BYUH hosted a Founder's Day essay contest last month that I decided to enter. I'm not much of a writer, but I assembled my thoughts on "Becoming an instrument of peace" and suprisingly produced a work that was named second place in the competition. I was shocked at the news as I haven't written essays in years, but grateful for the honor. I suppose its a bit easier to articulate a point through writing when the topic is something personal.
Patterns of Peace
Kent D. Carollo
February 1, 2008
Studying how to carve traditional Maori figures has granted me insight on how to establish patterns of peace in the world. A simple curve carved on a wooden surface spreads breathtaking designs when repeated. Like strokes in the wood, patterns of peace are made in the world by learning, living, and leaving a legacy of goodness that can be repeated to create a masterpiece.
Maori master carvers pass their craft from generation to generation by teaching ancestral patterns, designs and history to young pupils. Students learn to carve basic shapes that can be repeated to generate full works of art. My apprenticeship as a cultural artisan has taught me to learn from those who are expert at their craft. Ascertaining peace-promoting qualities has been most successful when I have learned them from those who have mastered them.
Before I knew how to spell the word “honest” I knew its meaning from observing my father. He was an artisan of integrity who had been practicing the skills of truthfulness for years. I never saw him lie, cheat or steal, and if he ever caught me attempting such a scheme, he would help me understand why I should choose to do otherwise. My father’s fine workmanship etched patterns of peace in me. Because he was trustworthy he too could trust. Because he cared for others, others cared for him. Because he lived honestly, I learned honesty.
Absorbing the history of detailed Maori figures and eye-balling the intricate work of other carvers, while helpful, has not been enough to transform me into a carver, myself. I’ve had to practice the simple strokes I’ve been taught to bring patterns out of the wood.
He was the brother of a good friend, but somehow that still didn’t change the fact that I’d be lying. “If you would just write a note saying that I completed the community service through your church, then I won’t have to worry about this mess anymore,” he pleaded. I wanted to help my friend’s brother, but the truth was he hadn’t performed any of the twenty-four hours of service required for his release from probation. I knew I had to be honest. I explained my motives for rejecting his request, and apologetically hung up the phone, knowing I had lived by what I’d learned. That simple decision and others that followed engraved my identity with a design visible to those around me. A pattern of peace.
The visual legacies left by ancient and modern artisans of New Zealand are irrefutably marked in their wooden works. The skills they acquired throughout their lifetimes speak in the curl and flow of their masterpieces. Long after their departure from the world, their patterns remain to inspire and educate those following in their footsteps.
A letter came just a few weeks after I returned home, and I was surprised to see that it was addressed directly to my parents and not me. My father opened the envelope wondering, as I was, what my old companion would be writing for. “Dear Brother and Sister Carollo…” my father started. “I wanted to write to let you know what an example your son has been to me….” The words of my former mission companion were unexpected. I sat in awe wondering how anyone would consider me an example, and yet the words of the letter were clear. The marks of my patterns must have been bolder than I thought. I suppose lines of my lifestyle had been carved out as I learned from so many people in the past two years. Designs I had once studied were now emerging in me for others to draw from. Patterns of peace I had learned and lived were beginning to define my legacy.
To learn the sacred scrawls of the Maori people takes time and practice. Learning to be an instrument of peace in the world demands the same discipline. Peace is not immediate. It starts with simple behaviors like honesty, which are learned, practiced, and passed on to others, making righteous ripples in the surface of humanity. I have learned peace from those who know it. I have strived to live by the knowledge I’ve acquired, and to practice daily those attributes that will leave a legacy to inspire the hearts of those around me. I am not a master of the craft, but merely an apprentice learning to carve patterns of peace.
Patterns of Peace
Kent D. Carollo
February 1, 2008
Studying how to carve traditional Maori figures has granted me insight on how to establish patterns of peace in the world. A simple curve carved on a wooden surface spreads breathtaking designs when repeated. Like strokes in the wood, patterns of peace are made in the world by learning, living, and leaving a legacy of goodness that can be repeated to create a masterpiece.
Maori master carvers pass their craft from generation to generation by teaching ancestral patterns, designs and history to young pupils. Students learn to carve basic shapes that can be repeated to generate full works of art. My apprenticeship as a cultural artisan has taught me to learn from those who are expert at their craft. Ascertaining peace-promoting qualities has been most successful when I have learned them from those who have mastered them.
Before I knew how to spell the word “honest” I knew its meaning from observing my father. He was an artisan of integrity who had been practicing the skills of truthfulness for years. I never saw him lie, cheat or steal, and if he ever caught me attempting such a scheme, he would help me understand why I should choose to do otherwise. My father’s fine workmanship etched patterns of peace in me. Because he was trustworthy he too could trust. Because he cared for others, others cared for him. Because he lived honestly, I learned honesty.
Absorbing the history of detailed Maori figures and eye-balling the intricate work of other carvers, while helpful, has not been enough to transform me into a carver, myself. I’ve had to practice the simple strokes I’ve been taught to bring patterns out of the wood.
He was the brother of a good friend, but somehow that still didn’t change the fact that I’d be lying. “If you would just write a note saying that I completed the community service through your church, then I won’t have to worry about this mess anymore,” he pleaded. I wanted to help my friend’s brother, but the truth was he hadn’t performed any of the twenty-four hours of service required for his release from probation. I knew I had to be honest. I explained my motives for rejecting his request, and apologetically hung up the phone, knowing I had lived by what I’d learned. That simple decision and others that followed engraved my identity with a design visible to those around me. A pattern of peace.
The visual legacies left by ancient and modern artisans of New Zealand are irrefutably marked in their wooden works. The skills they acquired throughout their lifetimes speak in the curl and flow of their masterpieces. Long after their departure from the world, their patterns remain to inspire and educate those following in their footsteps.
A letter came just a few weeks after I returned home, and I was surprised to see that it was addressed directly to my parents and not me. My father opened the envelope wondering, as I was, what my old companion would be writing for. “Dear Brother and Sister Carollo…” my father started. “I wanted to write to let you know what an example your son has been to me….” The words of my former mission companion were unexpected. I sat in awe wondering how anyone would consider me an example, and yet the words of the letter were clear. The marks of my patterns must have been bolder than I thought. I suppose lines of my lifestyle had been carved out as I learned from so many people in the past two years. Designs I had once studied were now emerging in me for others to draw from. Patterns of peace I had learned and lived were beginning to define my legacy.
To learn the sacred scrawls of the Maori people takes time and practice. Learning to be an instrument of peace in the world demands the same discipline. Peace is not immediate. It starts with simple behaviors like honesty, which are learned, practiced, and passed on to others, making righteous ripples in the surface of humanity. I have learned peace from those who know it. I have strived to live by the knowledge I’ve acquired, and to practice daily those attributes that will leave a legacy to inspire the hearts of those around me. I am not a master of the craft, but merely an apprentice learning to carve patterns of peace.
No comments:
Post a Comment