The intellect of C.S. Lewis compares to the most intricate and complicated artistic illustration. Not the Mona Lisa, but perhaps an abstract piece in which only tilting of the head would reveal a possible identity. He blankets emotion and desire with doubt and persistence of truth. I inscribe specifically in esteem to “A Grief Observed.”
After Natalie’s death in October of 2003, I was given an assortment of books dealing with losing a child, depression, and therapy. A book among the pile was a small, not even 100-page paperback filled with anger, cries, and pure sorrow. I read it, but my distress mimicked every expression on the page and could read no further than two or three sentences before my eyes swelled with tears blurring my ability to continue. Only accomplishing a chapter, I placed it on the shelf. Since then I have moved 3 times and it has managed to remain a part of my “library.”
Days ago I came upon the book and flipped to the part where I had stopped and began to read. I processed several pages without resorting to a breakdown and then came upon a paragraph that struck me with complete awe. Who was I kidding trying to avoid an emotional connection with the words? I must quote C.S. Lewis. He writes:
“Bridge-players tell me that there must be some money on the game ‘or else people wont take it seriously.’ Apparently it’s like that. You bid – for God or no God, for a good God or the Comic Sadist, for eternal life or nonentity – will not be serious if nothing much is stacked on it. And you will never discover how serious it was until the stakes are raised horribly high, until you find that you are playing not for counters or for sixpences but for every penny you have in the world” (A Grief Observed, 38).
Over and over I read this quote and realized how incredibly genuine the analogy is. Without the comprehension of pain, both physical and mental, these words may exist only to exist. For years I have pondered the unfortunate events of my life. But these unbelievably painful experiences are my “money,” my “raised stakes” on my life, my “game” in this world. I connect to Lewis’s way of saying if you believe something, you will know it is true if you place worth in it. Value is not set on something trivial. What if having faith or believing in God requires no action on our part? How can God be anything if nothing is placed in His hands for me to trust Him? And what if my life was so perfect that I did not need to trust Him with anything?
I determine complicated thoughts processed are nothing more than truth. I am moved by the way Lewis demands notice of ones own mentality. It is easy to get caught up in pain itself and forget those who have more than this world, which have God, carry an unannounced honor of courage. It is a badge angel’s carry not in pride, but in tribute of the choice one makes to keep going for the purpose. I am convinced at these moments, when a choice of giving up is denied, God is proud.
Cards are dealt. I may or may not accomplish much this turn, but I raise the stakes for my team. I am nervous, shaky, and worried. I realize I am not playing a game anymore, but involved in a war for my soul. My pain turns into more than anguish, but weapons of hope. I see heartache beyond a tear stained pillowcase. Grief is a quiet whisper to remember what is true, real, and worth fighting for. And right now that's me.