We (The Plain Travelers) heard this band with the odd name of Ivan & Alyosha back in the mid-2010s at a club in Austin called The Parish. I'm rediscovering them today, and this tune, "Running for Cover" has some heavy lyrics wherein I'm hearing about a garden, a fall, and taking the blame... If I could be a wiser manTo rest my head and trust the planI'm fighting like a child to get my way If I could see the garden placeBefore the fall would things have changed?

As January unfolds, a season often reserved for reflection and new beginnings, we remember Christopher Tolkien, who passed on January 16, 2020. For many, he was more than a scholar or editor; he was the quiet guardian of a world that had captured our hearts for generations. Though he rarely sought the spotlight, his work ensured that Middle-earth lived on long after his father, J. R. R. Tolkien, had departed.

Wake Up Dead Man: A Knives Out Mystery, was a blast, especially considering the topics it hit upon amidst the murder-mystery. Discovering that the film's composer was a U2 fan was lagniappe, and this quote from the article linked below really resonated with me: "I grew up in a particular strand of American evangelicalism that split everything—people, vocations, all parts of culture—into two distinct camps: secular and sacred. And thus, there also existed "Christian" knock-off versions of most popular music genres. To have a band as big as U2 putting music to the lyrics of a Psalm felt like a huge deal to me, and played a big part in blurring the lines that were so clearly defined in my head at the time."

From the MTV Archives, Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers - Even The Losers (1980)

Q: How Were The Istari Supposed To Help Defeat Sauron? ANSWER: The Istari (Wizards) were the emissaries of the Valar, sent to Middle-earth to help Elves and Men (and Dwarves and Hobbits) resist Sau… Source: How Were The Istari Supposed To Help Defeat Sauron? – Middle-earth & J.R.R. Tolkien Blog

January 6 marks Epiphany, the day we remember the wise men arriving at the manger, guided by a star to worship the child who would change everything. Matthew's Gospel tells it plain: these men from the East saw the sign, traveled far, and found the King in humble surroundings. They offered their gifts and went home changed.

My Bible reading plan fell apart last year, somewhere around Solomon’s temple, because life got in the way and attention wandered. And that’s okay.

While researching my literary anniversary piece on J. R. R. Tolkien's "Leaf by Niggle," I came across an essay that thoughtfully explores the spiritual shape of the story. The author describes it as "probably the closest thing in Tolkien's corpus to an autobiographical allegory," a claim that feels earned the longer you consider the tale. The article reflects on how Tolkien understood creative work not as self-expression alone, but as something offered up, tethered to goodness, truth, and beauty, and ultimately redeemed by God rather than perfected by the artist.

When the flame was kindled on January 3, 1892, a mind was born that would illuminate not just Middle-earth but the quiet corners of imagination itself. J. R. R. Tolkien’s life was marked by a devotion to language, story, and the natural world—a devotion most intimately visible in one of his smallest, yet most curious, works: Leaf by Niggle.

This is New Year's Eve, a time to celebrate endings and beginnings, but my heart's just not in it. Maybe yours isn't either. If you're one of them, or if someone close to you is, maybe this piece will land like a small reminder that the light is still there.

Sometimes the best guides don't lead you away from a story. They lead you deeper in.

Here’s a holiday tall tale from Jubal Blue, straight out of the piney woods of North Louisiana. I hope this gives you a little chuckle for your Christmas Eve. Enjoy!

I discovered Kinky’s “Más” this morning on a music subreddit, after spending most of the night with fever, sneezing, and coughing as this flu bug peaked. Chasing one last tissue, one extra dose of medicine, always one more something that never quite satisfied, the song caught me and held me, its repeated más echoing my restless state.

By the time The Two Towers arrived on December 18, 2002, the road no longer felt new. The wonder of Middle-earth remained, but it was tempered by strain, uncertainty, and the first true shadows of conflict.

Every journey eventually asks its price.

When The Return of the King was released on December 17, 2003, there was a sense that the journey we had shared with these characters for two full years was approaching its end. The road had grown heavy, marked by sacrifice, exhaustion, and the weight of battles fought both outside and within.

Long before dwarves knocked on Bilbo’s round green door, I had already walked the edges of Tolkien’s map in my imagination. That little book, The Hobbit, was the kind you read as a child and then reread as an adult, discovering new corners of courage every time.

I first walked into Middle-earth in the mid-70s through a brand-spanking-new paperback copy of The Hobbit. Bilbo’s unexpected adventure was playful, sharply drawn, and rooted in a storyteller’s wink. Decades later, Peter Jackson invited us back again, but with a different tone, different scale, and (for many of us) a different set of expectations.

Watch, Listen, and Read stories of persecuted Christians around the world on the VOM App

"I can't remember if we said goodbye."

Stories shape worlds, worlds shape stories. And sometimes, a story about stories can change how we see both.

I stand rooted in West Central Louisiana, a longleaf pine keeping quiet watch over the rhythm of the days.

On November 29, 1971, Edith Mary Tolkien slipped quietly from this world when she was eighty-two, leaving behind a life woven into the fabric of her family and the imagination of Middle-earth.

I met Bilbo Baggins when I was thirteen years old, standing in the hallway of DeRidder Junior High. The library door carried a poster that stopped me in my tracks. A curious, round fellow stood in his front doorway, pipe in hand, sending smoke rings lazily into the air. The art looked like watercolor washed across old parchment—earthy, grounded, like the kind of countryside Tolkien loved so fiercely.