RUST ON MY SOUL (4th in Series of Novel)

To view my other blog “One A Day, Your Spiritual Vitamins”
CLICK ON THE FOLLOWING URL http://oneadayyourspiritualvitamins.blogspot.com/

RUST ON MY SOUL (A Novel) (Published by Bridge Press in 1985 & Distributed Internationally)

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.


Morning

I can turn a radio off. I can hang up a phone. I can shut a door in a man’s face, but that not-so-friendly voice called conscience will not be shut up or out, or off. I can still see the fifth-grade textbook pictures of the Pilgrims dressed in grim grey and black, distinctly unappetizing as role models.

“Duty calls” describes the ancient Pilgrim ethic and the twentieth century, addlepated audience replies, “What does it pay?”

Is duty just a cold and rock landing place, valid only in some time long past? Or is it timeless?

Can I find a scent to fool the nostrils of my conscience? Is it fool enough to be captured by such a con.

When finally my conscience catches on, as it most surely will, how often can I keep playing the same game by merely changing the name? That’s what you do now, isn’t it, Kettering?

It was your duty to discipline your child. But you were tired so you did nothing and called it patience. It wasn’t patience, it was parental laziness.

It was your duty to be honest in that sales presentation. But you might have lost your commission, so you lied and called it embellishment. A wondrous word that sounds too good to be bad.

It was your duty to leave the ball where it landed in the rough just off the eighteenth green in last Saturday’s golf game. But it was just a game so you improved your lie and called it physical enhancement. A cheat by any other name, even in something as frivolous as a game, is still a cheat.

If there were a hardware stone in Hell that sold off-and-on switches for my conscience, would I quickly fly in and out, buying two – one for a spare – and then screw it in place with anticipated joy.


Noon

Well, I got that promotion after all. Along with it comes a substantial raise, a new office and a key to the executive washroom. I can’t forget, however, that my doctor has assured me that I’m well on my way to the ultimate status symbol, an ulcer, and that if I don’t slow down I’m a prime candidate for worse than that.

The promotion therefore may involve the subtraction of a few years from my life expectancy, but that’s a price I’m willing to pay.

I know what Nancy’s immediate reaction will be “How much of a raise did you get?” This will followed by, “When will you get another one?” She asked that question the day after I got my first one and no success afterwards has ever made her stop the ceaseless repletion of those questions. Nancy’s nagging is the closest thing to a cheer I’ve gotten in a long time.


Late night

Damn! Nancy and I had another fight. This time is was over Billy. She wants him to have a car of his own. I told her we already have two cars and that I’m not running a used car lot. As always, she ran to her room crying “You don’t care what Billy’s friends think.” Sometimes I wonder who runs our lives, our neighbors or ourselves.

Nancy always has her gearshift in “P” not for Park but Push. It feeds my discontent and out of it has come a restless impatience, an impatience that magnifies the picayune.

“Tom, can’t you hang your towels straight after you take a shower. You’re a grown man, act like one.”

“William Carter, don’t slam that door! You know it gives me a headache and I don’t think you care…spoiled…spoiled…spoiled.” And I know our son will probably slam the door even harder the next time she shouts at him.

“Connie Louise, must you always wear your hair like a mop?” And I can imagine the expression on my daughters face. She handles the emotional indigestion it causes by saying nothing and ignoring this and all other of her mother’s advice.

Rancid comments that have broken down all lines of communication.

Who took the first step toward homestead anarchy? Who took filial democracy and turned it into feuding camps? Oh, God, it didn’t happen overnight. It never does. Did we just created darkness so slowly from tattle tale grey that we never noticed until it was too late?

TO BE CONTINUED
(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