college essays: a dilemma
i have two college essays that i have revised the pants off of. they are kind of similar in format and theme, but i need to choose one soon. please, please read them if you have time and let me know which one you like better. thank you.
ESSAY #1
As I stood at the edge of the world and scanned the sea of yellow poppies beneath me, I wondered how life had managed to lead me there. Broken sentences spoken in Arabic drifted through my ears, and I stood still for a moment to take everything in. There was so much to ponder that any single thought seemed insignificant. While I allowed my mind to glide from topic to topic, a gentle breeze called my attention to the left. I had enjoyed my peaceful solitude atop this mountain, but now as his shadow grew in my peripheral vision, as I felt his paternal hand on my shoulder, as I followed the rise and fall of his voice, the poppies became nothing but a fuzzy yellow smear. “Blessed are the poor in spirit: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.”
And just like that, I was drawn back to the family room of our cozy blue house. I watched the two of us, reading over those take-home religious education workbooks the Church gives you if you don’t want to attend the full class. There we slouched at the wooden dinner table that curiously lacked a tablecloth. I had raindrops in my eyes then, too. If only he had let me skip this chapter, I would have done the dishes for a week. Actually, he probably wouldn’t have had to worry about them for a month. It was by no means a difficult lesson, but for whatever reason, I wanted no part in learning the eight Catholic Beatitudes. We sat under the intimidating Coca-Cola lamp for two hours that night, but after all the listless moans and perseverance, I finished. Blessed are the children who complete their religion lessons: for they shall be free to watch television.
Snapping back to the present, I could only shake my head and smile at the evolution my spirituality had gone through. I realized then that fate has a sense of humor; this moment, which I would have once sold my soul to skip, was now the one I wished would never end. Had I not been forced to gain an understanding of the Beatitudes in a lesson years ago, my experience that day on our pilgrimage in Israel would have been far less significant. Now, resting in the morning sunlight in this place where His son once taught was enough to make my voice quiver before I even spoke. I reached up to wrap my fingers around my father’s, choked out a “thank you”, and we shared the moment He had been leading us to all along.
As I enter into a new phase of my life, I feel confident and excited. I am eager to discover my role in life as it was meant to be. Where will He guide me next? I don’t know, but I’m ready.
ESSAY #2
I spoke with Pete only a handful of times, mostly in passing, and now that I think about it, I don’t even know his last name. But one name was enough. Pete was just Pete, and that was all right. These are the thoughts weaving in and out of my head as I distractedly flip through pages of photo albums scattered in our church basement. Several tables line the floor and friends gather to reminisce about those inspirational February days we shared earlier in the year. Those days we shared with Pete. As my eyes scan page after page of immaculate churches and choppy Galilean waters, I focus my attention to a single image. There he is, gazing into my soul from beneath his little plastic photo cover. He poses against the yellow floral backdrop of the hill that’s come to be the strongest symbol of hope I could ever imagine.
Closing my eyes, I manage to pause time for a moment, and when I allow it to resume I’m back in Israel, on this “hill of hope”, resting on a stone and wilting in the tranquil breeze. When I twist my neck the right way, I can just view the pathway we had recently walked, the pathway on which Father DeLaire told us the Son of Man had begun his journey of enlightenment thousands of years ago. Father shatters the unwavering silence by asking if we would care to share our thoughts. This is Pete’s big moment. Whether he knows it or not, he is about to change at least one person’s outlook on life. I twirl a yellow poppy between two fingers and stare at my feet as I listen to Pete’s simple yet articulate profession. “Now that I have truly walked in His footsteps, He can take me whenever He’s ready.” With those sixteen words still resounding in my mind, I am pulled forward to the present.
This captured memory of Pete is so poetically profound that I struggle to grasp its tangibility. I squint my eyes and blink erratically before peeking once more, and sure enough, he hasn’t moved. I suppose he’d never really moved all along. While Pete isn’t physically with us at the reunion this evening, he is there. I know he is, and in this sense, I know that his dreams have been realized. Pete continues to walk in His footsteps, and I can feel them both standing beside us throughout the night as a reminder of the life promised to those who exhaust what this world has to offer.
