Kepler Education’s Student Magazine
Volume 9, June 2024
Photographs by Ruth Lawton & Wesley Johnson
Eunoia
10th Grade Fiction by Hadley Atkins
Jellyfish & Submission
Two poems by Hailey Hasic
A Mourner's Folly Essay by Marshall Leary
A L etter from the C eo of K ep L er
Dear Kepler Student and Eccentric Reader,
When I was a freshman, I attended a small public high school in a rural farming community in Southern Nevada. As the tendency seems to be in small towns like mine, sports were a really big deal! The entrance to the school offices boasted an opulent glass case displaying State titles and trophies dating back several generations; and all the competitive athletes had tacit special privileges both on and off campus. Regardless of one’s sport, the real final exam had more to do with athletic prowess and less to do with academic proficiencies.
Athletically, I was mediocre at best, and didn’t take sports as seriously as the others. Nevertheless, I enjoyed wrestling, playing football, and throwing shot-put and discus on the track team. One Wednesday afternnoon, we were practicing with the discus when the coach called me over to the track. He informed me that one of our mile runners was injured and they needed someone to fill in for Friday’s meet (mind you, this is a Wednesday). Although I wasn’t much of a runner, because I played football and wrestled, and was, at that time, still fairly lean for my height, he asserted that I would be a good choice to sub in for our injured miler. He then told me to hit the cross country course (a three-and-a-half-mile-long sand wash that dumped out onto another two miles of paved road) and continue training with the cross-country team for the next two days. When Friday rolled around, my leg muscles felt like jello and I was possibly worse off than I would have been had I just showed up cold.
In any case, I ran the mile—four 440s—with everything I had. On the fourth lap, my entire team, along with a host of friends, gathered at the finish line to cheer me on, to challenge me to push myself harder, to chide me as I slowed when the finish line came into sight. To this day, I remember my time: 6m22s. I came in first place—at the wrong end of the line. I was dead last and dead on my feet! And, I was embarrassed.
Feeling wobbly in my legs and wounded in my spirit, barely able to speak, or even see for that matter (my eyeballs seemed to be shaking), I did everything I could do to keep from passing out while my teammates and friends met me with numerous congratulatory back slaps. Surprisingly, the coach joined them and said,
“Good run, Postma! Just so you know, I didn’t expect you to place; I just needed you to show up and finish to keep the team in the bracket.”
I’ve never really loved running, before or after that event, but the experience has stayed with me all these years, permanently etched in my mind as a metaphor for the Christian race each of us are called to run, as the author of the book of Hebrews reminds us. In Hebrews 12:1–2, he exhorts his readers,
“Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God.”
In light of my own race-running experience, this biblical exhortation recalls five important truths I would like to leave with you:
1) The race we are called to run is challenging, but others with passions, sins, and struggles like our own, have run the race before them; and even when they fell down, they got back up and finished their course. These runners were not perfect, but they were faithful; and it is they who make up the great cloud of witnesses (see Hebrews 11).
2) Running takes a certain amount of disciplined conditioning. That means we must put off the hindrances and distractions that slow us or cause us to stumble. Successful runners know they must purposefully neglect some things—some of them sinful but others just unhelpful—that will prevent them from finishing their race successfully. We are wise to be humble and follow their example.
3) No one else can run our race for us. Each of us has a particular race set before us that no one else has been called to run. It is unwise to compare our race with another’s race. It is up to us to run the specific race that is set before us (John 21:20–22).
4) No matter how difficult the race becomes, finishing well is all that is expected of us. Anyone can start the race—and many do—but few finish it. We must run with patience and endurance, keeping our eyes on Jesus, Who is waiting for us at the finish line, cheering us, challenging us, and sometimes lovingly chiding us to finish well.
5) Jesus is our ultimate example of what it looks like to run life’s race. We must keep our eyes on the One Who founded and is perfecting our faith, the One Who ran His own race faithfully. He endured the most difficult trial there ever was and is, nevertheless, victorious by God’s power and eternal decree, as are we who are called to be His own.
For crossing the finish line of this academic year, I commend you for showing up and finishing. Well done! Notwithstanding, your ultimate race is not yet finished. May God grant you the grace to keep on running until you finish your race and hear, “well done, good and faithful servant; enter into the joy of the Lord.” Only then can you untie your running shoes, hang up your jersey, and join the great cloud of witnesses in the grandstands of eternity!
