or told how long I would have to wait. I was also not really assessed as to my risk. Waiting like this increased my anxiety and made me feel angry and even more self -destructive. I went outside for a cigarette and burned myself with the butt.
The hospital didn’t remark on my increased agitation or make any attempt to keep me safe. I told them quite aggressively that since they didn’t care I was going to go to a nearby bridge and jump off it in the hope that I would die.
My friend tried to stop me doing this but I told them that they didn’t care either and to go away. I felt that if the hospital didn’t care then neither did anyone else. So I started walking. I was scared of dying but I felt that that was what I should do.
Apparently my friends called the police and I was picked up by them and put in a paddy wagon and taken back to the hospital. I told the nurse that I wanted to go home. ‘You’ve already been home,’ she said ‘And that didn’t really work out for you.’ I told her that I had not been home and her face changed for a moment.
I was then given a bed in the Emergency Department. Another friend turned up and stayed until about 2 am talking to me to calm me down. It worked and then they left. The staff made no attempt to calm me down.
I was not admitted to the ward as I was thought to be too manipulative to go there. Apparently they thought that I liked being in hospital and was doing all the suicidal stuff for attention. I stayed in the Emergency Department for a few days, without shower or laundry facilities, and was then sent home with my mother.
I felt that the hospital didn’t want to help me at all and I decided that I would never attend again for mental health reasons unless I was forced to.
I was told that I had ‘Borderline Personality Disorder’ and I think that this label is partly why they treated me so badly. Medical staff often associate this diagnosis with ‘bad behaviour’ and don’t want to help.
This is bad enough but, in my case, it was only part of the story. I don’t fit into a diagnostic box and have had eight different diagnoses. I think that when they think you have a personality disorder they treat you much worse than when they think you have schizophrenia.
I have heard other stories like mine and I hope, by sharing this, I help those people feel less alone. I also hope that I can educate others on what it’s like to feel like I did, and be treated like I did. Hopefully, in the future, this will help create a better mental health system.
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U2-Some reflections
As a teenager with severe asthma I had almost tasted death on several occasions. Being so conscious of death made me also conscious of spiritual things. So much so that, at the age of 17, I started going to church and Christian groups. Although I made some long lasting friendships during this time the spiritual life I was presented with was legalistic and stifling.I don’t remember being particularly interested in music before U2. I know I listened to Madonna and Michael Jackson a lot in the 1980’s but I think that it was just because everyone else did. There was no real connection. This all changed when, in 1988, I first listened to The Joshua Tree. I was struck by the beauty of the lyrics, the raw energy behind the performance and the sound of it all. I was particularly struck by the song ‘I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For’. To me that song spoke straight into my spiritual confusion. I felt that I had been understood. The spiritual honesty in the song inspired me to continue searching, and not to expect easy answers.
In 1990 I began studying a Bachelor of Arts majoring in English Literature. I was told by various Christians to pray before reading books which were written by non-Christian authors. I really wanted to follow Jesus, but I have always hated rules. Particularly rules that made no sense to me. As a result I listened to even more U2 – dancing and singing alone in my bedroom as I contemplated life.
I remember so clearly when U2 released Achtung Baby in 1991. It caused such controversy among the Christian community at my University. But to me it spoke of their creativity and soul searching. I particularly liked the song ‘Mysterious Ways’ because it went beyond black and white thinking and into areas that were ‘mysterious’. Eventually I rejected the Christian ‘rules’ I had been presented with. So I totally understood when U2 both proclaimed their faith and bent the rules. After all, they are artists not preachers.
I think there’s a difference between the role of an artist and the role of a preacher. I believe that U2 draw on their faith to make people think an feel and question. And that, to me, is the role of the artist, Christian or otherwise. Of course no one can possibly know whether a particular band is ‘Christian enough’ or not. But that misses the point. Listening to U2 helped me when I was spiritually searching, in a way that most ‘Christian bands’ did not. They came across as real people who made brilliant music. In contrast, many of the Christian bands and artists of the time were squeaky clean and, therefore, difficult for people like me to relate to. And by people like me I mean people from non-Christian backgrounds who had lived a life that fell outside the rules of Christian culture.
As a creative person, I can learn a lot from U2. I have learned that to be truly creative I must get out of my comfort zone and risk failure. I have also learned to be true to myself and my craft and not just produce what I think my proposed audience wants to hear. Of course people follow artists who don’t take risks but, I think, the artist is then less inspiring.
I am impressed that the members of the band have been together since the 1970’s, when they met as teenagers. I think they get a lot out of working together, and bouncing ideas off one another. I know that when I talk to, or work with, other writers I feel more productive than when I work alone. I think it’s important for any sort of artist to be part of a community.
