Courage, Merry.

Courage- n.; a word that can alternately inspire, and scare the heck out of a person

When I think of courage, I most often think of the stories of epic tales. Heroes, valiant men and women, unlikely princessess, and paupers-turned-kings. I think of Bilbo sneaking into Smaug's lair. I think of Frodo casting the ring into Mount Doom. I think of High King Peter and his brother and sisters. I think of Rebecca in Ivanhoe, and the monumental part she plays in saving England from Prince John. I think of Jane Eyre and her stalwart moral-courage. I think of the Scarlet Pimpernel, and of Jean Valjean, and of the dozens--even hundreds--of heroes and heroines who loom large in my mind when I think of the word "courage."

Seldom...oh how seldom do I think of what these folk were before the end.

I seldom think of Bilbo as the fat little hobbit who so hated the idea of leaving the Shire that he almost missed his chance for a grand adventure. I seldom think of Frodo as another fat hobbit who never meant to take the ring any farther than the borders of Rivendell--indeed, if that far! I seldom think of the Pevensies as frightened, war-torn children who are sent to live in a country manor-house because their old home is being bombed by Germans. I seldom think of Jean Valjean as the lost, confused, and ill-bred young man who stole a loaf of bread so his sister's children mightn't starve to death.

I seldom think of any of these things, and yet when I do, the stories expand like Pandora's box. Before, the characters' heights of courage and valour seem positively unattainable. But when I start to take their story--their lives--like I am forced to take my own { that is, one moment at a time}, I start to see a trend.

Courage is not a long measure.

Courage is the shreds of determination, madness, great-hearts, and grit pieced together end-to-end till, at the last few pages of the story when you're finally looking back, you see that it was courage after all that brought you this far.

See, God has given us a love for these stories as mirror-shadows of His story, so that we might manage to begin to comprehend just "what sort of tale we've fallen into, Mr. Frodo." That's the premise of the devotional, Epic by John Eldridge, and something I firmly believe. And, you know...I start taking these stories in little tiny pieces and I start looking at Bilbo burrowing his head in a comfy pillow at Bag End to stop out the sound of the dwarf-song, and I start watching Frodo take a last walk through the Shire, and I start looking at Rebeccas as an unloved Jewess and suddenly I realize:

They're no different than me.

They had no more courage to start with than I do. They were afraid, they were wretched, they were confused and bewildered and sometimes wanted nothing more than to cling to their own familiar doorstep with the morning glories and nasturtiums growing close to the little round windows. But they simply didn't. They set out on the road, and they kept going no matter what happened. Because the authors who wrote their stories (imitating the Author Who wrote mine) understood one key thing about courage: Sometimes a valiant spirit is not the courage needed. Sometimes the courage needed is a chin lifted into the face of the wind, a boot dug into the ground, and a heart that says, 'No matter. I will go forward. You cannot make me go back.'

These characters weren't courageous because they sat in Hobbiton or London or Ashby or Paris thinking, "I will be brave. I will have courage." More, it was just a blind clinging to what was right before their very faces when the path got narrow and foggy and beset with perils of every sort. More, it was a faith that everything that should happen would, and their responsibility was not to guess what the end ought to be, but to put one more foot on the twisting stairway because "Up" was the only way, or to go one more league on the moor because it was right when all their heart was longing for the love they'd left behind at Thornfield Hall. 

In short, it's the words Eowyn whispers in Merry's ear as they ready for battle:

"Courage, Merry. Courage for our friends."

I know it's hard to see sometimes--I know it's hard to fathom the idea that you could be living a story as large as those you love, but it's true. And the courage you need is ready for the taking. A sweeping end-vision is, of course, a beautiful gift, but perhaps we should stop asking God for courage for the whole way. Perhaps we should start asking Him for just enough to take that step forward. You never know when that step might take you to the Happily Ever After you've always dreamed of.