RUST ON MY SOUL (3rd part in Serialization)

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RUST ON MY SOUL (A Novel) (Published by Bridge Press in 1985 & Distributed Internationally) (A new Series that began on Tues April 13th and will continue every Tuesday thereafter until finished) (Thursday & Sunday will continue to cover a variety of subjects as in the past)

INTRODUCTION (Repeated for those new to the series)

In an old loose leaf notebook, Thomas Kettering wrote when there was a cry from his heart. He wrote when his inner longing spilled over into the reality of his days. He did not write every day, only when he felt he must. How often he wrote or when is not important. The journey is what counts, for it is a diary about all of us, to all of us. “A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step,” and even a stumble is a step.

Evening

Neither Nancy nor I can escape our childhood. They are days that are our roots and sometimes our dilemma. Nancy knew opulence in her growing up. If opulence is too strong a word, her almost complete lack of any kind of privation, in the first part of her life, is without a doubt an apt description.

“When I didn’t get my way, I threw a tantrum,” she said. I laughed when I first heard it. I don’t laugh anymore. Gratified then in every particular, she expects no less today.

Her father worked hard, played hard and died swiftly. Like a nightmare they went from affluence to anything but, finding themselves with debts amounting to far more than insurance would cover.

“I’m not cold-blooded, Tom, “she said. “But I will not be impoverished again. Ever.” It is why my insurance bill would choke a dinosaur.

“Don’t ask me if I’m proud of what you do for a living and how you sometimes succeed. But if it pays good money and you don’t stand still in a puddle of indecision, I’ll ask no more.” That’s how she feels.

I remember the first time I met her. There was softness then. Dark hair, dark eyes, an alabaster complexion and a gentle complexion and a gentle firmness.

“Are you laughing at my hat?” It was an easy smile, confident.

“I’ve never seen one like it.” It was flaming red, and large.

Claudius, my friend and college roommate (he introduced us), said “Now that you’ve met I’ve some studying to do.” Only I would have a roommate and matchmaker named Claudius.

How well I remember those beginning days as we grew slowly toward each other. She was ambitious and so was I. It seemed a good combination. She could be kind, if not always, at least often enough.

And as we began to shape our dreams our love soared, wingtips cloud-high and climbing toward the sun. There were angel sounds, we flew so high. And then, one day we didn’t fly so well. At first it was no more than a tremble in the air. Small errors in judgment and response. Tiny mistakes that wavered our pattern of flight.

An airplane crashes for no one reason alone. A dozen little miscalculations add up and suddenly it doesn’t fly so well anymore. I think that’s what has happened to our marriage. No one cause deserves the blame.


Evening

My boss had an idea this morning. A bad idea. A terrible idea. It was guaranteed to fail. I played it safe and murmured, “That’s a great idea D.L.!” Today wasn’t the first time I played it safe.

Why? Because success at any cost makes sense. He pays the bills and buys agreement along with all the other things he piles up along the way.

The rungs of the ladder to success are slippery. Mice don’t make it to the top, but neither do arrogant lions. Somehow I’ve got to always know when to speak up and when to shut up.

My boss was born in Hungary and raised in poverty. He cut his teeth on self-discipline and early etched the philosophy on his personality, “Nice guys don’t finish last, they don’t even finish.” For years it was, “Hey, Goulash,” and then when he was a success, “Mr. Goulash” behind his back. Sometimes I forget what his real Hungarian name is.

I’ve met his wife once. A fleeting wisp of a woman with a beat-down smile that sputtered when she offered it to me.

D.L’s perpetual scowl intimidates. His two hundred-plus bulk and hulking walk announces his coming as he constantly interrupts and intervenes in all our projects. But he is a genius. (Yes, he makes a mistake ere now and then but not many) His carping comes from an intuitive insight that is right more often than wrong.

I don’t really like the man. But if I had to like most of the people I associate with I’d cut my business in half. He asks much and rations compliments. But he pays well.

Shakespeare once described the conscience of some men as being as “wide as hell.” I wish I hadn’t remembered that.

TO BE CONTINUED NEXT TUESDAY
(Complete book available on amazon.com) (great prices)
Neil is also the author of THE SPIRITUAL ABRAHAM LINCOLN (His last book)

Neil Wyrick newest book
“LETTERS TO 21st CENTURY AMERICA FROM CHARLES WESLEY, Hymn Writer Supreme
is coming out in 2010 by CSS Publishers

.SOME RECENT POSTINGS ON MY OTHER BLOG “ONE A DAY YOUR SPIRITUAL VITAMINS”…To view them go to “Google Search” type in “Neil Spiritual Vitamins”

BE A WARMER! (FEB 5)
A SIX DAY SERIES ON ANGER BEGINNING ON FRIDAY (JAN 15)
WHOEVER SAID FUSSING AND FUMING WAS BEST? (Jan 8)
HE COULD HAVE KILLED HIM BUT HE DIDN’T (Dec 28)
JUST AN ORDINARY INSECT (Dec 25)
ARE YOU WRITING HAPPINESS WITH FADING INK? (Dec 23)
HAVE YOU GONE BLIND OR IS IT THAT YOU JUST HAVEN’T OPENED YOUR EYES (DEC 11)
THE IMPORTANCE OF UNDERSTANDING IMPORTANCE (Dec 10)
DON’T LOSE YOUR PRAYER WHILE PRAYING (DEC 9)

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