We are a world sick with evil, torn by opinions and a lack of restraint. We call ourselves victims of confusion, and we have indeed confused ourselves, but it is because we have rejected the only solid source of truth there is: God Himself. This is nothing new: according to Romans 1:18-32, God’s law is written in the heart of mankind, but we choose to suppress the truth anyway, and give ourselves up to total unrighteousness, living solely by lies we call truth in a weak attempt to justify ourselves, believing we are wise, when in fact we are fools (Romans 1:22). Trying to define truth on our own is an attempt to usurp God, who is the God of truth and all that is good. In Genesis it was not because Adam and Eve believed the serpent that sin entered the world, but because they decided for themselves the fruit was pleasant and desirable to give them the knowledge of good and evil, despite God’s warning (Genesis 3:4-6). It was their disobedience to God’s instruction that brought death. Man’s opinion is as unstable as a stormy sea; our judgment is stained by sin. We are too human to decide what truth is, but we were never meant to decide in the first place. “There is a way that seems right to man, but its end leads to death” (Proverbs 14:12). This warning proves repeatedly to be no exaggeration. Throughout the history of Israel, whenever the Jewish people turned from God and His laws, punishment followed: drought, exile, invasion, et cetera. Judgment was the consequence when there was no regard for God and the people did what was right in their own eyes (Judges 17:6, 21:25). As Romans 2:8 states, “those who deny the truth but obey unrighteousness will receive wrath and fury.” Only God has the right to decide what is true because He Himself is truth. The prophet Isaiah states that God is “the God of truth” (Isaiah 65:16), and Jesus said “I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except by me” (John 14:6 ). God cannot lie (Titus 1:2), nor can He change His mind (Numbers 23:19). Who shaped the earth? Who holds the winds in His hands (Proverbs 30:4-6)? Who, therefore, has the right to decide what is good, just, and true? Not man, but God alone. Truth is solid and constant, not fluid and every-changing. Truth is defined by God, not by man. We ought to look to the Lord for answers, not to our own understanding. A righteous man lives by God’s law (Psalm 119), and we have no need to worry. He is a loving God, but we must also remember He is just, perfect and upright in all His ways (Deuteronomy 32:4). There was a group of Christians, the Berean Jews, who eagerly accepted the gospel message, comparing it to the Holy Scriptures to determine whether the teachings were true, by looking to the Lord (Acts 17:11), because the scriptures are the living words of God Himself (2 Timothy 3:16). We do not need to find comfort in our own unsteady version of truth. God is the absolute, undefeatable truth, and He has given us everything we need to know this.

In the year 1988, the United States of America's first Taekwondo team won second their portion at the Olympics in Seoul, South Korea, under the guidance and instruction of their coach, Grandmaster Sang Chul Lee, who had been born and raised in South Korea, who had moved to the United States with his wife, carrying no more than a hundred dollars in his pocket, and working as a janitor for many years before beginning to teach martial arts in the U.S. The significance of the first U.S. Taekwondo team's success in 1988, having won against South Korea, where the art originated, was undeniably incredible; this inspires me to work hard in this area of sport. Grandmaster Lee is no longer the coach of the U.S. Taekwondo team, but, given that I am a student at one of the dojangs he established himself, he is a natural choice for me -- I love Taekwondo, and I am ever grateful for the hard work he put into his students, and creating an atmosphere where we can learn well, to focus, to develop self-discipline, and treat everyone in the school with respect; respect is our first, and most important, core standard. It is not the art of fighting that Grandmaster Lee introduced and taught, but the art of discipline, hard work, and respect through a traditional fighting style. And these virtues he practiced himself -- for example, Grandmaster Lee can do incredible things; he is generally credited with the invention of the axe kick -- he is an eight dan black belt, out of ten to possibly earn, but, he refused to be greater than his own master out of respect, and chose not to test further than eight. This is humility; this is choosing others over self-gain. Taekwondo is not a trendy fashion; it is an art -- it is blood, sweat, and tears, and then we get back up to do it again. It is not about fighting; it is about character, and all this was evident in Grandmaster Lee and his living legacy. This is why, though he is no longer on Team USA as a coach, and, as far as I know, he no longer competes as an athlete in general, he is still one of my favorites.

The night was dark and still; quiet, if you will, and if I were to glance out the bedroom windows -- to peek out the curtains -- I would see soft, mounds of thick snow clinging to the maple branches, and resting, draped across the eaves. I had been drifting off and on between slumber and wakefulness, snugly buried in the old comforter, with my stuffed bunnies, and cats, and horses, and oh, the whole zoo, I suppose. "Sarah," someone whispered, and gave me a little shake. I looked up, and it was my father; how unusual. This was long after I had been sent to bed, my young mind believing I had been tucked in my covers for hours, for I was the only one of my siblings awake. My father led me to the living room, and helped me bundle up in my coat and scarf, "we're going to the backyard," I think he said, and I like to think there was some excitement in the way he spoke. We were going outside to play in the snow, in the quiet of that peaceful winter night, when the snow had ne'er been touched -- the best kind of snow, but it would be just us two, with the whole yard to be explored. Into the chill we stepped, as softly as mice, and hardly a word. The sky overhead was seen here and there through the emptied, blizzard clouds, showing stars winking far off in the heavens above. The bare earth had been swathed in thick blankets of snow, washed over in violets and blues by the shadow of the night, and shadows cast over shadows by our great elderly maple and pine, and lit only in gently glimmering patches by the moon. My father and I shuffled around in the drifts, and I -- delighted by the unexpected adventure -- began to pack the snow with him, slowly, and with great care, into sturdy, cold spheres. We worked, in the very middle of that otherworldly, transformed yard, molding from the frosted banks a man, as if we were freeing David from the stone like the great Michelangelo. I took off my scarf, and wrapped it around the little man, rolled up to as high as my shoulders. My father went inside to our fridge, brought back a carrot stick, and together we fashioned the face. When done, we smiled and stood back, satisfied, where our little man sat, with his scarf and gleeful face, just him, and my father, and I, in the late of the tranquil night.

