Bounder of Adventure

"We are plain quiet folk and have no use for adventures. Nasty disturbing uncomfortable things! Make you late for dinner!" --Bilbo Baggins in J.R.R. Tolkien's The Hobbit.

As I mentioned in my last post, I've been listening to lectures by Joseph Pearce on J.R.R. Tolkien's The Hobbit. The story is, of course, about Bilbo Baggins' adventurous journey from his comfortable home and comfortable life through a great deal of discomfort to the Lonely Mountain and back again. Back again to his comfortable home at Bag End, but Bilbo never returns to his comfortable life. Bilbo comes back permanently changed. The respectable, old-before-his-time Bilbo became the somewhat disreputable, eccentric Bilbo we meet at the beginning of The Lord of the Rings. He's the Bilbo who is friends to dwarves, elves, and younger hobbits, the one who seems to behave younger every year.

And how could it be otherwise. In the course of his adventure--something he was never interested in to begin with--Bilbo spent weary days trekking and weary nights trying to sleep on the ground in the wild. He was threatened by trolls, captured by goblins, chased by wolves, and nearly eaten by Gollum. Bilbo killed a giant spider, rescued his friends from prison, and matched wits with fire-breathing Smaug, the dragon. He experienced the joy of Rivendell, the terror of battle, and the deep sadness at the death of his friend and traveling companion, the dwarf king Thorin.

This is what happens, he later warns his nephew and heir, Frodo when you leave your front door. Before you know it, you're on an adventure. And who knows what will happen around the next bend in the road?

At a recent dinner with a long-time friend (who may or may not be an old friend--depending on your perspective), we discussed what I would call the next big adventure. "My wife and I figure we have about twenty years of active work left," said my friend. "The question is what to do with that time and who to do it with in order to really make it count." 

Dottie and I similarly have about twenty years left as well. It may be longer, but let's call it twenty. How do we make those years count for the good of our family, friends, community, the Church, and the world? How, where, and with whom can we best influence the next generations toward the good, the true, and the beautiful? What's our next and possibly last great adventure?

Sure adventures are "nasty disturbing uncomfortable things." Sure they make you late for dinner. But how sad to settle for sedentary comfort when, as Bilbo put it:

The Road goes ever on and on

Down from the door where it began.

Now far ahead the Road has gone,

And I must follow, if I can,

Pursuing it with eager feet,

Until it meets some larger way

Where many paths and errands meet.

And whither then? I cannot say.

After all, if I could say, it wouldn't be much of an adventure, would it?