There Are No Orcs

Stories like the Lord of the Rings make me want to do something brave. When the movie ends or I set down the book, I nearly call for my sword. But I have no sword or anyone to swing one at. Then I remember: there are no Orcs.

I wish there were. I wish being good were as easy as hunting monsters with my friends. Good versus bad. A clear target to destroy.

But there are no Orcs. Just people, everywhere.

I picked up some weapons in my youth: knives, bludgeons, and other curious things that I longed to wield heroically. But I never found anyone to stick them in or swing them at. No one truly deserved it.

So I discarded my weapons and began to find subtle yet powerful tools — ways to repair my mind, approach truth, and meet deep interior needs. And the longer I hold them the more I know that weapons aren’t so fit for this world as tools.

Now I hear no trumpet sounding the hunt — only my conscience lobbying for reconciliation, reminding me there is no one to hunt and everyone to heal.

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