By God’s Grace and for His Glory, Scott Postma CEO, Kepler Education
n ote from the s tudent L ife C oordin A tor
Dear Eccentric readers,
I sit down to write this note in a small town in northern Idaho. You are reading this from an even smaller town in the mountains, or a crowded brownstone neighborhood on the Eastern seaboard, or a mid-size suburban development that could be anywhere in the United States. Or perhaps you are reading this from some exotic and significant place, your home on a horse farm, or near a great historic battlefield, or surrounded by museums and monuments. Either way, you are there and I am here, apparently insignificant. Life is big, and we seem to disappear, either in the landscape or the crowd. Who even knows we’re here?
Well, for starters, we do. Also, your family does. And your church does. Your Lord Jesus does. Most of you reading this, being young, are confronting the scale of your lives, and of life itself, for the first time. As I sign off from my time as Student Coordinator, I want to leave you with the thought that your life means something, something great, and it has nothing to do with your size. Scale is nothing to our God.
I think of the C. S. Lewis poem The Turn of the Tide . The poem is cosmic in scale, featuring “great galactal lords,” emperors and kings, mythical monsters, and “Salamanders in the sun who brandish as they run tails like the Americas in size.” But what is the poem actually about? A baby. The whole universe contracts and expands around this baby.
But at Bethlehem the bless’d
Nothing greater could be heard
Than sighing wind in the thorn, the cry of One new-born, And cattle in stable as they stirred.
Bethlehem was a tiny town, “little among thousands in Israel,” but from her this baby became ruler in Israel, His goings forth known from of old, from everlasting. God exalts the humble, and always has. Live your unknown and untold life as if it were an epic, regardless of how many people know about it. God sees, and is telling a greater story than yours, using yours. Live awesomely for the pure delight of it. In the Resurrection, won’t you want a few tales to tell in the mead hall? Do things, and be easy in the knowledge that they’ll never be as big as a salamander in the sun.
It is the timelessness, the eternity, of your deeds that makes them shine bright, because you do them unto the Lord. Your life and everything they do are full of glory and meaning because they are forever, not because anyone knows about them now. Ultimately, we are all little. And we little Redeemed Ones are among the great; we shall judge angels. Don’t let life overwhelm. Don’t get lost in the shuffle or the hubbub or the sauce or whatever people get lost in. Instead, walk humbly with your God, live contentedly, study, work with your hands. It will often be hard, but by God’s grace it will be awesome.
Make your parents proud. Love on the old ladies at church. Help your friends study. Get into model painting, or get that summer fishing job in Alaska. Whatever you do, if you do it for the glory of God, you won’t get lost in that sauce.
God bless you.
Joffre Swait Student Life Coordinator
n ote from the s tudent C oun C i L p resident
Hello, Fellow Keplerites!
I am excited to finally be releasing our second Eccentric for the 2023–2024 school year! As you all know, the Eccentric is one of the Student Council’s many tasks each year, but it is also the studen’s task. The Eccentric is entirely student based submission, meaning quite literally it wouldn’t be anything without you all. The Eccentric is a way for students to show their work in a more formal and fun way. I must restate that my Favorite part about Kepler Education is not just its great classes and teachers, but the community we as students build on the Quad, through events and in the Eccentric. Everyone’s creative endeavors and cheerful spirit are what make the Quad and Kepler Life worthwhile.
On a side note, I would like to thank the Student Council, Mr. Swait, and all the submitters for helping to make the Eccentric a reality each year. Finally, as we near the end of this school year, I know from experience it is easy to become overwhelmed with everything that has to be done, especially for seniors getting ready for their next step, or for freshmen who are new to the whole ordeal. But stressing and procrastinating over your tasks won’t help, instead try your best, work hard, and you will succeed! Plus, once you finish you have the opportunity to meet your classmates in person via the annual Lamb Roast in Moscow, ID. I wish you all the best of luck on our final days in the 2023–2024 school year, and for seniors their last days in high school.
Sincerely,
Silas Schlax Student Council President
kepler fireside club
Hey there, fellow Keplerites!
I hope you’re all doing great. We may have had a bit of a rough start with Fireside Club, but we’re working hard to host some awesome events and come up with interesting topics. We’ve had some really fun discussions already, like pitting Greek heroes against Marvel heroes, exploring the differences between a science mindset and a Biblical mindset, and talking about what qualities make a good leader. We’re hoping to keep growing and discussing thought-provoking topics that inspire conversation. I’d like to give a big thanks to Dr. Johnson for being an amazing mentor and philosopher. And of course, everyone is welcome to come join our meetings and have some great conversations with us.
