Willing to Leave

Sentiments from Hobbiton

Twelve years ago I distinctly remember sitting in a theater with my brother and parents watching the then new release, The Hobbit. I had followed the Lord of the Rings films closely and was fully bought in to the storyline. While the film had its ups and downs, one theme, and one scene in particular, stuck with me.

Of course we all love the idea of an adventure. Bilbo Baggins racing through the shire with contract in hand, ready to be part of something great. Quickly, though, we see Bilbo still nervous, afraid, often needing help. When challenged as to why he didn't return home when he had the chance, he responds with heart.

"Look, I know you doubt me, I know you always have. And you're right. I often think of Bag End. I miss my books. And my armchair. And my garden. See, that's where I belong. That's home. That's why I came back, 'cause you don't have one. A home. It was taken from you. But I will help you take it back if I can."

I remember sitting in the theater when those words first washed over me. It was like finding language I'd been grappling with for months. I just returned home from a year in Japan as a solo missionary. Many of my peers questioned why I went. They asked openly why I came if I couldn't speak the language and didn't have "proper training".

I literally grabbed for my purse in the dark room as the movie continued on, searching for pen and paper. I wrote, illegibly, "Books, armchair, garden. Home. You don't have one. Taken from you."

That was it. That was why I went to Japan. That was why I worked in China. Years later, that's why I created a "Racial Healing Prayer Room" and why I volunteer at my kids' school.

I have a home. Everything I need. A place of peace and joy and safety. I have a place carved out of the hillside of my internal world, where I can go and be still. I can rest, share fellowship with fellow companions on the journey, and we can grow old together, enjoying each season as it comes. I've built around myself places of comfort and rhythms of tranquility and a community where I belong. I lack nothing.

But not everyone has that. And for many it's been stolen from them. No place to tuck away and know deep down, "I am safe. I am loved. I belong." So although it's uncomfortable and there are many unknowns, I feel deeply committed to fighting for others to have what they were created for. Home. Security. A life beyond mere survival, but one that is full of the pleasures and riches of the human experience.

Fast forward to last week. Over ten years later and I'm in Matamata, New Zealand with my husband and three kids on a tour bus to Hobbiton. I'm ecstatic, like a kid on Christmas morning. Coming over the hills, looking down into the valley I see acreage sprinkled with clothes lines and vegetable gardens, hobbit holes and pebble paths. My heart is bursting.

Tiny doors paired with perfectly placed mailboxes, perfectly proportioned bench seating and tables with hand crafted stone steps. Honey, bread, and eggs fill the baskets. Real gardens are thriving and ducks, fish, and sheep fill valley and surrounding hills. Orchards are blossoming, and waist high wooden gates swing open to welcome us. I kid you not, after a brief spring shower the clouds parted and a rainbow stretched from one corner of the shire to the other.

Every detail in Hobbiton embodied home. From the quill pens to the working fireplace and fully stocked pantry. It's cozy. Perfectly curated. If this were all to spring to life I could see why it'd be hard to leave.

As I walked the tour, I thought of the beauty of living in safety and security. It is a wonderful gift. I thought also of the cost of leaving such comfort. It's not to be taken lightly. Bilbo was right, there's a lot to miss. But once you've seen a people who lack what you have, it's impossible to move on, at least that's been true in my case. Something has been stolen. And it's come down to fighting together to get it back. Identity. Legacy. Honor and hope for the future.

It's been exactly twenty years since I went into cross-cultural missions. It was my "Bilbo" scene, signing the contract with the Lord to say I'm in! Take me. I'll go, because something has been stolen and, although I am an unlikely choice, I'm willing to let go of a few comforts if it may help another tribe regain what's been lost. Their identity. Their unique voice. Their stronghold, strength, language, and tradition. Not to force them to become like me. But to help them regain what's always been theirs. Home.

I guess it took walking Frodo's path and peeking in Sam's window to remind me, these little comforts are extraordinary. But they are nothing compared to the reward of witnessing someone else's safety, security, and identity fully restored. This is worth the adventure.