After considerably longer than it should have taken, I am
down to reading aloud the final two chapters of the Lord of the Rings to my
daughter, Sarah. We began our journey
well over a year ago and Tom Bombadil and Ring Wraiths are distant
memories. All that remains is taking
care of business in the Shire and then goodbyes on the shore. I am certain tears will ensue as we approach
the end – as they did when I finished reading to my son. They will be mine.
I don’t know why I buy in so much. I read the books first in high school – now more than thirty years past. As an awkward and insecure young man, there was something in the story that held sway against a seemingly dead-end future. More than just an adventure, the books drew me into a world that where the lines were cleanly cut. In our fallen world, we struggle with decisions, not knowing what the ‘right’ thing to do is. We get caught up in keeping up appearances. We set aside higher ideals for the mundane – often because we’re just worn out at the end of the day.
I don’t know why I buy in so much. I read the books first in high school – now more than thirty years past. As an awkward and insecure young man, there was something in the story that held sway against a seemingly dead-end future. More than just an adventure, the books drew me into a world that where the lines were cleanly cut. In our fallen world, we struggle with decisions, not knowing what the ‘right’ thing to do is. We get caught up in keeping up appearances. We set aside higher ideals for the mundane – often because we’re just worn out at the end of the day.
