Don’t Rush Your Recovery

In my opinion, the 90s were the golden age of Disney animated movies: Beauty and the Beast, Aladdin, The Jungle Book, Hercules, Mulan, Tarzan (just to name a few).

Another notable contribution is The Lion King which, inspired by Shakespeare’s Hamlet, tells the story of a young boy (Simba) who rediscovers his sense of love, identity, and purpose following a deeply traumatic experience. It also happens to have one of the best soundtracks in Disney animated-movie history.

One of my favorite songs in the movie is “I Just Can’t Wait to Be King.” It’s lighthearted, cute, and honestly just a lot of fun to sing. I’ve listened to this song at least 1,000 times, but recently—getting ready for the day with the help of my Disney Pandora playlist—I realized something: this song, which happens toward the beginning of the movie, occurs just before that traumatic event I mentioned before. And the more I thought about it, the more I realized how much I could see this pattern in my own recovery.

The song is essentially Simba singing about how much he can’t wait to be king like his dad. He daydreams about how great it will be when he’s in charge, has his own schedule, does whatever he wants, and just enjoys the perks of adulthood. Again, it’s an incredibly endearing song, but as he sings about how much he can’t wait to jump into adulthood, he doesn’t realize what he’s leaving behind.

He doesn’t realize that what ends up making him king is his father’s premature death.

In his excitement for the future, he fails to recognize that often the future means significant change: sometimes joyous opportunities, and sometimes painful trials.

And we do this ourselves—all the time. We’re so overwhelmed by the joys of future seasons (either realistic or idealized) that we’re tempted to rush through our current one. And we can see this throughout our entire lives…

“I can’t wait to drive. I can go wherever I want.”

“I can’t wait to drink. I can finally go to bars with my friends.”

“I can’t wait to graduate. I can start living on my own.”

“I can’t wait to get married. I can finally be with the man I love.”

“I can’t wait to take my consecrated vows. I can finally enter my vocation.”

Simba couldn’t wait to be king, but he didn’t realize being king meant leaving behind a blissful childhood, free from the responsibilities and hardship of carrying an entire kingdom on his back.

He didn’t realize being king meant doing it without his dad there with him. He didn’t anticipate the trauma he would endure. Because each future season has its own joys and trials—trials we may not be ready for yet.

Driving brings running errands for your parents.

Drinking brings temptation to drunkenness.

Graduating brings working a full time job and relying on your own resources.

Marriage brings another person’s wounds and brokenness and taking them as your own.

Religious life brings surrendering entirely to the needs of your community in a state of spiritual motherhood. 

And recovery is the same way. Different seasons bring different temptations, triggers, and opportunities for healthy habit-forming. They also bring entirely new graces for all these things—the joys and the sorrows.

Just because recovery is a lifelong journey doesn’t mean it doesn’t have seasons. Continual healing is about meeting the Lord in our trials and blessings at all times, not rushing through our current circumstances in order to reach seemingly easier days. 

At the same time, it’s a profound grace that we anticipate the joys more than the trials; it keeps us moving forward in God’s plan for us. But the key is to recognize those same joys and graces in our current season—to recognize how God is working in our lives today. 

God is healing you right now. He’s giving you graces right now—don’t miss them waiting for gifts that haven’t been given.

Don’t say, “I just can’t wait to be healed.” Instead, pray, “God, thank you for healing me today. Please show me how to continue in Your Will.”