Though I have never been as big a fan of the Lord of the Rings as I have of the Narnia series, I suppose I do feel a bit of kinship to Bilbo Baggins, the hero of The Hobbit. Bilbo is as sensible as they come. When Gandalf stops by to recruit him for an adventure, Biblo is hesitant. Actually he flat out turns Gandalf down, but Gandalf being the crafty, manipulative wizard he is, doesn’t take no for an answer. He plays to Bilbo’s curiosity and his pride.
At one point in the trailer to the new movie version of The Hobbit, Bilbo asks Gandalf, “Can you promise that I will come back?”
And Gandalf replies, “No—and if you do, you will not be the same.”
Such is the case in every adventure. We do not know how the adventure will end. We only know that if we survive it, we will not be the same. Faced with such knowledge, it may be easier to hole up in a little Hobbit hovel and leave the rest of the world on the other side of the door. But if we’re willing to take a risk, the rewards could be amazing.
But fear is our greatest stumbling block.
Fear immobilizes.
I think about the night I had my flat tire on the highway. It was really such a great story, involving prayer, angels and the presence of God. But the rest of the story that night was much darker. While my Road Ranger/Angel got me to class, I still had the long, dark journey home to come. I was riding on two bald tires with no spare this time. It was late and when I pulled onto the highway, it began to rain.
I was terrified I would blow a tire. I was so scared, I almost pulled over. Now what would pulling over have accomplished? Well, nothing. It made no sense to pull over when my tires were still functioning, but the thought of what might happen nearly made me do something completely irrational. Instead, I prayed without ceasing the entire ride home.
And I made it.
Fear paralyzes.
I’ve written many times this past year and a half about fear. I’ve written how opening myself to God and agreeing to say “yes,” has allowed me to move past many fears. I’m doing things I never would have dreamed of. Someone once asked me if God had taken away the fear. And I think my answer surprised her.
No, God has not taken away my fear. If I had no fear, I’d have no need of faith. I wouldn’t have to depend on God. So I still fear, but I also listen and I follow when God motions me into the deeper end of the pool.
Why do I do these things? Why do I roll over fear? Because like Bilbo, I understand that there is more to life than the four walls that I call home. There’s something else out there, something that calls to me and encourages me to be more than I could imagine.
Think of the shepherds watching their flocks that night. With all due respect to shepherds, they didn’t lead exciting lives. They minded sheep. They watched for predators. Their days were all alike. Again and again, nothing changed.
And then, that night, angels appeared.
They appeared to the lowest of the low. They didn’t appear to men and women already looking for them. They appeared to the Bilbo Baggins’ of the world, good, sensible shepherds.
And what was the first thing they said? “Do not be afraid—I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord. This will be a sign for you: you will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger.” (Luke 2:10-12)
The angels then glorified God and then *poof* were gone.
Now if you’re a shepherd, what do you do? I can almost see them, staring at the now empty sky with their mouths hanging open. It’s silent. No one dares to breathe. What just happened?
And then one guy says, “We should go check it out.”
What do you do when confronted with angels or mysterious wizards? What do you do when the challenge is set before you? How do you ignore the chance to change your life forever even if it means leaving the safety and security of where you are?
You can’t ignore it. You have to follow no matter where the journey leads you.
Such is life. It is filled with heartache and bitterness. It leaves scars and wounds so deep you think you’ll never recover. It’s nothing that you can hide from. Agreeing to take the journey is not so much about abandoning fear as it is agreeing to hope.
We take the journey because we hope.
And faith rests in hope.
