"Pardon me," he said, "if I have overheard words that you were saying. I don't pretend to understand what you are talking about, or your reference to burglars, but I think I am right in believing that you think I am no good... Tell me what you want done, and I will try it, if I have to walk from here to the East of East and fight the wild Were-worms in the Last Desert." (The Hobbit, p32)
-
I have often fancied myself a Burglar. Not in the sense that I wish for the opportunity to sneak unseen and unheard into a dragon's lair and, unsinged, steal away with his treasures. It's just that, like Bilbo, I've always dreamed about what it would be like to be more than I am. As an eight year-old, my life plan was as follows: marry the man of my choice (I had a list of the top ten candidates), and live on a ranch with horses and lots of animals, eating apples and pears.
-
My first problem was that I had not seen or eaten an apple or a pear since my family's last trip out of Zaire, as it was then called, to Nairobi. My greedy eyes devoured a dozen of those golden apples before I could get my hands on one.
-
The next, and bigger problem surfaced when Aunt Jane found the list. I am so glad that it was Aunt Jane that found it... if it had to be found. She was the dorm mom of the junior high dorm at the boarding school my sister attended (I was just visiting), and being absolutely compassionate and discrete, she has graciously left this incident unmentioned since that day. (My sense of shame is, admittedly, grossly inflated.) When my mom found out, as moms are apt to do, she informed me that Nathan was more of a city guy, and not the ranch type at all. I was heartbroken.
-
Horses... I could fore go the apples and the cowboy, if I could cling to this part of the dream. But horses are hard to find in eastern Africa. Long before the Hutu and the Tutsi had it out in Rwanda, the Tsetse fly set about systematically annihilating Africa's horse population. And on our return to Canada, I received the final blow. We moved into a house in Sundre. Hickville, Alberta. In the heart of cowboy country, I was relegated to the status of a town kid. At grade five camp, I finally got my first ride. After overdosing on Benedryl in preparation for the big day, I was assigned to the back of the line on a so-bomb-proof-he's-may-as-well-be-dead horse. I guess the wrangler found out that I was a town kid. And allergic.
-
Did I only want what I knew I could not have? I thought so, until I was given the chance to taste the dream again. Armed with Claritin and second hand cowboy boots, I gained a glimpse into what can happen when a broken hearted child meets an understanding equine friend. In part, I was that broken hearted child, allowed to invite all the others into my experience of grace and acceptance. My heart came alive and I knew in an instant that some desires, however simple and childlike, are planted in our hearts by the Creator of dreams.
Today held a few moments of doubting self-conversation, a subtlely sarcastic "dream on..." to my dreams. I'm choosing - carefully - my response. In any case, I'd willingly take on the wild Were-worms of the Last Desert, knowing that the Creator of dreams does indeed say...
-
"That's right," said Galdalf. "Let's have no more argument. I have chosen Mr. Baggins and that ought to be enough for all of you. If I say he is a Burglar, a Burglar he is, or will be when the time comes. There is a lot more in him that you guess, and a deal more than he has any idea of himself. You may (possibly) all live to thank me yet. Now Bilbo, my boy, fetch the lamp, and let's have a little light on this!" (The Hobbit, p33)
-
Not that I'm any good at burglaring. But Gandalf is the Master of the trade. Life by its nature is constantly changing and evolving, and I don't know where it will lead. But I travel in the company of "him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us".
-
To Him be the glory!
No comments:
Post a Comment