“We could fly to Berlin, Tokyo or Jamaica
We can go where you want
Say the word and I’ll take ya
But I’d rather stay on the sofa,
On the sofa, with you.”
– Ed Sheeran, Sofa
I have never liked The Hobbit.
There, I said it.
Maybe it’s the fact that it was required reading in 6th grade and little to nothing good comes out of expecting a Lizzie McGuire-watching middle-schooler to read and appreciate theological literature, but I was still holding the same stance of apathy up until a month ago. At 23, I didn’t have any excuse why I couldn’t seem to get my head around the book, the franchise, anything – which is especially bad when you’re a young, book-loving adult, but even worse when you majored in theology in college.
Even more dreadful, somehow, was actually telling people that I hated The Hobbit. Disclosing this information ranked right up there with suggesting a friend had an ugly baby, tripping an old lady or wearing a swastika; no matter the circumstance, it was never well-received.
Last month, however, changed all this. On one of my final days at home, I found myself watching The Hobbit again out of my own free will – and I loved it.
I’ll say it again for the friends who have attempted to force-feed me Hobbit fandom that I’ve wiggled away from like the man in Green Eggs and Ham screaming I WILL NOT TRY IT at Sam I Am: I seriously loved it.
I loved the Hobbit.
And maybe it was the entire box of mac ‘n cheese I had just eaten or maybe I actually needed to have a cry, but as credits rolled, I sat down on the floor of my bedroom surrounded by piles of my unpacked Race gear, and I started to cry.
The Hobbit struck me due to the sacrifice Bilbo had to make in order to go on his adventure. He was totally chill just hanging around his hobbit hole – after all, it was what everyone else was doing, and it was what had always been done.
At this point, you’re probably wondering what Ed Sheeran, J.R.R. Tolkien and World Race life all have in common. I’ll show you.
Before I left for the Race, I felt God calling me to take a vow of celibacy – with no end date in sight.
Pretty extreme.
But it wasn’t anything I need clarification on, because He was perfectly clear: my sexuality is a part of me I’m still working on mastering. I also simply cannot count on myself to follow where He leads me if I leave the gate open for a boyfriend to wander on in. And, my friend, I am an expert at leaving things open and unattended. I leave the keys in running cars, leave my phone on top of restroom countertops, leave my windows open when it snows and then spend the next morning with the heat off, shoveling 8 inches of snowfall off of furniture.
The gate to your heart is not a gate to leave open and unattended to.
So, maybe you’re in a season of your life right now where everyone else is getting rings put on it, planning weddings, having weddings, and even getting pregnant . . . and you look around and wonder, Why me? Why did I receive the call on a journey, and no one else? Is it really alright to leave my home and my friends and my lifestyle to go on an adventure, to do what God is asking me to?
That’s about where I am. And the adventure I’m on is so intense and important that not only am I not allowed to remain at home for anyone – I’m not allowed to bring anyone else along.
In closing, this is a wedding dress that I tried on while in Holland, just before I left on the Race. (Apparently its bad luck to try on wedding dresses for funzies before you are actually engaged?! – although I suppose I’ve never really done these things the acceptable way.) But I’m sure glad I found it, because it was a tender reassurance that God knows, and wants, to honour the desires of my heart – it reminded me of a word that an alumni Racer spoke over me years ago: when God looks at me, he doesn’t see me covered in sin or shame. When He looks at me, He sees me in a white veil, a pure bride.
He sees that my heart is to one day fall in love, wear the dress, and build a beautiful life with one man, forever.
He sees that if I had my way, I would spend my days about 50/50 between the sofa and following my calling. Some days, I’d lie on the sofa with a guy I loved, watch British TV, spend hours researching, writing and learning whatever I pleased, baking, dancing, and eating. The other half would be for adventuring. And when that got uncomfortable, back to him and the sofa I would go.
But the adventure doesn’t happen on the sofa.
