on the acquisition of names for some reason, earlier this evening a few of my fave lines from the hobbit came to mind. a smashing bit of dramatic transition:
"They were come to the Desolation of the Dragon, and they were come at the waning of the year." and this bit from bilbo's chat with smaug: "Truly songs and tales fall utterly short of the reality, O Smaug the Chiefest and Greatest of Calamities," replied Bilbo. "You have nice manners for a thief and a liar," said the dragon. "You seem familiar with my name, but I don't seem to remember smelling you before. Who are you and where do you come from, may I ask?" "You may indeed! I come from under the hill, and under the hills and over the hills my paths led. And through the air. I am he that walks unseen." "So I can well believe," said Smaug, "but that is hardly your usual name." "I am the clue-finder, the web-cutter, the stinging fly. I was chosen for the lucky number." "Lovely titles!" sneered the dragon. "But lucky numbers don't always come off." "I am he that buries his friends alive and drowns them and draws them alive again from the water. I came from the end of a bag, but no bag went over me." "These don't sound so creditable," scoffed Smaug. "I am the friend of bears and the guest of eagles. I am Ringwinner and Luckwearer; and I am Barrel-rider"... i've always liked that line - it's always stuck with me - all these grand descriptions he comes up with for himself, or rather, realizes about himself. they've become his, and they're his to wear, but he never planned any of the adventure that made those names his. they came to him more like a birthday present than a paycheck. because he was gonna stay in a hole, smoking a pipe and getting fatter and fatter till the end of his comfy, but unremarkable days. in spite of the fact that sometimes the journey seems less than epic for those of us who are not fictional... it is no less so (epic, that is). every once in a while, if you've got the eyes to see, you might catch a glimpse from that angle. and the names come to you, they become yours, in the choices you make and the choices you don't. and clearly, the whole thing is bigger than us. our clumsy little hands aren't really the ones writing the story. something to ponder and rejoice over. as for myself, i'm a few things i know and a lot of things i don't. i'd like to come up with some great things i could be... the Ringwinner, the Luckwearer, the Barrel-rider... something grand. but over the last year or so a reality that i cannot escape has been indelibly branded into my flesh, with all the pain one would expect to accompany such a process: the future is out of my control. and sometimes that has really freaked me out. it has nearly eaten my lunch. the thought that all of my vague notions of becoming... something... i don't know what, but something good, something better, could very easily come to nothing, it has nearly crippled me at times. (hmmm... saying that out loud, well, in print anyway, sort of defuses that a little bit.) but i guess this is where it all comes together: "...We are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do." furthermore... "To him who overcomes, I will give some of the hidden manna. I will also give him a white stone with a new name written on it, known only to him who receives it." He is Artist and Preparer and Name-Giver. I am Canvas and Clay, Prepared-One and Name-Receiver. I am both Empathy, one who would be clothed in beauty, and Word-Murderer, chained in ugliness, Broken. He is Costly Mercy and Forgiveness. And if all that's true, then perhaps I can say that He'll erase the names I've tried to write for myself, rub them off and polish the whole thing clean of all my childish scribbles and appalling graffiti before He presents the gift. What else should I expect from the One who embodies all grace? | 
