The Call (Pt.1)
The title of this article is a miracle. When I reached the part about Lucy while writing, I inexplicably opened my music app and searched for *The Call*, a song from *The Chronicles of Narnia* movie. I had no memory of this song ever existing, yet when I heard it, it felt so familiar. I finished writing this entire piece with its melody playing in the background.
Since coming to Barcelona, I didn’t know what I was supposed to do; I just didn’t want to do anything unrelated to the Gospel.
I knew that, besides being good at manipulating tools and working at a tech company as just another cog, I have other talents. For example, the ability to be moved to tears by history, and a strong resonance with the people and events of the past. Another talent is that I’ve been able to immerse myself in reading books and knowledge that most people find difficult and obscure, whether they’re in the humanities or the sciences.
I had a sense of vanity. Perhaps it was too much of an overestimation, but I really wanted to become someone like Augustine, John Calvin, Pascal, or C.S. Lewis. I envied those who can ponder the Gospel day and night and continue to write tirelessly. This wasn’t because I wanted to love God like they did, but because of the desire for fame and recognition. Or rather, I always thought about making some noise in this world to comfort my own emptiness.
With this mentality, I created a few history-related videos. But in reality, I couldn’t calm myself down enough to finish reading a book. The content in the videos is mostly secondhand, not my own thoughts. And I often stayed up late, neglecting my own health.
The end of 2024 was full of grace, and I even excitedly fantasized about being God’s little soldier. But 2025 quickly brought its own difficulties.
It all started on Epiphany when a sister I was close to, triggered a severe emotional flashback. I couldn’t sleep for more than half a month. Because of my avoidance reaction, I couldn’t attend the gatherings. This led me back into self-isolation. On one hand, I was trapped in information hunger and anxiety, endlessly scrolling through my phone in a dissociative state; on the other hand, my mother started occupying my mind again.
During this time, another sister, Lika, who I was also close to, began inviting me out. Soon, we were spending time together regularly—eating, hiking, exploring small towns around Barcelona. We would talk about God, the church, and our own testimonies. Even on cloudy days, the sun would eventually shine, and Lika said it was because God was pleased with us being together, talking about Him. I was numb and hesitant, yet Lika could see God’s supernatural sovereignty in everything and would praise Him without reserve. She often marveled that God had arranged for me to be by her side, giving her a sister with whom she could have deep conversations.
Finally, I started opening up to her about the abuse and bullying I endured in my youth, and for the first time, someone was there to support me from my perspective. Even the wounds I didn’t realize I had, she would offer me proper feedback. I believe she was also divinely placed in my life—not just to show me the new environment but to remind me through her words and actions that I am actually a person who is very much worth loving.
Our first trip together was at the end of January. It was an unexpected journey, yet full of grace. Lika shared much about how to experience the work of the Holy Spirit. But after that trip, my left knee started to hurt, which was due to muscle atrophy from lack of exercise, causing misalignment in my lower body, leading to cartilage wear. At first, I felt guilty—this anxiety came from my mother’s constant blaming of me for not taking care of my body and her ownership of my health. But then, I realized that my long-term neglect of my body was actually a subconscious act of resistance.
Suddenly I intuitively understood why God gives humans free will. When a person’s free will is negated, they cannot truly love themselves, let alone care for their own well-being.
I began noticing that I had blurry boundaries, which explained why I didn’t know how to protect myself when arguing with that sister or why I often let others make decisions for me. The root of the problem was that I lacked subjectivity and initiative.
These clues got me thinking. In February, I experienced an unexpected transformation, as though it were my own great Lent like last year’s repentance in February.
At the beginning of February, Lika told me she suddenly realized that I was extremely blessed, that God allowed me to bear the yoke early, because He loves me just as He loved Job, wanting me to enter into a deeper relationship with Him. At first, I couldn’t understand, but subconsciously, I began to try to experience Job’s journey.
At that time, I was still entangled in my own web, trapped in an anxiety disorder with no way out. But just then, I happened to come across a social media post about NPD (Narcissistic Personality Disorder) discussing reactive abuse and “gaslighting.” One of the comments below read: “When communicating with someone with NPD, you must record the conversation.”
That instantly pulled me back to the countless arguments I had with my mother in my youth. I had furiously said the exact same thing many times before: that I needed to record her words. Once again, a fragment of memory suddenly resurfaced and pulled me out of the state of being captured, making me see clearly that my mother was an agent of Satan.
That night, I couldn’t sleep. A line from an old hymn came to mind: “Rock of Ages, cleft for me.” I knew the lyrics but couldn’t recall if I had ever heard the song before. So, I opened my music app and searched for different versions to listen to. Before I knew it, tears were streaming down my face.
I don’t know why, but my mind was filled with the image of little Lucy from The Chronicles of Narnia, embracing Aslan—just like how I wanted to cling tightly to that ancient, everlasting grace. Yet I understood: it was not the Witch who had killed the Lion—it was me. I was the regicide.
But when I call Him, He will still come back.
After that night, I began my third wave of memory recovery.
Last March, I gradually remembered how, as a child, I had sought out ways to learn about the Christian faith on my own. Not long after that wave of memories returned, I experienced my rebirth. Last June, I remembered the various forms of abuse I had suffered in my childhood, which made me determined to leave China. However, even after nearly a year of going through these two intense waves of memory recovery—and even after struggling through PTSD episodes that would trigger sudden flashbacks—I never realized that I actually didn’t understand myself at all.
I was still just like I had been in my dissociative state: lost and crashing recklessly through this world.
But this time, I began to slowly remember how I used to reflect and resist as a child. Sometimes, I could recall the exact conclusions I had come to through my reasoning, but more often, it was just a lingering déjà vu.
It’s a pity that I didn’t take the time to reread my childhood journals before leaving China.
All in all, I discovered that, from a very young age, I had a rather precise understanding of the harsh environment I was in. I didn’t just muddle through my difficult youth in a state of ignorance, repressing the trauma into my subconscious until it exploded in adulthood. On the contrary, as a child, I had seriously reflected on almost everything based on my own immature Christian values, scrutinizing every deceitful word spoken by the adults around me.
I couldn’t help but marvel at that little girl’s sharpness, intelligence, and tenacious will to live. But what is even more miraculous—and strange—is that now, I can clearly feel a connection with her.
Something essential began quietly changing.