Wesley Johnson Fireside Club President
A m ourner ’s f o LLy
by Marshall Leary
In the mid 1800s, three books were written by the daughters of a poor, obscure Anglican minister. These books went on to become classics that outlived their patronesses by one-hundred and seventy years. These books are titled Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte, The Tenant of Wildfell Hall by Anne Bronte, and of course, Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte. Emily, Jane and Charlotte all lived to see their two sisters Maria and Elizabeth die at a young age. Emily’s book was published in December of 1847, two months after Charlotte’s Jane Eyre was published. Emily died a year later in 1848, along with her other sister Branwell, the same year that Anne’s The Tenant of Wildfell Hall was published. Anne herself died in 1849, six years before Charlotte. With such a tragic life, it’s no surprise that Emily Bronte should have written a tragic story. Wuthering Heights follows a man by the name of Mr. Lockwood as he uncovers the dark history of his landlord’s estate. The man who owns the estate (a man named Heathcliff) is a very wicked and cruel man who is tortured by the memory of his true love, Catherine. Catherine had married another man named Edgar even though her heart resided with Heathcliff. This resulted in what was essentially emotional adultery (although the novel leaves it unclear whether she actually committed adultery with Heathcliff.) Heathcliff, bent on revenge, married Edgar’s sister and abused her. Together they had a child named Linton before she eventually died. From a combination of natural illness, stress concerning her homelife, and the pains of labor, Catherine died a silent death after giving birth to Edgar’s child, who was to be named after her.
The story is a dark and unsettling one, and it’s no surprise that a morbid novel should involve ghostly apparitions to some degree. Bronte, however, ends the story on a skeptic’s note after Heathcliff dies. Lockwood is seen standing over the graves of Heathcliff, Catherine and Edgar.
‘[...] I lingered round them under that benign sky, watched the moths fluttering among the heath and harebells, and listened to the soft wind breathing through the grass, and wondered how any one could ever imagine unquiet slumbers for the sleepers in that quiet earth.’1
The story can be read as a psychological gothic horror, or as a ghost story detailing the supernatural history of the Heights. However, I believe that if we examine the story from the perspective of a person with, as Heathcliff says, “strong faith in ghosts” and “a conviction that they can and do exist among us,”2 we will find that Wuthering Heights is an even deeper, and more brilliant story than we may have initially reckoned.
In Chapter Three of the novel, Mr. Lockwood has been shut into the Heights and is unable to go back to his own residence due to a snowstorm. As such, one of the servants sneaks him into a spare room against Heathcliff’s will where he finds the journals of a certain Catherine Earnshaw, although he finds the name “Earnshaw” (which was Catherine’s maiden name) scratched out and replaced with “Linton,” which was Edgar’s family name. “Linton” was also scratched out and replaced with
1 Jane Eyre, Wuthering Heights , Chapter 34.
2 Ibid., Chapter 29.
“Heathcliff.” Soon enough, Mr. Lockwood falls asleep and we are given this account of the last dream he dreams that night: that a branch is rapping on the window, and it’s frustrating his sleep, which seems to be an actual occurrence, but which leads to a ghostly encounter.
“I must stop it nevertheless!” I muttered, knocking my knuckles through the glass, and stretching an arm out to seize the importunate branch: instead of which, my fingers closed on the fingers of a little, ice-cold hand! The intense horror of nightmare came over me. I tried to draw back my arm, but the hand clung to it, and a most melancholy voice sobbed, “Let me in—let me in!” “Who are you!” I asked, struggling meanwhile to disengage myself. “Catherine Linton,” it replied shiveringly. (Why did I think of Linton ? I had read Earnshaw twenty times for Linton.)3
First, we are to notice that the story makes it a point to tell us that Lockwood would naturally be dreaming of a “Catherine Earnshaw” if this was a product of his own imagination. But instead, we are told that the apparition calls itself “Catherine Linton.” And yet, this would be the name of Catherine’s actual apparition, as Catherine died while married to Edgar Linton.
