Tolkien Quotes: Despair and Weakness

Frodo raised his head, and then stood up. Despair had not left him, but the weakness had passed. He even smiled grimly, feeling now as clearly as a moment before he had felt the opposite, that what he had to do, he had to do, if he could, and that whether Faramir or Aragorn or Elrond or Galadriel or Gandalf or anyone else ever knew about it was beside the purpose. 

There is so much to say about this passage, I find it hard to say anything at all. How do I sum up everything I feel about this section, the way the words reach in and bring back memories of my own struggles, my own grim determination?

Suffice it to say it’s time for another one of Lisa’s Heart-Sleeve Stories.

The photo at the bottom of this entry is from a couple of years ago, showing me on a day when I was possibly the most depressed I have ever been in my entire life. I had recently discovered two of my best friends had been lying to me for months, and was in the throes of realizing that I was going to lose them both. 

Now I stare in disbelief at this photo, at my calm expression, at the peace in my eyes. I was in despair on that day, but the weakness had left me, and a sense of perspective set in. Here’s an excerpt from my diary from that three-day visit to a hostel on the coast of Montara, California:

*  *  *

Mary and I have been inside, cooking supper in the kitchen, and it’s time to head over to the private room building. We step outside. The air is cold and damp, and we feel and taste the salty wind. At the top of the cliff, near the lighthouse, is a wooden bench that overlooks the ocean. We see it dimly in the glow of the lighthouse’s beacon. A sliver of moon hangs up high in the sky. Without a word, we pad toward the edge of the cliff.

Then we hear it— a great, overwhelming sound, as if a hurricane wind is tearing through a forest of redwoods. It roars toward us and I feel it coming, feel it about to hit me and I want to turn back and run, run back to the warm yellow lights of indoors where this presence, this terrifying entity, can’t reach me, but my feet won’t turn back and I’m walking toward the sound as if walking toward my death and it rushes toward me and in an instant I’m at the edge of the cliff, staring down into a sea of foam that shatters against the ragged rocks below. A wind like no other hurls itself against my body, lashing my hair in every direction. Saltwater air slams my breath back into my mouth, whipping my face with spray. And though I don’t hear a voice, I feel that entity, the entity I thought was merely the ocean, and it booms in every fiber of my being: I AM HERE. My knees feel weak. Tears well into my eyes. I choke. I crumple down onto the bench. 

And I realize, not consciously at that moment, but I realize— I still have a heart. A heart that isn’t stone, that isn’t shredded on the floor. It’s broken, it’s bleeding, it’s hurting, it’s angry, but it’s still here. It was hidden in God, hidden in His love, and He’s giving it back to me. I have a heart. I have a heart that can feel the ancient Love that whispered dry land out of the ocean, that can drink up the glory and power of the ocean wind, that can make me fall to my knees in awe and just revel in Beauty, and Truth, and Glory.

I have a heart. It’s still here. And staring out at the ocean waves, deep gray against deeper gray in the light of the crescent moon, I feel— really feel— something other than pain for the first time in days.

 *  *

Sometimes, the greatest strength is found when every reserve of power is utterly exhausted, because it opens the door for Another’s strength to take its place.

~Lisa Shafter