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RUST ON MY SOUL (A Novel) (Published by Bridge Press
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.
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
I’ve just about come to the conclusion that we’re a pagan society as we ever were. We no longer fight duels, nor keep slaves, no work children to an early grave. But nonetheless, we too often treat God like a holy afterthought.
I don’t know who wrote it but he wrote it well:
“I never cut my neighbor’s throat
My neighbor’s gold I never stole:
I never spoiled his house and land;
But God have mercy on my soul!
For I am haunted night and day
By all the deeds I have not done:
O unattempted loneliness;
O costly valor never won.”
At my best I am inadequate for life.
Physically I’m never more than a heartbeat away from death.
Mentally the best I can do is briefly be clever and seldom really wise.
Spiritually I shout to keep away the dread that, if there is no God to take my soul, then there is no soul to take.
Late Night
We made it! We just moved to within one block of the country club, two blocks from the president of the First Federal and less than a “hoot and a holler” from bankruptcy.
Nancy is in seventh heaven.
Maybe now she’ll get off my back about moving up. I can’t say I like the new house any better than the old one, but Prestige Terrace is where all the new executive live this year, so I really had no choice.
Late night
Why have I spent so many of my adult years overlooking dad’s admonition, “Poverty is a pain and money can be a blessing, but both are a misery if you spend a lifetime forgetting who you are.”
Here I am, almost half a century old, asking just that: Who am I? Where am I going?
Where is the little boy who climbed trees or just lay back in the fields and looked up at the clouds flying by? Where is the young man who, when he first came with the firm twenty years ago, exclaimed, “This is the best day of my life.”
I can find no vestige of my yesteryears. No one at forty-nine thinks as he did at twenty-nine, but have I been too busy to think of anything but business? I haven’t taken time to even look out the window at the garden, much less stop and smell the roses.
Why do I feel guilty when I take a Saturday afternoon off for a little pleasure?
Was the Puritan work ethic too deeply instilled in me, or do I just have an insatiable appetite for money? We can always use more, but even if I earned more than we needed would I still want more just to flaunt it?
What matters most in my life? And, perhaps answering that, I ought to reword my question: What should matter most in my life?
Unfortunately at this moment I can’t come up with an answer I’ll accept.
Morning
I’ve just about come to the conclusion that we’re a pagan society as we ever were. We no longer fight duels, nor keep slaves, no work children to an early grave. But nonetheless, we too often treat God like a holy afterthought.
I don’t know who wrote it but he wrote it well:
“I never cut my neighbor’s throat
My neighbor’s gold I never stole:
I never spoiled his house and land;
But God have mercy on my soul!
For I am haunted night and day
By all the deeds I have not done:
O unattempted loneliness;
O costly valor never won.”
At my best I am inadequate for life.
Physically I’m never more than a heartbeat away from death.
Mentally the best I can do is briefly be clever and seldom really wise.
Spiritually I shout to keep away the dread that, if there is no God to take my soul, then there is no soul to take.
Late Night
We made it! We just moved to within one block of the country club, two blocks from the president of the First Federal and less than a “hoot and a holler” from bankruptcy.
Nancy is in seventh heaven.
Maybe now she’ll get off my back about moving up. I can’t say I like the new house any better than the old one, but Prestige Terrace is where all the new executive live this year, so I really had no choice.
Late night
Why have I spent so many of my adult years overlooking dad’s admonition, “Poverty is a pain and money can be a blessing, but both are a misery if you spend a lifetime forgetting who you are.”
Here I am, almost half a century old, asking just that: Who am I? Where am I going?
Where is the little boy who climbed trees or just lay back in the fields and looked up at the clouds flying by? Where is the young man who, when he first came with the firm twenty years ago, exclaimed, “This is the best day of my life.”
I can find no vestige of my yesteryears. No one at forty-nine thinks as he did at twenty-nine, but have I been too busy to think of anything but business? I haven’t taken time to even look out the window at the garden, much less stop and smell the roses.
Why do I feel guilty when I take a Saturday afternoon off for a little pleasure?
Was the Puritan work ethic too deeply instilled in me, or do I just have an insatiable appetite for money? We can always use more, but even if I earned more than we needed would I still want more just to flaunt it?
What matters most in my life? And, perhaps answering that, I ought to reword my question: What should matter most in my life?
Unfortunately at this moment I can’t come up with an answer I’ll accept.
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TO BE CONTINUED ***************************************************************
TO BE CONTINUED ***************************************************************
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