I found a wardrobe once in my aunt's workplace, and even though I was too old to wonder about such things, I looked inside for Narnia anyway. To my great disappointment, there were no pathways to Mr. Tumnus' house, nor any Aslan to share deep conversations with. C.S. Lewis has been a favorite author of mine for quite a long time, not just because of how well he told The Lion, The Witch, And The Wardrobe, but also because of himself. He was a man who cared about people, and it was obvious he took his broad influence very seriously and, regarding the people, very lovingly. The book itself reflected this devout kindness and thoughtfulness through what he chose to include in his stories. The themes of sacrifice, forgiveness, redemption, and love all ring true in The Lion, The Witch, And The Wardrobe, and it was no wonder it had the effect that it did on those who read it, even generations later. Storytelling is a powerful tool; throughout history, stories have been used to teach morality, ease stress, and inspire growth, turning whole cultures this way and that. Unfortunately, not all stories have a positive effect on the world, but the trouble lies not in the stories themselves, but in whether or not this incredible tool is respected. Writing is like fire; it can either warm a home or burn it down, and all too often both of these result in the latter because they were not handled properly. While I was in high school, I became enthralled with stories that were truly a waste of my time; while I deeply regret the hours I wasted doing this, I do remember learning one valuable lesson. Not all people treat their stories with care and respect - some people take stories with potential and twist what could have been wonderful into something appalling. Bad stories tend to cheat, by using a wide array of tools that are guaranteed to unhealthily grab any reader; sensuality, pain, vulnerability, and revenge, to name a few; all of these prey on human desire and emotion in a deceptive, manipulative way, feeding the hunger for seductive, addicting evil. And I know this because I was one of those types of authors myself until I realized what I was doing. Because of this, I make it a rule to think of characters as extensions of their creator, because characters, worlds, and plotlines are made from the imagination; the imagination of the author, and no one else. Because the story is so close to the author, how he goes about writing it is a reflection of his heart; what he values, what he believes. If a story is handled with love and care, and it reflects the author in beauty, then the story can stand; it is no longer a product, but a masterpiece. A story made with care will not only have strength, but the ability to inspire people; there is nothing people care more for than to be loved themselves, and we can tell when love has been written between the lines because there is always something different about those kinds of stories. I want to use writing as a way to help people heal and inspire them to change for the better, to tell their own stories. I am not a perfect person, nor am I a perfect writer; but I have full intentions to grow, too, both in my skill as a writer and in life. I expect to fail, but I also expect to learn. The quality of my writing will not be the same five years from now, nor do I want it to be, because most of all I want to tell good stories; stories that remind people there is still genuine lovingkindness and forgiveness in the world, just as Lucy Pevensie gave freely to even those who betrayed her; just as she, and Peter, and Susan, chose to save Edmund; just as Aslan the Lion did at the Stone Table.

Art can heal; I say this out of personal experience, as I have grown from a child to a teen, and from a teen to an adult. When I was still very young, it was not unusual for me to be found drawing on paper, using any kind of surface I could find, such as the bills and the wall -- Thankfully, the part of building character also meant I moved on to the canvas and paper. Throughout my life, art has allowed me to channel my emotions, even when the artwork itself was not a reflection of feelings; a painting of the sea may well be a mere painting of the sea, but the artist processes a wide range of motions over many different kinds of days while doing so. Growing up, I had many emotional problems, such as anger, fear, anxiety, and confusion, to name a few. Through art I was able to calm down, even if the piece itself was completely unrelated to my feelings -- the simple act of making something I believed was beautiful was enough. When I make art, I have found I do more than make visual spectacles. I make art with purpose, to communicate, and tell a story. Art can be a powerful storyteller when used correctly and treated as more than a way to gain popularity and money, or a way to feed unhealthy desires; art can incite feelings, and that makes it something to be handled with respect. The color orange, an array of circular objects, and soft lighting can inspire feelings of comfort: but the color blue, harshly drawn objects and high contrast in value, imbalance in a single space, will create unease in its viewer. By learning methods such as color theory, shape, value, space, and so forth, I have learned how to tell visual stories effectively without having to explain my work. Artists can choose when to stop intentionally developing their skills, but as with any passion, artists who a serious about their work will always leave room for growth. I have chosen to pursue writing and illustration because I dearly love bringing stories to life both visually and orally. My financial situation, however, has made it difficult to enjoy making art because I worry about where to get the funds I need to continue my education, as I come from a relatively low-income background. I deeply wish to become a better artist, and by making art enjoyable again, I believe that I can.