This is perhaps the most explicit example of a supernatural event or the appearance of a ghostly apparition in the story, although it is most certainly not the only one. This moment is a key in the story, a cornerstone for every other event, especially those of a supernatural persuasion. In order to properly understand its importance, one must examine the entire novel from a global perspective. But before we do that, there are a couple of things worth noting. First of all, Mr. Lockwood had at this point met Catherine’s
daughter, who is also named Catherine (but we’ll call her Cathy for the sake of simplicity). Cathy was forced by Heathcliff to marry Linton (the child of Heathcliff and Edgar’s sister, Isabella) as part of his revenge scheme. By doing this, the Linton’s estate (titled “the Grange”) would be under the control of the Heathcliff family. Linton died of illness shortly thereafter. As such, Cathy was stuck living with Heathcliff and his adopted nephew Hareton in the Heights. Up until Lockwood finds the original Catherine’s books in the spare room, no reference to her has yet been made in the novel. The reader is at first made to believe that this is the same Catherine who Lockwood had met earlier. Or at the very least, there is no reason to suspect otherwise. So why would Lockwood dream of the ghost of a completely different Catherine than the one he had already met? And even if he had suspected that they may be two separate individuals at this point in the story, he has no reason to believe that Catherine Linton is dead.
As it spoke, I discerned obscurely a child’s face looking through the window. Terror made me cruel; and finding it useless to attempt shaking the creature off, I pulled its wrist on to the broken pane and rubbed it to and fro till the blood ran down and soaked the bedclothes.4
The second note is that the ghost appears in the form of a child. This may, at first glance, seem to debunk the theory of a real apparition. But under closer scrutiny, it actually makes perfect sense that this is how her ghost would appear. Catherine was a child for her entire life, not only in the same sense that we all are in our early years. Catherine was also a child as an adult. We see this when Lockwood persists and shouts at the ghost:
3 Ibid., Chapter 3.
4 Ibid.
“Begone!” I shouted; “I’ll never let you in—not if you beg for twenty years.”
“It is twenty years,” mourned the voice—“twenty years. I’ve been a waif for twenty years!” 5
She never let go of her childish imagination or her childish affections. She never adopted a sense of virtue based morality, but always clung to her feelings and immediate desires. The old housekeeper of the Heights (named Nelly) recounts an interaction with Catherine to Mr. Lockwood from years prior:
“Nelly, do you never dream queer dreams?” she said suddenly, after some minute’s reflection.
“Yes; now and then,” I answered.
“And so do I. I’ve dreamt in my life dreams that have stayed with me ever after, and changed my ideas; they’ve gone through and through me, like wine through water, and altered the colour of my mind. And this is one. I’m going to tell it; but take care not to smile at any part of it.”
“Oh! don’t , Miss Catherine!” I cried. “We’re dismal enough without conjuring up ghosts and visions to perplex us […] I won’t hear it, I won’t hear it!” I repeated hastily. I was superstitious about dreams then, and am still; and Catherine had an unusual gloom in her aspect that made me dread something from which I might shape a prophecy and foresee a fearful catastrophe […] 6
The first note to be made is that Nelly fears that Catherine may foresee a dreadful future. This is especially relevant when Catherine tells her the dream a few moments later:
5 Ibid., Chapter 4.
6 Ibid., Chapter 9.
“I was only going to say that heaven did not seem to be my home, and I broke my heart with weeping to come back to earth; and the angels were so angry that they flung me out into the middle of the heath on the top of Wuthering Heights, where I woke sobbing for joy. That will do to explain my secret as well as the other.”7
The catastrophe Nelly fears that Catherine will foresee is that she will not be let into Heaven, but instead will be cast down to earth. It seems an odd note for the author to put, that Catherine might foresee some fearful catastrophe. If the apparition that Mr. Lockwood saw was indeed her real ghost, then it seems Nelly’s fear came to fruition. Catherine also has her affections ordered in a rather childlike way. She holds to the Heights in the same way a child holds to her home and family, viewing heaven as something only to be desired in a vague way, while her real heaven is on earth. Perhaps this is the mindset of many skeptics, but it’s also the mindset of a child who imagines heaven to be nothing more than a series of sermons and maybe a little wine for the grown-ups.
Later in the novel, Catherine is very ill after her marriage to Edgar Linton, and Nelly is charged to take care of her. One evening, Catherine points out the very same window where Lockwood sees the apparition to Nelly, and says:
“Joseph sits up late, doesn’t he? He’s waiting till I come home, that he may lock the gate. Well, he’ll wait a while yet. It’s a rough journey, and a sad heart to travel it; and we must pass by Gimmerton Kirk to go on that journey!” 8
She describes the journey through the moors to reach the Heights. The apparition seen by
7 Ibid.
8 Ibid., Chapter 12.
Lockwood also said that it had gotten lost on the moors.
