Faith and Security

. . .
Crying is all right in its way while it lasts. But you have to stop sooner or later and then you still have to decide what to do. When Jill stopped, she found she was dreadfully thirsty. She had been lying face downward, and now she sat up . . . She listened carefully and felt almost sure what she heard was the sound of running water.
The woods were so still that it was not difficult to decide where the sound was coming from . . . Sooner than she expected she came to an open glade and saw the stream, bright as glass, running across the turf a stone's throw away from her. But although the sight of the water made her feel ten times thirstier than before, she didn't rush forward and drink. She stood as still as if she had been turned into stone, with her mouth open. And she had a very good reason: just on this side of the stream lay the Lion. . .
"If you're thirsty, you may drink."
. . . For a second she stared here and there, wondering who had spoken. Then the voice said again, "If you are thirsty, come and drink." . . .It was the lion speaking. The voice was not like a man's. It was deeper, wilder and stronger; a sort of heavy, golden voice. It did not make her any less frightened than she had been before, but it made her frightened in rather a different way.
"Are you not thirsty?" said the Lion.
"I'm dying of thirst," said Jill.
"Then drink," said the Lion.
"May I -- could I -- would you mind going away while I do?" said Jill.
The Lion answered this only by a look and a very low growl. And as Jill gazed at its motionless bulk, she realized that she might as well have asked the whole mountain to move aside for her convenience.
The delicious rippling noise of the stream was driving her nearly frantic.
"Will you promise not to -- do anything to me, if I do come?" said Jill.
"I make no promise," said the Lion.
Jill was so thirsty now that, without noticing it, she had come a step nearer.
"Do you eat girls?" she said.
"I have swallowed up girls and boys, women and men, kings and emperors, cities and realms," said the Lion. It didn't say this as if it were boasting, nor as if it were sorry, nor as if it were angry. It just said it.
"I daren't come and drink," said Jill.
"Then you will die of thirst," said the Lion.
"Oh dear!" said Jill, coming another step nearer. "I suppose I must go and look for another stream then."
"There is no other stream," said the Lion.
It never occurred to Jill to disbelieve the Lion -- no one who had seen his stern face could do that -- and her mind suddenly made itself up. It was the worst thing she had ever had to do, but she went forward to the stream, knelt down, and began scooping up water in her hand. It was the coldest, most refreshing water she had ever tasted. You didn't need to drink much of it, for it quenched your thirst at once . . .
"Come here," said the Lion. And she had to.
. . . (The Chronicles of Narnia: The Silver Chair; by C. S. Lewis)

Like Jill, we want assurance, we want security, we want our life with Christ to be safe and predictable. But if we really want to know God and grow we must step out in the risk of faith. Yes, the Lion is scary, but the other alternative is to die of thirst, for "there is no other stream." In the presence of the most dangerous One, you are indeed the most secured.