Having a dragon to slay is preferred to the desolation of darkness. We can muster the courage to fight time and again when our enemy is clear. But it’s hard to keep going when the darkness around us seems to swallow all the light. This is Mirkwood – no line of sight to walk toward and no sense of time to know when it will all end. There are invisible threats all around, but nothing dramatic at first, mostly just a slow erosion of hope.
This was part of Bilbo’s experience in his adventures recorded in Tolkien’s The Hobbit. The dragon slaying came later, but first was Mirkwood. And this seems to be our experience as well. It’s a season of uncertainty in which our effort feels like we’re walking in circles. We’re walking and working as best as we can, but without any clear signs of progress. There’s no immediate fruit from our labors to let us know we’re on the right path. We’re tired, exhausted, and losing hope, and yet others continue to look to us to find our way forward.
We would gladly charge the battlefield if there was a clear enemy to fight. But the battle of Mirkwood is less about heroically confronting the obvious, and more about not losing heart when things are unclear – when prayers feel unanswered, work feels unnoticed, marriage feels flat, or leadership feels heavy. Nothing catastrophic, but also nothing concrete to hold on to.
It’s tempting to assume that Mirkwood is punishment – that we’re suffering because we’re blowing it and haven’t learned our lessons yet. While there are likely many lessons to learn, Mirkwood is best seen as a proving ground – exercising our character, faith, and hope. Who are we becoming even through these dark days of uncertainty?
To be sure, Mirkwood will not last forever. It will end. But will we deepen and become stronger, or shrink and become fragile? Will we keep taking that next step boldly in faith, or withdraw in fear and doubt?
Allow Mirkwood to form you and leave you stronger than when you entered.
