Healing Reepicheep: My Own Story Part 1

Hidden in an unused drawer waits Reepicheep. Waiting to be wrapped in tissue and tucked into an empty Kleenex box. Waiting to be placed under a glittering tree to be opened by my son on his fourth Christmas morning. This is how Reepicheep came to me so long ago and became my dearest treasured toy. I am looking forward to passing him on to my little boy, who may or may not cherish him as much as I did.

My Reepicheep is pretty unimpressive really. Kind of a 1970's version of a large Beanie Baby mouse. His gray fabric body is quite pilled now,but still has that familiar softness that comforted me in my bed most of my childhood. He has a large pink face with black shiny button type eyes and no tail. I discovered that his body was filled with plastic pellets when one day, to my dismay, they began to fall out of poor Reepicheep's crotch. I would always run to find my mom whenever this happened and you will notice a variety of her gray stitches in the groin and underarm areas of this beloved stuffed rodent.

Why am I telling you all this? Well, everyone was so surprised when I named this mouse Reepicheep. You see, my older sister was reading Prince Caspian from the Chronicles of Narnia
by C. S. Lewis at the time and sometimes she would read portions to me. I just loved how Reepicheep rolled off the tongue I guess. It wasn't until recently that I realized Reepicheep was the mouse who was healed in the story! I have been wanting to share the story of my journey to becoming the "OilGirl" since the beginning of this blog. I believe God has purposed me to be an aromatherapist in His service. Often we receive little clues along the way that point to our unique purpose, some are whimsical like naming my stuffed mouse Reepicheep and some are monumental like, well, I will explain more later. This is where my story begins.....

"For at that moment a curious little procession was approaching--eleven
Mice, six of whom carried between them something on a litter made of
branches, but the litter was no bigger than a large atlas. No one has

ever seen mice more woebegone than these. They were plastered in

mud--some with blood too--and their ears were down and their whiskers

drooped and their tails dragged in the grass, and their leader piped on his

slender pipe a melancholy tune. On the litter lay what seemed little better

than a damp heap of fur; all that was left of Reepicheep. He was still
breathing, but more dead than alive, gashed with innumerable wounds,

one paw crushed, and, where is tail had been, a bandaged stump.

"Now, Lucy," said Aslan.

Lucy had her diamond bottle out in a moment. Though only a drop was
needed on each of Reepicheep's wounds, the wounds were so many that
there was a long and anxious silence before she had finished and the

Master Mouse sprang from the litter. His hand went at once to his

sword hilt, with the other he twirled his whiskers. He bowed.

"Hail, Aslan!"