RUST ON MY SOUL (9th in Series of Novel)

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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.
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Noon

“Mirror, mirror on the wall…” I played that game this morning. I took a good look at myself in the bathroom mirror and it was, as always, truthful. It reflected the outer me with blantant accuracy.

“You’re getting old,” it said, “Old.”

I’ve put on too much weight and the jowls are losing their battle with gravity ---old. The hair from my balding pate seems to be settling in shaggy, grey eyebrows ---old. My grey eyes need not just reading glasses but bifocals to unfuzzy the world ---old.

My stamina is a shadow of its former self and expresses its weariness in the forward slant of my shoulders --- old.

There is a nervous twitch to my neck, and my cheeks are rosy more from hypertension than good health.

As to the inner me, the mirror gives hardly a clue. What little seeps through reflected from the eyes of my soul, is distorted by excuses and self-serving autobiographical rewrite. I don’t know which side of three score years and ten I’ll pack it all in, and I don’t want to know, but as my mortality creaks louder the sound has no solace in it.

How could it?

I am no more prepared to die than I am to live.


Morning

I’m an early riser. I watched the grey of night take on a morning glow. Toast, two eggs, bacon, a cup of coffee and the miracle of another morning. In the morning news only the names and nations change as wars and rumors of wars parade across the headlines.

The editorials always speak with such assurance of opinion. The editorial cartoons could have been printed twenty years ago, or probably twenty years from now, and still be on target.

Just update the names, places and faces to indict the guilty.

Well, good morning, Tom. Where are you going today? Not far. I’ll still back down the same fifty feet of driveway, motor a quarter of a mile to cross the same wooden bridge, and drive past the same fade store fronts. Not far. But how far do I want to go?

I’m dissatisfied with things as they are but I think I might be more uncomfortable if they changed too greatly. I just read something that I find very unsettling. A seventeen-year old girl wrote.

“I’m tired of puppet instead of people.
I’m tired of cynics who call themselves realists.
Of people bored because they are afraid to care.
I’m tired of people who have to be entertained.
Of girls, proud of knowing the score, and snickering about it.
I’m tired of sophisticate3d snobs.
Tired of people with nothing better to do than glue their days together with alcohol.
I’m tired of people embarrassed by honor, honesty, love, faith, patriotism…
…tired, yes, very tired of things the way they are.* (Ann Landers Column)


Afternoon

I’ve decided a lot of people in church on Sunday morning are spiritual auditors. I ought to know. I’m one of them. We audit a course called Christianity. We listen to the lecture but never take the test.

We don’t mind the visit but we’re not interested in earning a degree. I audit everything! How much is it worth? That’s my number one question.

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)

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