RUST ON MY SOUL (32ND IN SERIES)

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

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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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Morning

Beads of green explode daily; another spring has come, soft and gentle. Sun-washed shadows lay across the yard from a sky so blue and bright it hurts my winter eyes. But inside , my false brightness has turned grey and dingy.


When I was a little boy I did things I didn’t like because I wanted to be one of the gang. When I grew to be a man I didn’t put away these childish things. I may have fooled others, but I’m tired of trying to fool myself.

All my life I’ve been playing shadow to other people’s codes of conduct. I wonder what it would be like to make up my own mind for a change ---In the business world, at the club. What if I pulled the plug and shouted, “Conformity be damned!”

When I stand in the shadow of my own last day what will I have done to make the world better?” I can’t earn my way to heaven, I know that. But I can bring some heaven to earth, if I will. Honesty, trust, kindness are attributes I haven’t had much time for in quite a while.

Afternoon


I sang in church yesterday, “Come into my heart, Lord Jesus.” I don’t even know where the door is.


In the rough spots of living I can’t get it all together. I hear the Word on Sunday, and I suppose I believe it on Sunday, but then comes Monday through Friday and it all gets bent and out of shape.


My grandfather lived on a farm. He met God every morning when he woke at dawn to begin his chores. In a small country church he thanked God for the cold mountain stream that furnished him water to drink, that cooled the milk, that when heated, boiled the potatoes from his field. It was easier for him to treat God as a partner.

I get water from the tap, potatoes from the super market and milk from the Farm Store. My bounty of life makes its way through so many hands it’s easy to forget it was God’s hands that made it all possible.

I wonder if David would have written the Twenty third Psalm if he’d been an executive in the rat race…


I wonder…

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TO BE CONTINUED

GO BACK AND CATCH UP
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QUOTES FROM THURSDAY NOV 18 BLOG entitled THERE IS A STORY TOLD


“There is a story told about Leonardo de Vinci, the great creator of the magnificent painting THE LAST SUPPSER.

Just before he began his epic work in the Sistine chapel, he had a violent quarrel with a fellow painter. In a rage he decided to take revenge by making the face of this painter the model for the face of Judas.
He did so and everyone could easily recognize the likeness.
But then it happened.”
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A New Series on PAIN AND PROBLEMS

began on this blog “Wyrick’s Writings”


and will continue until finished.

Then a new Series on PRAYER will begin..

There is a continuation of the Serialization of his Internationally distributed novel RUST ON MY SOUL.



To view an abundance of unusual stories by Neil Wyrick go to his other blog ONE A DAY, YOUR SPIRITUAL VITAMINS

Click on the following URL
 http://oneadayyourspiritualvitamins.blogspot.com/
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