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

Three Years

Three years.
Three years is a long time, and three years is a short time.  So many, many things can change in the span of three years.
Hopes.  
Dreams.  
Fears.  
The very essence of who a person is.  
And yet at the same time, you blink and three years have past like blur.  Life is funny like that.

This particular time of the year means a lot to me, on many different levels.
It's November.
The beginning of my favorite of the Southern California seasons - cool and (if we're lucky) wet.  
The month of Thanksgiving.  
The month in which, three years ago, events occurred that changed my life.  
It's funny how day to day, you generally don't feel like you are changing, but when you look back over your life, you realize that who you were one. . . two. . . five. . . ten years ago would barely recognize the person you are today and you wonder how that happened.

The past week I have been doing a lot of reflecting, thinking and reminiscing.  This last week marks my third year following the Lord.  Three years ago, I was a different person with different plans, goals and dreams.  I was walking

On a Personal Note....

I've sat down to my computer so many times in the last week to write, but every time I end up stopping, deleting whatever sentences I have come up with and going back to stalk my friends on facebook. Why? Well, quite simply because all I can think about right now is my family's crazy situation and what I can do to help, and that's kind of personal. And believe it or not, I'm kind of a private person. I have a hard time sharing my thoughts and feelings with my family, let alone write about them on a blog. Which is interesting, because I'm a writer. I don't think that I'm that good at talking (although others tell me I'm very articulate and communicate very clearly), but give me a piece of paper and a pencil and out flows everything I am thinking. Sometimes it takes the shape of a poem or a story, a form that someone could read and not realize that what I wrote is actually my heart. They would just think that it was a good story or emotional poem. I like that. It makes me feel safe.
I think that's what it boils down to for me. Feeling safe. For some reason I have it in my head that showing emotion is weakness. That admitting your need for help is weakness. And I am a strong person. I am not weak. But I've had to learn over the last two years that letting go and admitting my insufficiency is strength. For I am made perfect in weakness, and when I let go and let God take over, He fills me with His strength.
I constantly need to be reminded of this. I'm the oldest of ten children; I still live at home; my dad has been unemployed for eight months and we are very close to losing our home. And there is nothing that any of us can do. My dad is pounding the pavement every day searching for a job. Any job. My mom takes care of the house and the rest of the kids and I am a full time student who has to study, but also takes advantage of every opportunity to make some money by house cleaning, babysitting, house sitting, cat sitting, or working my home based business.
What is there left to say or do? Nothing. All we can do is wait and pray. I know God has a plan. I know He is leading us down a road and that He knows where it leads. But it feels like He has led us into a tunnel that is a thousand miles long with no lights. And as of yet, I cannot see the light at the end that means we are almost out of the tunnel. I feel like we are still in the middle and the train has broken down.
I know that this tunnel will end. We are going through a hard time right now, but I also know things could be much worse. We aren't kicked out onto the street yet; we have more than enough food; we have clothes, clean water and electricity.
So now that you know what I'm going through, you'll probably want to be kept up to date on how things go, so stick around and I'll keep you along as we go on this crazy ride into the unknown.