*************************************************** If you would like to share this blog with a friend, go to the bottom and click
on TELL A FRIEND ************************ If
you would like to purchase this book go to amazon.com and type in RUST ON MY
SOUL. ************************ 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. NOTATION: It is a thought many have had. I can only pray it will have
me. “Those who cannot learn from the past are condemned to be cursed by the same
in the future.”
Morning
Connie’s gone! The silence from her room
is a shout. Oh, God, how could I have been so engrossed in me that I was so
unaware of her?
I feel like an ostrich who’s just taken his head out of
the sand. I’ve heard her complaints but ignored the reason for them.
They
made no sense to me. They seemed like an adolescent buzz saw – lots of noise,
but no meaning. I called her a spoiled brat who didn’t appreciate all she had,
and left it at that. She’s been like a butterfly, all brightly colored,
who fluttered around the landscape of life. But she was a butterfly with a
burden, casting shadows that lingered like a stain. I refused to acknowledge the
haunting in her eyes.
“I don’t feel like I have a home,” she said. “It
wouldn’t make any difference around here if I just left.” What nonsense, I
thought, and forgot about it.
Yesterday her anger was like a blister
bursting. All red and oozing disgust. I ignored my tingle of panic. And now
she’s gone.
Swallowed up by a world too big for a little girl who by now
has taken of her rose-colored glasses. Connie, I’ve lost your many times
before – to time. It aged away your baby days. It readied you for school and we
were pulled further apart as you entered a new world in which I could have no
part.
You still sat in my lap and called yourself “daddy’s girl,” but you
did this less frequently as you became more busy, and so did I.
I lost
you to teenage loves. Love can be a runaway emotion and you were prone to dashes
rather than marathons.
Your taste ran to long hair and lanky. This last
year several new boys came around, equipped with skimpy beards and listless
eyes. I feared drugs but would not give me fear a name.
You hadn’t been
daddy’s girl in quite some time and I didn’t want to confuse hurt and
observation.
I know now – too late – that you were shouting for help.
Finding none; finding only irritation or muted anger in your father’s eyes, you
simply walked away.
Connie, come home. I can’t promises miracles. Where
you are, I can’t promise that, but I will take time to listen, really listen. I
will give you more than just the outer edges of my attention. Oh, God,
please watch over my little
girl.
*********************************************** TO
BE CONTINUED
*********************************************** (Complete
book available on amazon.com) (great prices)
If you would like to share
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FRIEND
********************************************* To
view an abundance of unusual stories by Neil Wyrick go to his other blog ONE A
DAY, YOUR SPIRITUAL VITAMINS
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