I value the honesty and vulnerability of U2, as expressed in many of their lyrics. As someone who has dabbled in poetry, their words are exceptional. And, finally, I have learned about spirituality from U2. Whether they fit neatly into a Christian box or not, they have helped me to ask the tough questions and keep on searching. And that, to me, speaks genuinely of Jesus.
NB: This blog post is adapted from an assignment I did for a course called ‘Postgraduate Diploma in Creative Writing and Communication’, through Tabor Adelaide.
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A Shadowy love story
They say people come into our lives for a reason. Well, sometimes that’s true for animals as well. Shadow taught me about the love that comes through persevering through difficulties. I have never connected with any animal they way I connect with Shadow. To me he’s not a pet – he’s my family.
I first met Shadow nine years ago when my friend rescued him from the side of the road. IShe put him under her jumper and took him home. He was happy there. He loved his new owner and had a nice yard to play with. So he wasn’t very impressed when she gave him to me.
The first few months with Shadow were awful. He howled non stop, scratched non stop, put toilet paper all over the house and broke several of my picture frames. Some people told me to have him put down. Others that I obviously wasn’t good with aggressive males cats. But I decided to love him through it.
The change happened gradually. The first thing was that he let me pat him. After a while he learned to trust me. Soon there were no more broken frames or toilet paper. And the howling was replaced by purring. He had settled down.
Shadow is an incredibly beautiful looking cat. He is a long-haired black and white cat with big, soulful, green eyes. The markings on his face are symmetrical and his coat is fluffy and shiny. I always tell him how beautiful he is. And I even sing to him.
Shadow and I understand each other because we both have mental illnesses. And no I’m not joking. Shadow is on medication for his anxiety and mood swings. And it works both ways. Shadow is such a comfort to me when I’m unwell. His cat cuddles are so healing. And he loves me because I first loved him. I don’t have to prove anything to him.
Likewise when Shadow is stressed or angry I put him in my bedroom for ‘time out’ which is more effective than punishing him. If I’m aggressive he ups the ante. But if I put him in my bedroom he’s soon calm again.
The last few years have been very difficult for Shadow and I. Shadow has developed a severe urinary tract inflammation. A few times he became completely blocked up and nearly died. I felt the stress of losing him in my chest and my stomach. Sudden stabbing pains in both areas and difficulty breathing.
Shadow hates the vet. He growls and howls and won’t take his medication. I can only imagine how difficult it must have been for him. The vets, fortunately, were very calm and supportive and let me pay off some of his vet fees.
The expense of vet bills, medication and special food has been difficult to deal with but I have had a lot of help and support from family and friends.
The thought of losing Shadow terrified me at the time but now I have come to terms with it. No one lasts forever (on this earth anyway). So I’m grateful for every day that I have with him.
At the last vet appointment they found a mass in his tummy. He looked scrawny and sick. I thought he would die very soon but he didn’t. It’s been months. In fact the opposite happened. He put on a bit of weight and his fur became glossy again.
The last few years have been difficult for me too. I have many physical and mental illnesses and many have played up. A few weeks ago I had a colonoscopy. I have also had some problems with asthma, diabetes and high blood pressure. Sometimes I have been scared that I might be the one who dies.
When I feel like that Shadow is a great comfort to me. It’s just so good to be loved. And, like difficult humans, Shadow shows much more loyalty than a more easy going cat would. He loves with passion.
It really has been a Shadowy love story
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An introduction to me
I’m a 51 year old woman from the beautiful island of Tasmania, Australia who wants to get serious about writing.
In 2002 I was a high school teacher and a Master of Arts student. The next year I was an inpatient in a psychiatric ward. I haven’t recovered in any real sense of the word but I’m trying to live well with my disability. I invite you to share this journey of discovery with me through this blog and my other writing.
I’m currently writing a memoir called From Literacy to Lunacy. I’m half way through the third draft of it, so it’s about time I took myself seriously as a writer. In order to become a better writer I have a Postgraduate Diploma in Creative Writing and Communication through a small Christian University called Tabor Adelaide. I’m due to graduate this year which is really exciting.
I’m a committed Christian and I have found that my faith has comforted me and anchored me through their struggles. I currently attend a local church, which has a diverse congregation. I don’t want to write for a solely Christian audience and I don’t want to deny my faith either. I just want to be me.
On this blog I plan to write about a wide range of topics. These include: mental health, writing, spirituality, politics, book and movie reviews and how much I love my cat. If you can think of any other topics I could cover please let me know.
I look forward to sharing with you.
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Amber is the colour of the sun 