As most of my friends know, my
favorite character from literature is Samwise Gamgee of The Lord of the Rings fame.
His down-to-earth practicality, his unwavering loyalty, and his
unfailing hope made him my favorite very swiftly. I liked Sam’s lack of trust in strangers
until they’d proven themselves – even among the Elves of whom he was in awe he
did not immediately let down his guard. And then he killed Shelob too (my
nightmare for years was being trapped in a cave with a giant spider in front of
me – I never had that dream again after reading that passage in The Two Towers). I saw myself in Sam. Or perhaps, myself as I would like to be.
I recently came across a passage
by Tolkien that said the name the Elves gave Sam meant “Hope Unquenchable” and
that they called Frodo “Endurance Beyond Hope” for their efforts in destroying
the One Ring. That little snippet has
been rather significant to me. It’s two
different kinds of strength – one to never lose hope no matter how dire the
circumstances and the other to keep going even when hope is gone. I have a friend to whom I would give the name
“Endurance Beyond Hope.” She’s much more
pessimistic than I, tends to “see the glass” as half-empty, and doesn’t easily
find the good in the world. But you know
what? It doesn’t matter. She keeps
the Faith and keeps going. And she is a
lot of fun to be around.
That’s not me. I’m “Hope Unquenchable” and I’ve only just
begun to see what that means – and how hard it can actually be. I’m having a really tough time at work right
now. A tough time that just exploded in
my face and for which I was utterly unprepared.
I’m terrified in a way that I’ve never been before. I’m used to the fear associated with going
strange places and meeting new people.
As paralyzing as it is sometimes, it’s an anticipated reaction and I
know how to deal with it. Not so much
right now. I’m finding it really hard to
smile, especially at work, which is a strange sensation for me. When people at work ask the casual “How are
you?” my response used to be “I am doing well” in an upbeat tone. Now it’s “I’m ok” with the hint of a question
or a sigh. I don’t want to lie because
I’m not doing well, but I couldn’t say that I’m terrified because my job that I
enjoy is on the line.
And then I realized, I am ok.
Despite everything, I’m ok. I’m
not happy per se but that’s ok. I feel
like a deep river might when there is a storm crashing overhead. The surface waters are rough and choppy, you
can’t see a thing. The river is a mess with debris clogging the waters and
making it exceedingly treacherous. It’s
frightening and horrifying and it doesn’t seem like anything could be ok
But deep down near the riverbed,
all is calm. The current flows smoothly,
steadily, heedless of the wrack and ruin above.
It’s pulling the mess along, dragging it further along the flow,
dropping bits and pieces as it goes until the storm is past and even the
surface flows clear again.
I’m in a big storm right
now. One that stirs the water at greater
depths than I have felt them disturbed in a long time. But the deepest parts still flow clear
because my Hope is secure. I’m worried
and scared and more flustered emotionally than I really know how to deal with
but that’s ok. I’m ok. I’m not despairing and still going on anyway
because of my Savior. Somehow, I find an
undercurrent of hope – even hopefulness – instead because of my Savior.
I still don’t know what tomorrow
holds. I’m frightened of what it
might. I don’t want to leave my position
here, especially under sour circumstances.
But even if that should happen, I’ll still be ok. I will have hope that will not be quenched.
“I will lift my eyes in the
darkest night for I know my Savior lives.
My Savior lives!”
--From the song “How Can I Keep
from Singing Your Name?”
