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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.
Late afternoon
Interviewing
people for the vacancy in the warehouse today was depressing. The applicants all had diplomas that implied they have an
education; in reality for many it was only an attendance record.
What
had they learned? Not much, as far as I could tell. My dad had a dog who used to go to the old one-room
schoolhouse with him and lay just inside the door through many an hour of
tutoring, but they never gave the dog a
diploma.
One young man took as
long to fill out his application as O. Henry probably took to complete one of
his short stories. He’d bring the same inefficiency to a bill of lading.
If we hired him we’d drive him and ourselves crazy requiring more than he was
able to deliver.
So I didn’t hire him and he remains another
unemployment statistic. I’m sorry he had teacher who couldn’t teach or parents
who didn’t motivate him but that doesn’t excuse him for being a student who
wouldn’t learn.
I don’t highly recommend a school system that
graduates ever boy and then ask the business community to employ the illiterate
and the ill prepared
Afternoon
I was flattered. He remembered me
and it’s been thirty years. I remember him. He was one of the few preachers who
made sense to me. Yet in my college days even that never got me to church too
often.
I reminisced how he used to
call his sermons Trade Routes.
“Still do. You can’t get anywhere without a route,”
he said.
He’s
hardly changed. The eyes are a little tired, but still rainy-day grey, almost
hidden by heavy lids. His face still shows leanness though age has made it a
little less firm.
It was a chance meeting. We had bumped shoulders
while reaching for the same book in the library. I’d read of his appointment on
the church page. I’d even considered giving him a call. Most like I wouldn’t
have.
“I’ll
have to come hear you preach.” It was just a polite phrase and he knew
it.
“Hopefully, Tom. Hopefully.”
There’s been a hiatus
on home building for quite some while, but nowhere near as long as the building
repairs needed for my
soul.
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TO
BE CONTINUED
A new Series on
PRAYER has begun
There will be 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
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“Hopefully, Tom. Hopefully.”
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