One of my favorite movies of all time is “The Hobbit, the Unexpected Adventure.” Every time I pop in the movie I instantly feel captivated by the music motif playing as Bilbo Baggins begins to write his story down with ink quill pen in hand. His hair is gray and his face aged, but as he writes an impish smile brightens his face with the memory of the adventure from long ago.
I am drawn in closer as a flashback reveals a young Bilbo sitting on his leisure bench in front of his clean, warm, organized Hobbit home. He is smoking his pipe happily content to sit alone enjoying the sun shining on the green beauty of the Shire. While he rests, he forms rings of smoke with his lips. His repose is broken by the tall shadow of Gandolf the Grey. Looking up, perturbed, he didn’t recognize his old friend. Indeed time had changed Bilbo so much that an invitation to adventure appeared ludicrous to him. Hopping to his feet he tries to graciously leave the imposing Wizard with a clear decline and polite, “Good Day.” Gandolf will not let him off the hook so easily. With intense eyes that bore into Bilbo’s soul, he reminds the hobbit of his adolescent days when he dreamed of going on the adventures he overheard his father share.
Despite the touching story of the past, Bilbo practically sprints with his overgrown bare feet to get behind his freshly painted closed round door, and away from the wizard. On his doorstep, Gandolf crouches down to carve a magical symbol with his walking staff, before disappearing down the lane.
As the footsteps get further away, the hobbit sighs. Thinking he is safe from the unwanted intruder he settles into a nice meal, by a nice warm fire, surrounded by nice things, in a comfortable little corner of his nice safe little Hobbit hole. Knock! Knock!
Who could be at the door? No one was expected at this hour. As he opens the round door, in comes a very burly, rude, and grunting Dwarf. Soon another knock is heard at the door, two more dwarves come in. The scene in the Hobbit hole has become clamorous, loud, and disorienting for poor Bilbo as dwarves keep arriving. As the tall Wizard bends down and steps over the small round threshold Bilbo puts it all together. This is the adventure the wizard had spoken of earlier. With a look of perplexity, he wonders why 13 dwarves are gathered around his table.
His once spic and span little home has been turned upside down in less than 20 minutes. All the food in the pantry has been ransacked. In a frenzy, the little hobbit tried to redirect the hooligans. Snatching heirloom dishes, and handmade linens. Muttering and uttering, “Please be careful.” and “Don’t touch that.” and “that was my mother’s antique...” Meanwhile, the dwarves carry on as if the hobbit does not exist.
When Gandolf finally makes it clear why he had invited this motley crew to this cramped little place, Bilbo was named the burglar for the company of Thorin. This band of dwarves was on a quest to regain the mountain of Erebor, the kingdom of the dwarves. They would need a burglar to steal the Arkenstone, a jewel believed to be the heart of the mountain. Such a stone was protected by a ferocious dragon who guarded the mountain’s treasures with the deadly strength of his fiery breath. At the very mention of a dragon, Bilbo swooned.
Awakening in his parlor, Gandolf is settled on a stool near him. Distressed Bilbo objects to the invitation to join the company on the dangerous quest they were about to embark upon. Looking frustrated Gandolf says, “Since when did you grow so fond of your mother’s doilies?”
Early the next morning Bilbo awakens to an empty house. Rising quickly he checks every room. He is filled with relief and anxiety. They were gone and the home had been put back into good order. He almost thought for a moment it had been a strange dream until he saw the contract left on the kitchen table with all of their signatures. The next thing we witness is his short legs whipping down the lane to catch the adventure that was leaving town. In the forest, he catches the gang on ponies traveling in a line on the path. With the contract in hand, he joins the company in the Quest of Erebor. Bags of silver are thrown around to winners in the group who won the bet that Bilbo would join them after all.
Strong arms lift him up onto the pony’s back. After only a few paces, the refined hobbit begins to sneeze. Halting the party, he declares they must turn around for his forsaken handkerchief. Thinking quickly one of the thirteen tears off a piece of cloth from his pants to suffice. The company moves on, and Bilbo learns quickly he must adjust to the conditions of adventure.
I love the introduction to this story because it reminds me that I too can become comfortable like the little Hobbit. Delighted in the cleanliness of my spice rack and the bounty in my cabinets. I can easily build a comfortable existence away from the unpredictable world. All of this can be a carefree existence, a happy life as long as no one trespasses on my property.
Gandolf somehow reminds me of how God pursues me. He reminds me that I might forget the big dreams of my adolescence, but they aren’t forgotten by God. In fact, some visions in my heart were put there, written upon the very fabric of my being.
“Your eyes saw my unformed body; all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.” Psalm 139:16
What if the book all my days are written in, is a book of God’s dreams for my life. A book of God Adventures that are too great for me to imagine embarking upon. I am ashamed to say I have slammed the door on God’s invitation to such adventures at times in my life. But just like Gandolf, He has a plan to bring the adventure back to me.
I am amazed that I get the opportunity to sing for the Lord. I am amazed that He saved me and has opened up doors for me to share the gift He knitted into my soul. When I use that gift whether people are around to hear or I am alone in the car, I feel alive, encouraged, and renewed.
Unfortunately, with every gift, with every dream, there is a struggle to really use it to its full potential. If left to myself, I would have stopped singing a long time ago. There are too many critical words I have received, believed, and spoken over this gift. In my own understanding, I tend to curl up in my own snug little Hobbit hole with a freshly painted sign on the round green door that politely says, “Go Away.”
Thanks be to God who pursues me, and I venture to say pursues you. He never stops sending new dwarves into my comfortable quarters to bring chaos to my complacency. In such moments I scurry around trying to keep control over my normal. But what if God is trying to get my attention. Could I be made for greater adventures than a quiet reclusive existence? All I know is I don’t want to wake up someday and realize I missed my opportunity to join the company. I will never get to see what lies on the other side of the Shire.
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