“Who are you!” I asked, struggling meanwhile to disengage myself. “Catherine Linton,” it replied shiveringly. […] “I’m come home. I’d lost my way on the moor.” As it spoke, I discerned obscurely a child’s face looking through the window.9
In her conversation with Nelly, Catherine then immediately describes invoking ghosts and spirits of the dead:
“We’ve braved its ghosts often together, and dared each other to stand among the graves and ask them to come.” 10
All of this in and of itself could not be properly called “evidence” for her ghost’s appearance at the Heights. Or at least, that would be the case if it were not for the rest of her conversation:
“But, Heathcliff, if I dare you now, will you venture? If you do, I’ll keep you. I’ll not lie there by myself. They may bury me twelve feet deep, and throw the church down over me, but I won’t rest till you are with me. I never will!” 11
Catherine damns herself never to rest in death till she is with Heathcliff again, and so she doesn’t. This scene is crucial to understanding Lockwood’s dream in Chapter 3. And when one puts that earlier scene into perspective, it becomes very difficult to deny the evidence for Catherine’s curse and for Nelly’s fear of prophecy to have come to fruition in the scene where Lockwood dreams of the mysterious specter who calls herself “Catherine Linton.” Cather-
9 Ibid., Chapter 3.
10 Ibid., Chapter 12.
11 Ibid.
ine’s mental health continues to decline, especially when Heathcliff comes home after having mysteriously disappeared three years prior. Heathcliff and Edgar become enemies and within time, cannot stand each other’s presence. Catherine even tells Heathcliff the following:
“You and Edgar have broken my heart, Heathcliff! And you both come to bewail the deed to me, as if you were the people to be pitied! I shall not pity you, not I. You have killed me—and thriven on it, I think. How strong you are! How many years do you mean to live after I am gone?”12
After Catherine’s death, Nelly tries to comfort Heathcliff.
“She lies with a sweet smile on her face, and her latest ideas wandered back to pleasant early days. Her life closed in a gentle dream. May she wake as kindly in the other world!”
“May she wake in torment!” he cried. […] “And I pray one prayer—I repeat it till my tongue stiffens—Catherine Earnshaw, may you not rest as long as I am living! You said I killed you—haunt me, then! The murdered do haunt their murderers, I believe. I know that ghosts have wandered on earth. Be with me always— take any form—drive me mad—only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you! O God! it is unutterable! I cannot live without my life! I cannot live without my soul!” 13
Heathcliff curses Catherine so that she should haunt him as long as he lives. Catherine cursed herself in life so that she should not rest without him in death. Both lovers have cursed her soul
12 Ibid., Chapter 16.
13 Ibid.
and invoked her spirit to haunt Heathcliff. And we see this come to fruition when Heathcliff tries to dig her body out of the grave to cradle in his arms. He tells Nelly at that time:
“It began oddly. You know I was wild after she died, and eternally, from dawn to dawn, praying her to return to me her spirit. I have a strong faith in ghosts; I have a conviction that they can and do exist among us.”’ 14
This is perhaps the first time in the novel that a character is stated to have a real faith in ghosts and the undead. This statement runs in perfect opposition with Lockwood’s skeptical assessment at the end of the novel when he wonders how anyone could imagine that the dead is anything other than, well, dead. However, Heathcliff’s statement of faith in ghosts would seem to be vindicated.
“The day she was buried there came a fall of snow. In the evening, I went to the churchyard. It blew bleak as winter; all round was solitary. […] when it seemed that I heard a sigh from some one above, close to the edge of the grave, and bending down. I knew no living thing in the flesh and blood was by; but as certainly as you perceive the approach to some substantial body in the dark, thought it cannot be discerned, so certainly I felt that Cathy was there—not under me, but on the earth. […] I looked round impatiently; I felt her by me; I could almost see her, and yet I could not ! […] She showed herself, as often was in life, a devil to me! And since then, sometimes more and sometimes less, I’ve been the sport of that intolerable torture—infernal!” 15
14 Ibid., Chapter 29. 15 Ibid.
One could easily make the argument that this is nothing more than psychological trauma when taken out of the larger context of the book. But as Heathcliff cursed Cathy to haunt him, and Cathy cursed herself to haunt him, and Lockwood seems to have seen her undead spirit haunting the heights, it becomes far more reasonable to assume that this scene is a real instance of the supernatural within the setting of a novel.
