Seasons Strung Together

Every year, when I start thinking about the approach of spring, I find myself turning to a favorite author, J.R.R. Tolkien.  The words that he wrote somehow seem to help me find the patience that I will need in a few months as winter lingers and spring dawdles in its approach.

His writings strung together many chapters, characters, locations, and plot lines into multiple books to tell one story.  Each one has a part to play, and from those words I have to admit I find something new every time.  Today, these words struck me…

“‘And it is not our part here to take thought only for a season, or for a few lives of Men, or for a passing age of the world. We should seek a final end of this menace, even if we do not hope to make one.’”

There is wisdom here that I just love.  Things get hard and it is so tempting sometimes to aim for a quick fix.  Slap a little duct tape on that baby and let’s just keep on moving.  For instance, I had a menace of my own in my life, a menace of fear.  Lurking in shadows, it sought to paralyze me.  Whenever I had to move, to act that menace would be there.  At some point though, I realized that I had to deal with it, that it was a growing threat in my life.  But, I couldn’t just slap some psychological duct tape on it.  I had to deal with it, taking a hard look at why I was fearful and how I could address it.  No, it was not my part to only think of that season, maybe I could just hide for a while and let the worst of it pass.  Instead, I had to seek an end of this menace in my life. 

For me, it comes in bits and pieces, it is not cleared up in its entirety.  Only tonight it lingered about, trying to waft that sickly sweet smell towards me of nervousness with just a twinge more.  But, I hold to the promise that God did not give me a spirit of fear.  This was not his gift, so I’m not accepting it.  Instead I cling to that hope and keep journeying to make an end to this menace in my life.  It has become part of the story, part of the season.  I cannot remove it or it would remove part of who I am.  Instead, the seasons are strung together and together form the story line.   

Tolkien and the Sword

I am a fan of J.R.R. Tolkien, the master of words who wrote a story that is so rich in thought and detail that I still read it once a year at least. Thus, my copy of the Lord of the Rings and the Hobbit are in pieces – probably at least four pieces now, with very tattered covers. They are well loved friends.

Every time I read this book, I get something new from the writing. Sometimes, it’s just soaking in the lyrical writing style, especially the iambic pentameter from the Forgotten Tales . Other times, it is understanding a character’s perspective in a new way after I have had a different experience in my life.

One of the philosophies in particular I have been thinking about, fair and foul. When Strider, with his many years of being in exile first comes to Frodo and offers his assistance, he wishes to be accepted on Frodo’s own reconnaissance. Frodo states something to the tune of - that someone who was an enemy would look fair and feel foul, while Strider looked foul and felt fair. Indeed, fair speech may hide a foul heart.

Hobbling about in an air cast, grudgingly being cordial and acknowledging people I know at Wal-Mart (because I hurt and it’s 7:30 at night on a Monday – I didn’t think anyone I knew would be there) – so wrong! Anyway, I must have looked not so much foul as frumpy and rumpled, grey sweat pants that are too big and much too comfortable to want something smaller, a sweatshirt, one tan flat shoe and my lovely orthopedic boot on the other. My hair wasn’t done, no make-up on … blah! And when I’m hurting, I don’t want touched or made to be sociable. But, even when I don’t look or feel my best, I still want to feel fair.

What is that, to feel fair? For Strider, it meant he was someone of his word, with integrity and purpose, someone with self-control, self-confidence, and yet great humbleness and compassion. He was a traveler, a royal exile who had been keeping the byways, forest paths, and hidden meadows safe from the enemy. Yet, in all of the difficulties, he managed to retain his fairness. I think this type of fairness is like a light from within, it’s the soft light that is within someone who is striving to be a force for good, a part of the body. I think that it requires someone to be part of the body of Christ because on our own, we would look and feel foul.

Another part of the Tolkien writings I love is the quote about “not loving the bright sword for it’s sharpness, nor the arrow for it’s swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory. I love only that which they defend.” It is so easy to get caught up in the glory of the battle, especially in a moment of triumph. I’m not talking about war being a beautiful thing, but the stories round the fire of battles of moments with skill in sword, spear, and bow. It is really the thing which the sword, strategy, and armor protect for which retains the glory. We all fight our own battles and it’s so easy to get caught up in the fury of the moment. But, what am I fighting for, what glory is that hard work going toward? Instead, I need to know what it is I am fighting for – that is where the glory really lies.

If you haven’t read it yet – go pick up Tolkien. Let the words steep into your consciousness and find your own words that will stick in your heart.