The Gryffindor Scarlett O'Hara

I think the one thing that's harder than admitting when you're wrong, is admitting when you've emotionally been confined to a wheelchair. I don't claim that my trials are harder than anyone else's, but I can say that for a while I thought I was a goner.

After Christmas I met with a series of unfortunate events that led me into a deep, unrelenting depression. I won't go into detail about what happened. All that my audience need know is that the memory of what transpired is enough to send me emotionally into a corner, cowering like a little child. My mind went into a kind of survival mode that made my body forget how to take care of itself; I hardly ate, I hardly slept (and when I did sleep there were endless nightmares), I forgot to shower and or keep my space clean, and I was neglecting my two dogs, Wilber and Percy. It wasn't until after Wilber had run away for the third time within a week that I realized what was happening and knew that on top of everything else, I had to let go of my two most valuable possessions and faithful friends because they deserved better. I sold them to a kind couple that I knew could meet their needs. I was so numb I don't think I even cried. Needless to say, by the end of March I felt myself becoming a little unhinged - and that is a very scary feeling.

I probably don't need to mention that by this point I had had it. I was done having my cuts heal over, only to have the scabs ripped off again and again with each new breakdown. I was sick of treading water and never getting anywhere (but sustaining major leg cramps and choking on water), being constantly kicked while I was down, and having so few glimpses of light in my dark, dank dungeon of an existence. The injustice was intolerable. By now I questioned whether God would ever again spare a happy moment, or if my lot was to stay used to disappointment because I would never get anything else.

The post traumatic stress that resulted from all of these things combined has given me an entirely new perspective on the meaning of the words "helpless", "broken", "weary", and "beaten". The lack of sleep mingled with nightmares persisted for months, the tiniest emotional trigger could send me into a nervous breakdown, and regardless of my attempts to eat normally again, my body kept losing weight at an alarming rate. It wasn't until late June, after I had dropped to 114 pounds, and when one day I began gagging on anything I put into my mouth, that I was taken to the emergency room.

It was not until this time that I finally told my closest friends what was happening. Up until then I had kept it to myself. No one likes losing their power of independence, or having to explain why they haven't had a job for over 9 months, why the anticipation of being away from home alone for only a couple of hours at a time caused anxiety and dread, why they avoid conversation with anyone outside of the family for months and months, why for weeks they could only sleep with their stuffed Baymax in their arms (everyone needs their personal healthcare companion) - or least of all, admitting it to the people they love and admire most in the world. My feelings of self worth had shattered completely.

Letting the world in on my humiliating circumstances was difficult. Had it not been for my desperation, I could not have done it. And ultimately, had it not been for the angels on this and the other side of the veil, I shudder to think what might have happened to me. By now I had begun to understand the meaning of the words, "patience", "humility", and "I can't do this alone".

For the past little while I've had a passage from Isaiah running through my head - one that I find easy to remember thanks to Handel's "Messiah":

"He was despised, rejected, a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief." - Isaiah 53:3

These past 9 months have filled me with a gratitude for this truth on a level I'd never known before. We all go through very uniquely trying experiences that no other person can truly understand - except for He that truly descended lower than us all. I know for a fact that it is in our lowest points that we are closest to our Father in Heaven and most capable of change, and it is only after extreme trials that we can truly learn patience, empathy, and strength, as is taught to us in the writings of Paul:

"....My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness. Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me. Therefore I take pleasure in my infirmities, in reproaches, in necessities, in persecutions, in distresses for Christ's sake: for when I am weak, then I am strong." - 2 Corinthians 12:9-10

God lets us go through horrific things not only because He loves us and wants us to learn things we could not learn in any other way, but also to prove our own strength to ourselves. In learning how to cope, to be positive in spite of our circumstances, to roll up our sleeves, forget ourselves and go to work, to keep telling ourselves we are not and will not be beat, to keep rising rainy day after rainy day, we become every bit as great as God designed us to be, and as strong as He always hoped.

One of the greatest literary masterpieces of the 20th century takes place during a little event called the American Civil War, and centers around a green-eyed piece of work named Scarlett O'Hara. Now there's a Slytherin if there ever was one (green is truly her color). If Scarlett has one desire above all others, it is to become like her mother, a true southern belle known throughout the community to be a great lady. Unfortunately, Scarlett has a few personal quirks that make her despised by most people she meets, such as selfishness, behaving in a distinctly unladylike fashion for her time, and using any means to achieve her ends. Despite these seemingly negative traits, throughout the course of her story Scarlett learns the meaning of extreme sacrifice, courage in the face of adversity, perseverance, determination, and doing what must be done in order to survive. Though very few understand her motives, and though we may not agree with her choices, we cannot ignore her grit, nor the fact that it and it alone ensured her survival. Though the refined and delicate character of her mother was all that Scarlett ever wanted to be, we all know that Mrs. O'Hara could not have survived the same challenges that Scarlett faced - and she didn't - and that Scarlett, though unconventional, is ultimately the stronger of the two.

Though my own trials have been unconventional and hard to put to words, I know for myself that had I not experienced those lonely, incomprehensible things, I would not be who I am today. Had I not trudged through months and years of these never ending frustrations, I would not have learned the meaning of the words "empathy", "understanding", "compassion", and "Christ-like love". I would not have come to look in the mirror and see, not just a thin, pale girl, but a survivor. As Shakespeare said, "Though she be but little, she is fierce." Well, that's who I really am. And now as I gaze in the mirror, I begin to see that.

Did it hurt? Excruciatingly. Am I yet whole? Absolutely not. Was it all worth it?

Yes.

Because I know for myself - I am one tough cookie. I am not a push over. I do not give up. I am a true Gryffindor. As they sing in the Gentri song,

"....I'll fight 'til I win, proud of the cost of my battle scars...."
Listen to it here:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hiTwY1nQjCE

I stand here today, bruised and scarred, but stronger than ever. I am a daughter of the most High God, and I am a Scot. And I raise my fist as did Scarlett O'Hara, turn my eyes to the fiery orange sky, and this is what I say (cue the pipes - "Gone With the Wind" theme, if you please):

"As God is my witness, I will never give in. I will never surrender. So bring it on - and do your worst. You can't break me. And heaven help anyone who should try. I was built to last. My veins run Gryffindor red, spiked with pure Scottish stubbornness and grit. I am the one and only 'Gryffindor Scarlett O'Hara'."