The light of Eärendil’s star

Hi Mr. Saunders,

When I was a chubby and shy eight year old, my family moved from a perfect California beach town to the backwoods of Western Maryland –- a hyper-conservative, small town where confederate flags flapped proudly in the wind.

Being half-Moroccan and Muslim, I was immediately bullied. Boys I liked called me a ‘terrorist’ and a ‘beef cow.’ Girls I thought were my friends told me with a smile that I would be going to hell.

I was already there.

But, in the 7th grade, I escaped.

I watched the fireworks at Bilbo’s eleventy-first birthday party, listened to the songs of old Tom Bombadill, and walked around the perfect, golden woods of Lothlorien. The Lord of the Rings took me away from my painful and lonely reality – and that was a great gift.

But, this story also gave me more than an escape.

In it, I saw Gandalf choose goodness over power. I saw the lingering humanity in Gollum that is renewed through kindness. I saw Sam carry Frodo up the steep cliff of Mount Doom when he is too weak to walk on his own. I saw true friendship, and the possibilities of human love and kindness.

And I saw hope. Hope that things would get better for me.

As Tolkien wrote:

‘The world is indeed full of peril, and in it there are many dark places; but still there is much that is fair, and though in all lands love is now mingled with grief, it grows perhaps the greater.’

Stories that only confirm life’s peril and darkness by reflecting our pain back to us can be beautiful and true, but I think they miss out on their real power. I believe we all need stories that lift us up, that counterbalance life’s inherent sadness, that give us hope for better days. They are the stories that help us live. Even without Hobbits or Wizards or Elves, they are the stories with magic.

Thanks for reading.

Anissa