All of this together makes for a rather complex system of curses and ghost sightings that all seem to be interconnected, beyond what one could reasonably call a coincidence in a fictitious gothic horror novel. All of these relate to Catherine’s ghost, and they all call the reader back to that very first night in the Heights where Lockwood encounters the weeping child who calls herself “Catherine Linton.” However, there is some evidence near the end of the book that implies that Heathcliff and Catherine continue to haunt the Heights (which is what Heathcliff desires) after Heathcliff himself dies. Nelly tells him:
“[…] how unfit you will be for […] heaven, unless a change takes place before you die[.]” […]
[…Heathcliff replies,]“I tell you I have nearly attained my heaven, and that of others is altogether unvalued and uncoveted by me.” 16
Heathcliff is unfit for Heaven, much like Catherine according to Nelly. If Catherine binds her soul to the Heights in life and this bond remains in death, and Heathcliff bonds his soul to Catherine in life and that bond too remains in death, then we should expect both of their souls to wander the corridors and moors surrounding Wuthering Heights. And this is exactly what we see in a conversation between Lockwood and a shepherd boy near the end of the novel:
16 Ibid., Chapter 34.
But the country folks, if you ask them, would swear on the Bible that he walks .
There are those who speak to having met him near the church, and on the moor, and even within this house. Idle tales, you’ll say, and so say I. […]
[…] I was going to the Grange one evening—a dark evening, threatening thunder; and just at the turn of the Heights I encountered a little boy with a sheep and two lambs before him. He was crying terribly, and I supposed the lambs were skittish and would not be guided.
“What is the matter, my little man?” I asked.
“There’s Heathcliff and a woman yonder, under t’ nab,” he blubbered, “un I darnut [dare not] pass ’em.”
I saw nothing; but neither the sheep nor he would go on, so I bade him take the road lower down.17
Not only Lockwood, but also Nelly embraces a skepticism of the undead in the final scenes of the book:
“Why, Joseph will take care of the house, and perhaps a lad to keep him company. They will live in the kitchen and the rest will be shut up.”
“For the use of such ghosts as choose to inhabit it,” I observed.
“No, Mr. Lockwood,” said Nelly, shaking her head. “I believe the dead are at peace, but it is not right to speak of them with such levity.” 18
This would seem to debunk the theory of supernaturality entirely, but I believe this to be a red herring. The book makes a point of telling us that even the shepherd boy’s sheep would
17 Ibid.
18 Ibid.
not go down the road where he had claimed to have seen the ghosts of Heathcliff and Catherine. Lockwood’s assertion leaves the book on an eerie, uneasy note, the same note that any good ghost story should end on. In the same way that a truly happy spouse doesn’t need to defend or clarify that he or she is happy in his or her marriage, a novel written about the inner-drama of two families and their disputes doesn’t need to defend itself as “not a ghost story.” Instead, the entire book would seem to at the very least heavily imply that there are supernatural gears within the novel’s clock, and to end on the skeptic’s note seems to be a mockery of the character of Lockwood, while simultaneously putting the reader to some degree of unease, as if it’s implying the opposite of what the narrator is actually saying.
In the end, whether Wuthering Heights is a ghost story or nothing more than a cautionary tale about idolatrous love, the moral of the story is the same. When one fixes his eyes on the material world with no sight of the other, he all too easily forgets that he does in fact have a soul. We are each only given one. Dedicate that soul to God, or who knows what hell it will be cast to.
by Ruth Lawton
Jellyfish
by Hailey Hasic
Tiny frilled and dancing lady, Dance your pirouette once more, Seeming fair and striking deadly, Bold in color, pain in store. How your tissued, lacy ballgown Minds me of the days gone by! With your puffy sleeves and headdress, How you float and ripple by.
I can see your gentle breathing, As you glide across the floor: Sweetling sighs and kisses deadly, Turn your pirouette once more.
e unoi A
10th Grade Fiction
by Hadley Adkins
C h A pter 1: d ier A
I took a deep breath, feeling the rain beat against me. As the lightning flashed around me, it lit up the night sky, and I saw the gleams of armor and swords in mid-air, crashing against fellow swords.
“Your majesty!” I heard someone shout over the roar of thunder. I turned my head to see one of my knights, bloody and battle-worn, stumble towards me. “You must leave! Nefron can not lose its Queen!”
