Edmund

My wife was reading a children's version of "The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe" to some of my grandsons tonight, and I heard the line, "Edmund just wanted more candy." And I thought, "Hey, I used to be Edmund." You see, I could down a whole bag of SweeTarts Chicks, Ducks, and Bunnies at once. And not the tiny bag. Yeah, I was Edmund. 

Now, I'm Edmund with diabetes, a CGM, and Mounjaro. 

I used to think it was just a sweet tooth. A quirk. A harmless little “treat yourself” moment that somehow lasted… decades. But looking back, it wasn’t just wanting candy — it was wanting more. More sugar, more dopamine, more of that quick hit that made everything feel a little easier for a few minutes.

Edmund had Turkish Delight.  

I had seasonal SweeTARTS shaped like farm animals.  

Same energy.

But now I’m living in a different chapter. I’ve got diabetes, a CGM that tattles on me in real time, and Mounjaro quietly turning down the volume on the sugar‑goblin that used to run the show, almost as if Aslan was showing up like: "Hey buddy, let’s not die today.” I still could be Edmund — but now I’m Edmund with guardrails, data, and a pancreas that files complaints and performance reviews.

Edmund. The same, but different.

...

And the more I thought about Edmund, the more I realized he’s not just me — he’s all of us: in the garden, listening to the whispers, that fruit looks so good. We shouldn't, we know. Everything is ours, nothing we need, only one thing we are to leave alone. What do we do? Yeah, go ahead and take that thing we aren't supposed to. Bang, game over. Death, just like that. A sentence, a debt we are unable to satisfy, unable to pay. But, like Mounjaro for diabetics, or Aslan in C. S. Lewis's book, Jesus offers to pay our debt and take our sentence on himself, giving us life and a way out of our untenable predicament. Don't know Him yet? Want to know more? Just ask. I'd be happy to share!

...

Back to my new Aslan, Mounjaro: I'm only on the start of my third week on the meds. I've lost a little weight (nothing super dramatic, but more than I did all last year with fairly consistent walks on average (I did see my resting heart rate drop throughout the year, so there were definite, measurable benefits). My cravings are not the same. I can walk past a jar of jellybeans without stopping to grab a handful (or two). My portions are smaller, and I don't go for seconds (or thirds or fourths) like I used to. I don't spend the day going into the pantry every few minutes to grab another snack. I don't grab dessert the minute dinner is done or sit on the couch with a bag of chips at night. And I'm not feeling hungry, not like used to. Maybe this diabetic heart attack survivor will last a few more years down here after all.

I’m still Edmund. But maybe now I’m Edmund after the rescue — learning to want differently, living a little longer, and grateful for the grace that keeps finding me.