Bethel University - Spire Yearbook (St Paul, MN)

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Doug Barkey First place visual arts competition.

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I’d grown up in a good church. I had always been a (reasonably) good kid. Everyone expected me to go far. What had happened? I came to Bethel hot on the trail of success. Here was my chance for becoming a spiritual, intellectual, and emotional giant. My freshman year was characterized by academic and spiritual zeal. My battle cry in the crusade for self-improvement was, “1 can, I will, and I’m going to!” This crusade led me hundreds of miles from home that summer, to a door-to-door book selling job. It was the ultimate symbol of my transformation from awkward kid to mature man. When I came home — with my tail between my legs and a $190 debt around my neck — my confident battle cry had abruptly changed to a despairing, “I can’t. 1 won’t, and 1 never will.” This new world was unfair and unbearable. To defend my self. I accepted the whispered invitation to ignore this world and “slip into something more comfortable.” Time that hac previously been spent in necessities like study and sleep was spent in fantasizing and day dreaming. 1 did what I wanted, made up my own rules, and said “To hell with the consequences.” The consequences, however, were not listening. Neglected obligations and responsibilities began to crush me. Soon, my traditional “I don't care anyway,” sounded hollow even to me. I did care about my lack of integrity and diligence, but it seemed too late to do anything about it. My last support was kicked out from under me. Once more, everything I did and said came back to me. bearing a damning prophesy: “You can’t, you won’t and you never will.” All this came back to me in the car. like a hellish 8-track playing over and over, with devastating accusations and taunts burned into each track. 1 couldn’t turn it off. I was on the verge of desperately silencing it altogether when a clear, distinct thought came to me: “Now. Stop now or it will be too late.’’ Suddenly, like the breaking of a fever, 1 took my foot off the pedal and the whole world slowed down. When faced with the realities of life I could easily sink into the comforting arms of fantasy, but when I peered gingerly over the edge of the pit, my intentions of jumping disappeared. It was too permanent. It didn't seem nearly as attractive a solution once 1 got right up next to it. I had known hope once before. Maybe I could find a scrap of it again. I turned down the radio and headed home with a headache and a mouth like cotton. The long days of mounting hopelessness and self-hate had left me exhausted. The numbness hadn’t gone, and neither had the oppressive problems; yet, I at least had a weary, hesitant, “Perhaps.” Daniel Miller First place literary competition.

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