Shouting in the silence

“We can ignore even pleasure. But pain insists upon being attended to. God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our conscience, but shouts in our pains: it is his megaphone to rouse a deaf world.”

― C.S. Lewis, The Problem of Pain

Bilbo lay there in his bed, in silence, the night before still fresh in his mind. What had been an extraordinary intrusion into his world was now a haunting wisp of loss in his conscience. He had said 'no' to Thorin Oakenshield and was left slumbering in the cozy warmth of his home in the Shire, perhaps never to be called upon again. It was too much for him as he wandered through his now empty home. He was alone, again, just as he preferred. Only now it was different.

This is how I have come to interpret being called by God into something new. We have the options of 'yes' and 'no', but until He leaves us sleeping in our comfortable beds, we won't know the depth of loss that comes with the answer. Life is an incredible adventure, if we allow it to be. This adventure comes with unknowable gain and excitement. We find out things we had never considered before; we become someone new.

As I watched the first of the three installations of Peter Jackson's rendition of the Hobbit, I was not overrun with awe by this aspect, or that. But as time often will, it has made the film richer for me, and as I write this, I am periodically overcome with emotion. Martin Freeman captured much of the emotion I now feel as he paced throughout his home in Shire as Bilbo on that silent morning. He expressed the conflict perfectly, as I now understand it, at any rate. 

Unlike Bilbo, I said 'yes' before weighing the decision. Of course, I gave the decision considerable thought during the process, but I knew the answer was going to be 'yes' from the beginning. What I didn't know -- couldn't know -- was the crushing weight of the loss I am now experiencing. 

There is an unspeakable peace in aligning your will to God's. The peace truly does surpass all understanding, just as is promised in the Bible. There are things I can't imagine coming for Amy and I -- things that will dumbfound us, things that will test us, things that will destroy our pathetically small vision of who God really is.

But for now, there is the deep sense of loss. I am wandering around the Hobbit hole, thinking of every face, every laugh, every hug, every prayer that I have encountered to this point knowing it is about to be forever changed.

I know that undefinable joy is coming, but I'm not there yet. I'm here, typing this. 

And it hurts. 

I need it to hurt. I want it to hurt. The pain is the best reminder of how much love there is, and has been, in my life to this point. There is no better feeling this side of Heaven than the pain of knowing you're loved and you're going to miss it. 

As difficult as it may be right now with (finally) an actual time-frame for our departure, it feels good. We are leaving everything I've ever known and walking into something new.

But I have peace and hope. This pain isn't pleasant, but it's necessary and good. I am believing more and more that where there is no loss, there was no love.

So I'm writing this today to encourage you to love. 

Love your culture.

Love your neighbor. 

Love your parents. 

Love your siblings. 

Love yourself.

Love people ... and risk, risk it all. 

It's the only way you're going to gain anything in this life.

***

Bilbo grabbed his things and ran out the door. As he passed one of his neighbors, he shouted the answer to his neighbor's questions:

"Mr. Bilbo, where are you off to?"

"I can't stop. I'm already late!"

"Late for what?"

"I'm going on an adventure!"


And so it is. Amy and I, we're going on an adventure. And I'm asking God to call you, as well. I'm hoping you'll feel the pain. I'm hoping you'll feel the excitement. The pain and excitement are proof of the love that exists.

When asked, I hope you'll say, 'yes'.