Maybe death is nothing to fear after all.
ESSAY #1
As I stood at the edge of the world and scanned the sea of yellow poppies beneath me, I wondered how life had managed to lead me there. Broken sentences spoken in Arabic drifted through my ears, and I stood still for a moment to take everything in. There was so much to ponder that any single thought seemed insignificant. While I allowed my mind to glide from topic to topic, a gentle breeze called my attention to the left. I had enjoyed my peaceful solitude atop this mountain, but now as his shadow grew in my peripheral vision, as I felt his paternal hand on my shoulder, as I followed the rise and fall of his voice, the poppies became nothing but a fuzzy yellow smear. “Blessed are the poor in spirit: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.”
And just like that, I was drawn back to the family room of our cozy blue house. I watched the two of us, reading over those take-home religious education workbooks the Church gives you if you don’t want to attend the full class. There we slouched at the wooden dinner table that curiously lacked a tablecloth. I had raindrops in my eyes then, too. If only he had let me skip this chapter, I would have done the dishes for a week. Actually, he probably wouldn’t have had to worry about them for a month. It was by no means a difficult lesson, but for whatever reason, I wanted no part in learning the eight Catholic Beatitudes. We sat under the intimidating Coca-Cola lamp for two hours that night, but after all the listless moans and perseverance, I finished. Blessed are the children who complete their religion lessons: for they shall be free to watch television.
Snapping back to the present, I could only shake my head and smile at the evolution my spirituality had gone through. I realized then that fate has a sense of humor; this moment, which I would have once sold my soul to skip, was now the one I wished would never end. Had I not been forced to gain an understanding of the Beatitudes in a lesson years ago, my experience that day on our pilgrimage in Israel would have been far less significant. Now, resting in the morning sunlight in this place where His son once taught was enough to make my voice quiver before I even spoke. I reached up to wrap my fingers around my father’s, choked out a “thank you”, and we shared the moment He had been leading us to all along.
As I enter into a new phase of my life, I feel confident and excited. I am eager to discover my role in life as it was meant to be. Where will He guide me next? I don’t know, but I’m ready.
ESSAY #2
I spoke with Pete only a handful of times, mostly in passing, and now that I think about it, I don’t even know his last name. But one name was enough. Pete was just Pete, and that was all right. These are the thoughts weaving in and out of my head as I distractedly flip through pages of photo albums scattered in our church basement. Several tables line the floor and friends gather to reminisce about those inspirational February days we shared earlier in the year. Those days we shared with Pete. As my eyes scan page after page of immaculate churches and choppy Galilean waters, I focus my attention to a single image. There he is, gazing into my soul from beneath his little plastic photo cover. He poses against the yellow floral backdrop of the hill that’s come to be the strongest symbol of hope I could ever imagine.
Closing my eyes, I manage to pause time for a moment, and when I allow it to resume I’m back in Israel, on this “hill of hope”, resting on a stone and wilting in the tranquil breeze. When I twist my neck the right way, I can just view the pathway we had recently walked, the pathway on which Father DeLaire told us the Son of Man had begun his journey of enlightenment thousands of years ago. Father shatters the unwavering silence by asking if we would care to share our thoughts. This is Pete’s big moment. Whether he knows it or not, he is about to change at least one person’s outlook on life. I twirl a yellow poppy between two fingers and stare at my feet as I listen to Pete’s simple yet articulate profession. “Now that I have truly walked in His footsteps, He can take me whenever He’s ready.” With those sixteen words still resounding in my mind, I am pulled forward to the present.
This captured memory of Pete is so poetically profound that I struggle to grasp its tangibility. I squint my eyes and blink erratically before peeking once more, and sure enough, he hasn’t moved. I suppose he’d never really moved all along. While Pete isn’t physically with us at the reunion this evening, he is there. I know he is, and in this sense, I know that his dreams have been realized. Pete continues to walk in His footsteps, and I can feel them both standing beside us throughout the night as a reminder of the life promised to those who exhaust what this world has to offer.
Maybe death is nothing to fear after all.