Shorn Sharer - Softcover

When I was growing up in the South, it was life as usual. A fellow went through the routine of getting an education, joining the Service, possibly attaining some semblance of a higher education, but most importantly, selecting a vocation. So, from public education, I joined the Army. This was during the Viet Nam era. Throughout my tour of duty, I hauled about my portable typewriter, my guitar, and my paints. Should a person surmise from this listing that I had a personal interest in writing, music, and art, he or she would be correct. Yes, when growing up in the South, and following the routine, I managed to lock in the first two items on the list - education and duty of service to country. Yet, vocation was a horse of a different color. Although I cherished my love for the guitar and the Beatles, I set aside my music interest. Also had I interests in writing and art, from which I chose art upon which to manage a vocation. But what of vocation - what shall it to be?Of course, in my neighborhood, the South, vocation meant service to man, or, on a higher level, service to God. The impetus for work, striving, places the emphasis for doing upon the needs of another - not upon self. I chose to teach. This choice, of course, meant attaining higher knowledge. It meant preparation of a special type, meant securing certificates and licenses. Knowing this, I strove to do acquire the necessary items and experiences. As things developed, first would I become an art teacher; later requiring ever higher learning. Thus would I become an art/English teacher - with credentials in reading. In each case, was ever the middle school my heart of hearts. Yet, it would not last.Again was I made to consider - and to reconsider. I left my teaching position, then back to higher education - this time it was something of which I wanted no part. This was the course of the divinity - a theological program in Atlanta, Georgia. Unto this way did I apply self and soul, but my spirit longed f