I gripped my sword tighter, raising my shield as the next wave of enemies approached.
“I have to protect this kingdom! If I die while doing it, so be it,” I told him. “Rally the troops, we must not let them pass.”
The knight nodded and called to his fellow knights around us. As the enemy kingdom approached, I raised my sword, the lighting in the sky making it glow.
“For Nefron!” I shouted, and I heard the same cry repeated down the lines. I took a deep breath, knowing what was coming next, then started the charge. This would be the battle that determined my kingdom’s fate, I could not let such people overtake it. I ran faster, my heart beating with each step. I could see the King’s face now, his evil smile brightened by lighting. This was it…
“Ms Duman!”
My eyes shot open, blinking at the sudden change in lights. I glanced around in a daze until my eyes focused on someone in front of me. Someone wearing a familiar blue striped
shirt… I felt my face grow hot as I realized what was going on.
“Do you think yourself to be above such lessons, Ms Duman?” My teacher, Mr. Iyan, asked angrily. I glanced around me, seeing all of my classmates eyes on me. I had fallen asleep in class. Again.
“Um… no, sir,” I mumbled, glancing at the ground to escape my teacher’s glare.
“Then please explain why you saw fit to fall asleep in my class?!” He asked, his foot tapping in anger. I didn’t look up, letting my long hair cover my blushing face. It was bad enough I fell asleep in class, but it was a living nightmare to fall asleep in Mr. Iyan’s.
“I’m sorry,” I muttered, my eyes trained on Mr. Iyan’s tapping foot. I heard the snickers of my classmates, and Mr. Iyan sighed.
“Quiet class!” He barked. “Ms Duman, if I catch you asleep in my class again, it will be detention.”
I nodded, and as Mr. Iyan went back to teaching his history lesson, I brought out my notebook and opened it to a blank page. As I started writing, I felt my mind wander back to the dream I had. It was a good one. I had been Queen, fighting for my kingdom bravely. I softly smiled, absently sketching out the crown from my dream as Mr. Iyan continued his lecture.
♦♦♦
As soon as I arrived home after school, I noticed a note left by my mom on the coffee table. I took off my coat, picked up the note,
and read it. The note said that she was needed at the office and that there were some leftovers in the fridge if she couldn’t make it back in time for dinner. I sighed and put the note in my pocket. I knew that if Mom had to be at the office, dinner would be late since my dad also comes back home late. I went to the kitchen, grabbed a bar for a quick snack, and then headed towards my room. Once there, I lay down on my bed, took a well-worn book from my shelf, and opened it. Although I should have been doing my school work, I couldn’t resist finishing my favorite part of the book that I had started reading last night before falling asleep. I opened the book to my last page, and a smile spread across my face. Whenever I opened my books, the familiar comfort would wash over me with each page I read. It felt like home.
The red flames danced around my fingers, casting a warm glow on my hand. I looked over at the guy in front of me and asked, “You told me I was normal. Did you know?”
He answered with a grin, “Know that you, of all people, were an element manipulator? Diera, I don’t think anyone knew.” He watched as I twirled the flames, his grin growing wider. “Diera, this is awesome! You can control fire!”
I chuckled at his excitement, letting the flames grow larger. “Yeah,” I replied in a daze, “pretty awesome.”
With a final smile, I closed my fist, extinguishing the flames, leaving my hand feeling cold and empty. Suddenly, we heard the voice of our captain calling out to us. “Felix! Diera!”
I flinched at the sound. “We forgot the supplies, didn’t we?” I said, noticing the empty bag at our feet.
“We’re so dead,” Felix muttered.
“Where did those two get to?” Captain Alto’s voice was getting closer, so we had to make a decision.
“Do we stay or…” I trailed off, letting Felix fill in the blanks. He started grinning and grabbed the bag.
“After you, Milady,” he said, pretending to bow. I pushed his helping hand away and started climbing up the boxes leading to our escape. Just as Felix and I made it to the top of the wall, I saw Captain Alto appear around the corner, spotting us on the wall. His face transformed from rage to surprise.
“What are—”
Felix cut him off, “Have a good day, mister,” waving before hopping down on the other side. I let out a laugh before following Felix, and we both ran through the alley, hearing the yells of Captain Alto among our laughter…
I opened my eyes and felt my book on my cheek. It was still early, just 4:30 in the afternoon. I got up, stretched, and went downstairs to heat up some leftovers for an early dinner. I put last night’s chicken in the microwave and grabbed some grapes from the fridge. While waiting for the chicken to heat up, I thought about my dream from the previous night. I remembered the names Felix and Alto, which appeared in my earlier dreams, but this time the world was different. Despite the changes, there was still a sense of familiarity in the midst of the unknown world.
