Greatness

 "Let us have faith that right makes might, and in that faith, let us, to the end, dare to do our duty as we understand it."  -Abraham Lincoln

"Desperate courage makes one a majority." -Andrew Jackson

How are you living your life? Are you daring? Living in the Faith? Courageous? I dare you, this week, and forever, to live with humble faith, courageous spirit, and desperate will for life. When you do, I believe you will also be great.

Letters to Peter (pt.2)

Dear Peter,

Did you ever dream about growing up?  Part of me says no, you did not.  You thought about growing up once and shuddered as if it were a nightmare.  Another part of me thinks that you must have dreamed about growing up like every child does.  Maybe you still do dream about it.  You must have thought about getting a job, becoming famous, maybe even raising a family!  I must say, you really are famous though, just maybe not in the way that most of us dream.  You’re famous in a fairy tale way.  People read about you and love your story.  They love you too, but not as you.  they love you as a fictional character that inspires them with happy thoughts.  Really though, if anyone knew that I was writing this to you, they would think it was a joke.  I don’t though.  I really mean what I say here.  I really am wondering about you, and I really am waiting for you to take me to Neverland.  

Come soon,

H. C.

My Favorite Place

Beautiful and turbulent -- not many things have the privilege of embodying both qualities. My favorite place in the world is full of contradictory attributes. It is both hot and cold, loud and quiet, mighty and meek. It is a home to many, but it has also taken many lives. It is a place of rest and peace, but has also been used for travel. It sits between two countries, and is the greatest of the Great Lakes. My favorite place is Lake Superior.

Lake Superior. Upon hearing those words a slow smile spread across my face. It did not quite reach my eyes, but stayed low, quiet, and serene while I observed my surroundings. From my viewpoint it was like seeing the edge of the world. My feet were solidly planted on the top of a ridge of clay. The clay was the color of rust, but brighter like an orange rust. This rust spread to the left and right, and it went down. Down, down, the bumpy surface was scrawled with cracks and dents. Although it appeared to be an all-natural brick, previous experience revealed that it crumbled easily into a fine silt that felt like satin.

At the base of the incline, the red-orange silt faded into a dirty blonde sand. It was a beautiful contrast: the tan sand, flecked with bits of charcoal from late night campfires, meeting the soft red cliff. The sand was not nearly so soft as the clay, and it was not nearly as comfortable to tread on either. Instead of repelling the sun’s rays, it absorbed them creating a terrain that could only be beared for a few moments. After those few moments whoever was walking in the sand would have to jump into the water to relieve their scorching feet. Lake Superior, however could not be endured for much longer than the sand. Instead of burning, the lake was freezing. Even though it was August, standing in the lake would numb a person’s feet, and plunging underneath would bring a headache from the cold. The only comfort for those walking was the area where the water met the sand.

The water was unlike any other. It was cold, but it was beautiful. The sun shone off of the gentle waves that rocked towards shore. It, the water, was blue and crystal clear. No dirt or flakes of seaweed lulled on shore; not a piece of algae was to be seen. In the distance, islands were visible, appearing as lush green spots on the horizon. They were the Apostle Islands. Beneath the surface, red and white striped agates, along with black, green, white, and clear stones rested in the sand. Deeper water held fish of all shapes and sizes, monstrous trees left over from the logging days, and even the one of the deepest points in North America.

The islands, the lake, the sand, the clay, all of this was visible from my view. There was great contrast in temperature, color, and potential. The Lake that I love has taken many lives, but it has also inspired many. Some days it roars with a tempest and flashes with lighting. Other times, like the day I visited, it was peaceful. It was beautiful. It was and is my favorite.

Park Benches

It is not a rare occurrence that I see a park bench that, instead of being freshly stained and sanded, is littered with names. The former is a bench that I would expect to find in a private garden -- surrounded by roses, a place where women in sundresses would place themselves to chat. It, the garden bench, is a scene of serenity. The latter, though no longer pristine and guest-worthy, is intriguing. Once as nice as the garden bench, this bench is a relied upon place of rest, and, going above and beyond its duties as a bench, it has become a proof of existence.

