"The Last Goodbye"

"This is a story of how a Baggins had an adventure, and found himself doing and saying things altogether unexpected."

I must admit for the past 24 hours I have been stuck somewhere between Lake Town and the foot of the Lonely Mountain. Few are immune to the wanderlust Tolkien's masterful writing can evoke in our hearts. Despite my physical ability to walk out of the theater--my mind and heart are not so powerful. They often linger where they sense great hope. 




The Hobbit does something to us. As I watched scenes of war I kept thinking of my tender, gentle generation. How would we fare in the path of Orcs? Would we possess the pride of Elves? Would we prove ourselves at every turn like the Dwarves? Or would we take the heart of man- hungry but unprepared?


These questions swirl.


How could such a far-off, make-believe world make everything in reality so obvious?


I think it lies in our struggle with adventure. We, like Bilbo crave new horizons yet we do not believe the hearts within us can stand against the perils we may face. We want to believe that God has prepared us for the road ahead, but we understand sacrifice is part of every epic tale. We love the adrenaline rush, it leaves us in a poetic hush.


I think that we all have a bit of Hobbit in us. We sing of a homeland, of a peace we seek. We travel on believing our story and these events are not laced with wonder. Yet, I must say I beg to differ. Though it only happens in glimpses I have seen moments of our own Misty Mountain. For a moment when the forlorn music plays a bit of hope rises up in the chorus and by the end our hums become shouts.

It is the same spirit that makes us sing warm melodies in the heart of winter: we sing of a past and a hope for a future. With every song we remind ourselves that it is a new season. It is the season where we must say goodbye. It is the season where we most remember those we have lost on our way up the mountain. It is the season when the winds blow their hardest. Yet, a song emerges.

A sacrifice swaddled in the blankets.



We are the travelers in a weary world searching for the same stuff that calls make-believe creatures out of their holes. We are the foreigners ready for a patch of something we remember. Listen close, while you are on your journey for may not realize it, but behind you the faintest sound grows wild. In the dark night, the song of His coming.

Tonight in the turmoil, hope is born.

As it grows we come to know Him.

Are you ready for an adventure?

HOPE AWAITS, SWEET TRAVELER.

"I saw the light fade from the sky,

On the wind I heard a sigh.

As the snowflakes cover my fallen brothers,

I will say this last goodbye.

Night is now falling

so is this day.

The road is now calling,

And I must away."

The Last Goodbye, Billy Boyd