And while some may find it strange, I couldn’t help but feel grateful for my vivid imagination and the worlds it created for me every night. It was like having a personal escape from reality, a place where anything was possible and everything was under my control. So I continued to embrace my love for dreaming, cherishing every moment I spent in those alternate realities, and eagerly looking forward to the next adventure my mind would take me on.
Submission by Hailey Hasic
I felt the knees of my stiff heart Buckle, bend, cave in at last. A holy echo filled the smart, When love came down like broken glass. A shift, a change, and I was still: Dethroned, I gazed upon my Lord. I whispered: “Father, do Thy will,” He slew me with His Living Sword.
C opiousness A nd C ommonp LAC es
by Scott Postma
Walt Disney once said something to the effect that he would rather entertain with the hope people would be educated than try to educate with the hope they were entertained. Though, in some ways this is probably a false dilemma, the notion deserves to be pondered.
Successful communicators know that if they hope to persuade on a given topic, win a legal argument, or move a person to action, in addition to arguing a reasonable point, they must also entertain their audience—more correctly stated, they need to be able to delightfully hold the attention of their audience from beginning to end. You can think about it this way, an enlightened audience will only be so if it is also a delighted audience. Uninteresting writers and boring speakers create sleepy readers and unmotivated listeners. To be interesting, a writer or speaker must possess something we call copiousness . Derived from the Latin copia , copiousness literally means abundance.
It refers to the stuff writing and speaking is made of. It is the material accumulated by the experiences of life, the fodder of failure, and the absorption of wisdom that makes the writer or speaker—and whatever he or she has to say—interesting and meaningful. Copiousness is possessing a deep, refreshing pool of ideas, truths, and anecdotes from which to draw delightful, compelling arguments.
This is where the commonplace is helpful. In classical rhetoric a commonplace is a pithy maxim, a striking quote, or a delightful morsel of knowledge that is often held in common by tribes and communities. The term is derived from the Latin phrase locis communis , literally, common ground. One author captures this idea by defining a commonplace as “commonly-held worldview phrases circulated in every community.” 1 Examples of familiar common -
1
places are expressions like “spare the rod and spoil the child,” or “Mind your p’s and q’s.” The former is a maxim taken from the book of Proverbs (13:24), which is itself a kind of commonplace book compiled by Solomon, the ancient king of Israel. The latter is an English expression meaning to “mind one’s manners,” probably derived from the schoolhouse where children tended to mix up the p and the q , or from the pub where the patrons were reminded to watch their alcohol consumption, which came in pints and quarts.
Writers and speakers have long collected delightful poetry, clever quotations, pithy proverbs, and striking phrases, and compiled them into a florilegium, or what is often referred to as a commonplace book. Collecting, studying, and reflecting on commonplaces is just one effective and practical means of cultivating copiousness. But it is not the only means. As the author of Fitting Words aptly observes, “Developing copiousness starts with maintaining an excellent education, reading the best books, and talking with wise men and women. It continues by expanding your life experiences.” 2
Having copiousness is more than just possessing a huge pile of random facts and trivia one can reach into and toss out at a whim; rather, it is the idea of oneself being full—overflowing—with nuggets of truth and words of wisdom that are easily recognizable to one’s audience. Filling oneself with “true thoughts and wise words” will not happen automatically. It must be done on purpose. Being too occupied with amusements to read books, too prideful
2 James Nance, Fitting Words: Classical Rhetoric for the Christian Student (Moscow, Idaho: Roman Roads Press, 2016), 90.
to ask questions, or too lazy to think through difficult problems and important issues impedes the development of copiousness. As one author satirically quipped, “If you listen to stupid music, watch stupid movies, and read stupid books… well, congratulations, you’re stupid. And, being stupid, you have failed in the pursuit of effective communication at the outset.” 3 Like a garden that must be tilled, planted, watered, and weeded, copiousness is cultivated—a work that takes time and effort. It is developed through life experience and the purposeful, pleasant discipline of reading many good books, making a point of thinking about what is read, and collecting the best thoughts and ideas on a variety of topics.
3 Douglas Wilson and Nathan D. Wilson, The Rhetoric Companion , 24.
