“I expect every grain has a value.” 
– Frodo to Sam on Galadriel’s Box

 

As I write this, it’s the morning of Palm Sunday for all Christians, this year. I’ve just written my oldest daughter a missive for her 9^th birthday, completed the last chapter of The Lord of the Rings, and decided to sit down to write on this and the past school year that is coming to an end. 

This year, for me, was a combination of teaching 2^nd grade and a high school elective on J. R. R. Tolkien. One moment would be filled with climbing trees, running as fast as one could to find victory in that day’s game, cleaning the mud or dirt from our hands and feet, naming the parts of the eye, or learning to write and read the basics of the English language. Other moments I’d find myself on the backs of Ents, charging Pelennor Fields with Theoden like Orome of old, unveiling and cleaning the dirt in our eyes and heart, looking at the Eye, or learning to write and read Elvish.  

And, for some reason, throughout the year, I kept returning to the idea of the fecund, significant moments of life and the common, impermanence of it. I found myself many times this year pondering what we discussed in class and/or put on the board. On the whiteboards in these classes, along with the numerous parts of the eye being illuminated, Iris, the goddess of the rainbow was discussed; the ear was illustrated and the three tiniest and unheralded bones of the human body were given honor; princesses of various sizes, colors, and looks came to life; birthdays were celebrated; prayers and wishes were engraved; Gandhi and Yoda shared their wisdom in quotes; fractions and multiplication problems were pondered; marks next to student’s names in green for good and red for not so good were tallied; phonics and how to do certain cursive letters were practiced; scores of years and famous speeches were mentioned; civil walks and wars were discussed and peace and love overcame and remained; numerous significant historical and mythological dates, names, and/or events were displayed; the printing press and first flight were born; man found a New World and walked on a Moon; Queen Elizabeth and Shaka created legacies; opening questions for that day’s discussion were written; silmarils and rings were forged; and Eru Illuvatar spoke, Morgoth came forth, Luthien sang, elves and dwarves became friends, the King returned, and white shores with a far green country under a swift sunrise were beheld.  

All of these things are and were meaningful. We invested our minds, bodies, and souls into them during that moment. Yet, each day, I would come back to the classroom (after break or the next day) and the physical markings would eventually be erased. What the students and I talked about was in the past physically, but, hopefully, in us eternally. 

There is so much that goes on in one day—so much knowledge and many events that we move through and beyond. Like the numerous games of kickball we played during pickup, every kick and catch and point was redolent and everything. And then—rather quickly—it was over until the next day when play began again. Like the grains of dirt we brought in from kickball, those mulberry stained hands, or even those muddy days of outdoor play, they had rich moments and stories. They had a place in our adventure/tale in this life that we are all a part of and contribute to. 

And these ponderings came to a nice conclusion today when I read that last chapter in which Sam discloses the box given to him by Galadriel and begins to spread the grains across the Shire to restore its beauty that has been seemingly wiped away. Frodo says to him, “I expect every grain has a value”. And this I believe is true. Every single moment, word, action, and marking on the board this year was significant in my life, in the lives of my students, and for the great tale we are all in. 

As a great troubadour once said, “I can see the master’s hand / In every leaf that trembles, in every grain of sand.” This knowledge, these moments, and these youthful lives reminded me to be in the moment, see with the faith of a child, and be content with the physical ephemeralities of the world because they shape the spiritual ones that are eternal. For, these are the auguries of innocence that allow us to see, if we have eyes to see, “those worlds in a grain of sand or Heaven in a wildflower.” 

I like to take my waking slow. I am often content at times to sit comfortably in my Hobbit-hole with no adventures. However, another moment has passed; and, another one is here. In the background I hear my youngest’s voice from the bedroom where she is singing happy birthday to her sister. My morning solitude and quietude are broken and the little patter of feet coming down the hall sounds quite similar to a wizard at my door. I have no idea what awaits me this day or the next, but I know new tales will unfold on this small adventure we are on. It will be good for me if I keep hope and am not hasty, and maybe there will be some riddles solved and treasures to be had. My hobbit-sized and hidden life is overflowing.