When we were children, our dreams were fueled by stories, movies, and bedtime books. My father read The Hobbit to me and my older sister when we were very little, and my sister would fill a bag and drag me around the yard as if we were on an epic adventure. Though I have little recollection of these things, the dream of adventure was sewn deeply into my soul from an early age. I never saw a reason why I, too, with my petite body and ringlet curls, couldn’t be trusted with a quest of great importance.

The world was sure to tell me, often, that I was too small, too shy, and too cute to go on an adventure. “It’s not safe,” they’d say. “You’re just a little girl.” I was rarely taken seriously as a child, much to my consternation. Yet I never let go of the feeling inside me that I was more than capable, and my hopes of being entrusted with that quest are alive and well.

I am a little older and wiser now. I’m game for an adventure, and if Frodo showed up tomorrow, I’d pack my bags and follow him anywhere. I know, now, that my quest is to discover something much grander than I ever realized: my hope in the living God. No one is going to show up with a map (or a magical ring) or tap my shoulders with a sword and point the way. So much of the work happens inside me, and my map is the Word of God, the Bible. But this book still has a battle between good and evil, a King about to return to his throne, and faithful hobbits like me who are willing to leave the warm hearth and journey toward a loving God.

Where then is my hope? Let’s go find it!