“But even as hope died in Sam, or seemed to die, it was turned to a new strength. Sam’s plain…face grew stern, almost grim, as the will hardened in him, and he felt through all his limbs a thrill, as if he was turning into some creature of stone and steel that neither despair nor weariness nor endless barren miles could subdue.”—J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King
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How does that work: when hope dies, one is made stronger? It can go either way: strength or brokenness of despair. Where lies the difference?
Faith—without expectation. Maybe it is in death of expectation that our final limitations are removed; when there is nothing for which is left to desire, only essential task remaining still ahead, impossibility, that we are still called and beckoned to attempt.
Yes, it is certain failure; but do we fail here, or forward?
“Forward.” Always forward, again and again, not with hope but only because the task directs us so. And so we go, forward in essential action and in death of hope we find the paradox that, in hope’s death, we have murdered with it doubt; and through death of each, our burden is lightened.
In faith, forward one goes, on to an impossibility that by the grace of God in reward for hopeless, but obedient, faith we proceed: each step further than we ever expected to advance
“Forward,” until in obeyance to beckoning, we stand at threshold to Destiny’s Door.
Do we waver at this final place?
“Forward,” without hope, the impossible, by absurdity of will and obeyance to beckoning, impossibility is achieved.
…All the while, unknowing, strengthened by light of the White Lady resting over heart.
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“…and hidden away in a pocket of his tunic next to his breast the phial of Gladadriel and the little box that she gave him for his own.”