Not All Glory

Here is another essay that I wrote for my freshman comp class in junior college.  The assignment was to chose a poem from our anthology and exposit it's meaning, using research and our own interpretations.

Not All Glory

I'm fed up to the ears with old men dreaming up wars for young men to die in. 

- George McGovern 

In his poem, Dulce et Decorum Est, Wilfred Owen contests the wisdom of those who lead young men to believe that war is something to desire and aspire towards.  He attacks this concept with evidence from his own personal experiences at the front, using graphic imagery to impress upon the reader the horrors, the ugliness of battle.  War is not the beautiful, exhilarating and glorious experience that Romantics make it out to be; rather it is hard, ugly and more often than not, traumatic for those involved.  Owen knows this, having experienced war on the front, and he writes hoping to warn his readers. Hoping to protect them from having to experience this disillusionment firsthand. 

The title of the poem ironically suggests that it will be a

New Eyes. . .

Over the last couple of weeks God has opened my eyes  and broken my heart for people who don't know Him in a new way.  He showed me His heart by bringing to my attention several people who I know or have known closely who do not love Him or accept Him as their savior.  It just breaks my heart to see these friends, some of whom are like family to me, who grew up in Christian homes and went (or still go) to church and youth functions faithfully now rejecting the faith that they were raised in.  I was having a conversation with one of these friends a few days ago and it was just so heartbreaking.  They have the truth right in front of them and yet they can't or won't receive it.  The saddest part is the effect this rejection has upon a person's life.

Without God, life has no true meaning or purpose - something that I have seen evidenced in some of these friends as they have turned their backs on Him.  Their lives are hollow and they are searching for anything that is not God or religion that will fill the hole in their soul.  But they search in vain, because even if something seems to be working, eventually the emptiness with return.  Their lives are characterized by

The Legacy of Literature

Today I am going to move from things I wrote in high school to something I wrote my freshman year of college.  This essay was written for my freshman comp class during my first semester at junior college.  We were told to find an aphorism (which, according to the dictionary is a pithy observation that contains a general truth) and write an essay about why we thought the aphorism we chose was true using personal examples.  Enjoy.

                                                                            The Legacy of Literature

                                              “A room without books is like a body without a soul”

                                                                                        - Cicero

Just as the soul of a human being brings life and animation to the body, so do books bring those same qualities to a room. When the soul departs, the body is left a lifeless shell - a shadow of what was. Likewise, a room without books is dull, lifeless and dead. A person’s soul is immortal, living on after the body is dead; so to, are books. Long after an author has died, the books written by them have the potential to live on to inspire and teach those who come after. 

I have experienced such teaching and inspiration in my own life. Many of my favorite books, the ones that impacted me the most, were written by people who died many years before I was born. A perfect example

Lauren's Journal

Going back to the idea of posting some of my older work, I found a couple of things that I wrote in high school that I thought I might share with you all.  

This short story was written for some sort of contest in my junior or senior year of high school.  Once again, I have not changed anything from the original.  

 Lauren’s Journal

Who am I? What am I doing here? What’s the point in living anyway? Those were the words written in the center of the first page of the journal I had found. All around them, filling up the rest of the page, were drawings. Sad drawings. Pictures and sketches of crying girls, angry boys, wilting flowers and bleeding hearts. Pictures from the hopeless. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I turned the page. Whoever the owner of the journal was, they were obviously hurting.

At first I didn’t want to read it. It was someone’s personal journal, I had no right! But I felt drawn to it. Something inside me whispered and told me to read it. No! I kept saying, it isn’t mine. But it kept whispering. Then I realized it must be the Spirit. So I picked it up and started reading.  I read all night. It was impossible to put down. As I read, I wept. I wept as I never had before - - and doubt I ever shall again. This girl was hurting. Her very soul was screaming for help.

  Her name was Lauren Stewart and she was 16. Very likely only a few months younger than myself. She was an only child whose parents were alcoholics and drug dealers. They never paid much attention to her nor did they care about her, so