You see, the latter has met hundreds, maybe thousands, of people. It is riddled with names: “Ethan,” “Mary,” “Glenn,” “Rachel.” Along with the names are initials, often equations that are equivalent to love: “B.E.L.,” “A+C.” There are so many there is no room for me to fit my own, and it is crude lettering -- gouges and scratches that are an uneven pattern beneath my fingertips. I do not know any of these people, but there is a connection between myself and them. We have been at the same place; that is what makes the bench such an intrigue. Although some may look upon the bench with disgust and call it vandalism, I would call it beautiful The names have transformed the bench into something more than just a bench. It resembles the existence of individuals and the memories that they made. To me, it is a piece of romance.

The Canyon

I want to sit on the edge of the canyon
And let my feet dangle over the edge
Gaze at tis wonders forever
And never leave the ledge

I want to see all the crests and all the valleys
All the highs and lows its been through
See the colors change beneath the sun's rays
And experience the secne's new hue

But if I sat on the same ledge forever
And never wandered to see the depths
My heart would always yearn and wonder
What secrets it has kept

My heart is alike to the canyon
Where shadows echo the sky
Where a call for adventure is always lurking
And the mystery rate is high

I can dream of far off places
And the mysteries they hold
But none will hold more secrets
Than my very own heart untold

Passion

Passion is deadly. Confidence is rare. Greatness is obsolete.

I ought to know because I describe myself as passionate and confident, and aspire to greatness.

Some nights I lie in my bed, unable to sleep. I can feel something stirring within me; it starts at my core and works throughout my entire being. It is like adrenaline; it causes my heart to beat faster. With every heartbeat I can feel my desire for life growing stronger, seizing me. I want to change the world. I want to be remembered; I want a great legacy. As my mind whirls with world-changing possibilities my heart beats faster and my breaths come quicker.There is no escaping this rush; I get high on passion. You see, passion is not a strong interest. Passion is not comparable or equal to an obsession. Passion is captivating. It is the gleam my sister sees in my eyes; it is what motivates my life; it is the contagious spark for life, and it enables the ability to truly live.

But passion is deadly. Nothing kills passion like failure, or prospective failure. All it takes is one disheartening comment, a pinprick, to shatter dreams. Who would do such a thing? The insecure. The jealous. Those who have given up. The insecure were once passionate, but perpetual doubt held them back from success. What they viewed as personal failure grew to jealousy; they wanted to change the world, and they do not see the change. They gave up, and do not see how anyone could have a different outcome than they did. They are the pinprick that kills passion. The pinprick that kills the life. The individual that kills dreams commits a greater murder than a serial killer, for they have just killed the passion for life.

If it is passion that motivates life, great amounts will be needed. Do not let passion die; add fuel to the flame; help it grow. It will not disappoint.

(Essays on confidence and greatness coming in the near future.)

Difficult Days

Before reading this I recommend that you watch these two links:

A Speech by Martin Luther King Jr:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TvHghWudXz4

A Song by Eminem (this is a rap song):

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bmXumtgwtak

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We've got some difficult days ahead

We've got some terrifying days

Got some lonely days

Where we’re going to tread

You have a whole life of one chance

To change the world

So you better not carpe diem.

Seize the moment -- that’s your only chance.

The moment, don’t ever lose track.

We've lost enough time already

We’re walking, but we have to sprint

We can’t get that lost time back

We can’t afford to run -- even that’s too slow

We need wings.

And we think these days are hard.

I've been on the mountain -- we’re gonna go low

Do you hear me?

We’re lagging

This world is suffocating itself

We may be the last chance, the only plea

More than a cry

A shout in the dark

A high, shrill shriek that will make heads turn

It’s worth more than a try

It’s worth all the life you can offer

To save a few lives, maybe the whole world

To make an impact, leave a legacy

This is the offer

Give all of yourself and never look back

It may not sound too promising

But this is a once in a lifetime chance

Besides you can’t go back to your past

Now or never

This is the choice you've got

Change the world now

Or hold your peace forever

We've got some difficult days ahead

But let’s change this place

I can’t live life in a world like this forever

It’s up to us to make the mend

We've got some difficult days ahead.