The Record – Sunday, July 29, 1945
There are times when we may be disposed to conduct our lives carelessly and indifferently, on the assumption that when it is opportune and necessary, we will settle down to the serious business of living and give a more favorable account of ourselves. However, inevitably there comes a day when we have reason to learn how great is the importance of the record—all the record—not only the parts we are proud of, but also the parts we wish weren’t there. For example, millions of young men have come to learn the meaning of the military record that goes with a soldier wherever he goes, explaining his past and qualifying his future. But this is only one of innumerable records that are kept in life, all of which add up to the picture of the whole.
In school, a record is kept of every grade and every course, and of conduct and attitude, all of which qualifies the opinions of others when we become candidates for further opportunities. Records are made of the least infractions of the law that come under official cognizance. Records are made of credit ratings, of the certainty and the promptness with which we discharge obligations, and any future financial help we may expect or hope for, is qualified by the record. Records, not official, usually not written, but nevertheless indelible in memory; are made by our friends and loved ones, of our daily conduct and consideration in the many small things that make for happiness or heartbreak. But beyond all these records which are kept both officially and unofficially by others, the record of our lives is made within us.
It shows in our faces, if we could read it. We are, in fact, our own record. We are the summation of all we have done, all we have seen, all we have thought, all we have experienced; and when the books shall be opened and men shall be judged, self-revelation, self-judgment, self-appraisal may be expected to carry the weight of the evidence—with each man knowing fully what he is. Sometimes youth permit the record to become clouded, thinking that it won’t matter later. Unfortunately, however, it does matter later. And often there follows the heartbreak of wishing the record were different—after it is too late to make it different. To young people, everywhere, at home or away: if you would live in happiness, and at peace with yourselves, live so that you can look steadfastly at anyone without an accusing conscience, without the memory of unworthy things.
Be straight and open and honest. Don’t permit anything to get into your life’s record that will not stand scrutiny under the searching light of day. If you do, it will rise to plague you in the years to come, and your own thoughts will accuse you, even when others do not, for we ourselves are the record of our eternal lives.
“The Spoken Word,” heard over Radio Station K S L and the nationwide Columbia Broadcasting System, from the Tabernacle, Temple Square, Salt Lake City, Sunday, July 29, 1945. Copyright 1945.
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July 29, 1945
Broadcast Number 0,832