Spoken Word Messages - Page 81

Almost everyone, it would seem, has his own ideas on the care and counsel of children. For some, the process does not mean much more than providing the physical necessities—if that. For others, it means minutely prescribing everything. Both are questionable extremes. Perhaps no one can say with finality just how far we should go in either direction, because children differ, and so do parents, and so do circumstances.

The fact that we aspire to things which are at present beyond our reach is one of the factors that makes eternal progress possible. But if we were merely to aspire and let the matter rest there, we would not likely move ourselves or the world very much. Often, and especially when we are young, we see someone playing a great part, and we wish we could play a great part also, but without much thought as to what goes into the making of a man.

This is the time of the year when we confront ourselves with facts. It should be so at all times, but certain seasons are associated with certain things—and this is a time of inventory. It isn't always easy to face facts. Often there are things we wish were true which aren't, and things we wish weren't true which are. Even the simplest truths can be distasteful if they interfere with our accustomed ways of living and thinking. And often it would seem to be more comfortable to close our eyes to reality and say it isn't so. But we cannot safely assume that something isn't so that is so. Of course, there is the ever-present possibility of mental juggling, of tampering with the books, of trying to talk ourselves out of things that are, or talk ourselves into things that aren't. But trying to explain away truth and reality is somewhat like trying to change the weather by tampering with the barometer.

Each time of year tends to take on its own quality and character. But the memories of Christmas are among the most mellow of all memories. Those who have lived but three or four Christmases seem to catch the spirit of its meaning, and those who have lived seventy or eighty seem not to lose it: for it means home and family and friends—and peace. And to many it means remembrance of the greatest sacrifice that was ever made for man. It is the spirit of the Prince of Peace, of Him who is called the Christ, that pervades this day, and that makes gifts have more meaning, and makes men their better selves.

There is an old proverb which reads: "He giveth twice that giveth quickly."1 This is another way of saying that the best season for giving is when the gift is needed. Urgent and acute needs do not wait upon the pleasure or convenience of the giver. Usually when a man needs something, he needs it now. When he needs food for his family, he needs it when they are hungry, not after they are well fed, nor after they have starved. When he is cold, he needs warmth now—not after spring thaws him out. And this is true not only of material gifts, but also of service and kindliness and understanding, which are among the greatest of gifts.

It would seem that there are always those who are eager to live other men's lives for them, and those who, for one reason or another seek to popularize the philosophy that all men should be forced to conform to a predetermined design. This idea sometimes seems to sound good: Let's put every man in his place. But, sane as it may sound, it raises many difficult questions, such as, who shall fix the pattern, and who shall put every man in his place. Putting every man in his place means that we must have someone among us who is wise enough to judge what every man's place is: And this would seem to be a function of godlike wisdom.

Perhaps it would not be untimely to retell the story of Antaeus, the giant of mythology, whose strength was unconquerable, so long as he remained in contact with his mother, Earth. Those who came to his country were compelled to wrestle with him, and many such, not knowing the source of his strength, would throw him to earth, from which he would gain greater power, and rise stronger than he fell. But Hercules, so runs the story, forewarned of these things, avoided throwing the giant down, but lifted him high above the strength-giving earth, where Antaeus weakened and was strangled in mid-air. There are inferences to be drawn from this classic myth.

Perhaps it is a good time to remind ourselves again that mere things are not as important as is our attitude toward them. It is possible for people to put themselves in a frame of mind—and many of them do—where they know they can't be happy unless all that pertains to their material world comes up to certain arbitrary specifications—the house they live in, the car they drive, the clothes they wear, and the pleasures they pursue.

Every man should have a frequent conversation with his conscience. Conscience is an excellent counselor—if it hasn't been tampered with too much. Of course it is to be admitted that an active conscience is often very inconvenient. It sometimes interferes with some of the things people think they want to do, which conscience tells them they ought not to do. And so, many men make the mistake of trying to talk down their conscience. Often they do talk it down.

There is a commonplace proverb which says that "Procrastination is the thief of time."1 But there is also another thief of time which preys upon the present and the future, and that is debt. As an eighteenth-century almanac expressed it: "If you want time to pass quickly, just give your note for ninety days."2 The future comes fast when a debt is coming due. There are many reasons why men go into debt—some unavoidable, some seemingly necessary, some foolish and inexcusable.

Any man who could free other men of all their fears would surely have an innumerable following. Fear is a killer of men, a destroyer of peace and effectiveness, and to be free from fear is an ideal earnestly to be sought after. But no man can free all other men of all their fears, for no man can control all of the factors that contribute to fear. And if any man could control all the factors of fear, be could control us also. Let's look a little further to see if this is not so.

There is a persistent trait of human nature that causes most of us to seek the company of others. We are essentially social beings. We need each other, for companionship, for comfort, for counsel. We have learned to know that few if any of us can enjoy security alone. Physical protection has long since been a matter of collective concern, and civilization itself has been achieved cooperatively and must be preserved that way. But the fact that we achieve many of our aims by cooperation with others, must not make us lose sight of the fact that every crowd, every community, every country is composed of individuals, each of whom is individually responsible for his own conduct, his own thinking, his own life. Crowds sometimes do strange things to people.

One of the hallowed experiences of life is to look down at the close of day upon a sleeping child—especially one of your own, who is safe and sheltered, and well at peace. Few greater benedictions than this come to any of us. Blessed are we when those who belong to us are safe within the shelter of our own homes, within the circle of our love and protection. But such surpassing satisfactions are somewhat qualified if other men and other men's children are not also sheltered and safe. A commonplace illustration may emphasize this thought more fully: We may work hard to keep our own field free of weeds, but if our neighbor's field is infested with weeds, our own field will never be free from the threat of intrusion.

It would seem that we often live as if we wondered when life was going to begin. It isn't always clear just what we are waiting for, but some of us sometimes persist in waiting so chronically that life slips by—finding us still waiting for something that has been going on all the time. There are fathers waiting for a more opportune time to become acquainted with their sons—perhaps until other obligations are less demanding. But one of these days these sons are going to be grown and gone, and the best years for knowing them, for enjoying them, for teaching, and for understanding them, may also be gone.

There is an idea that has grown up among us, perhaps best expressed by the phrase: "Moderation in all things." "Moderation" is a very good word and is associated with many virtues and much wisdom. Indeed, it is so good a word that we may be led to believe that "moderation" is always a virtue, that anything "in moderation" is good. Certainly moderation is always to be preferred to "excess." And, of course, we know that both "moderation" and "excess" are usually relative terms which vary according to people and circumstances. But in determining what is moderate and what is excessive we should always remember this: That there are many things which are excessive even "in moderation."

It sometimes seems that we live in an endless war of words in which people, for their own purposes, try to make other people think certain things are so simply by saying that they are so. It is by this warping of words that commitments and contracts are sometimes clouded, that treaties and trusts are […]

When times seem uncertain, young people often give up the idea of preparing themselves for the future. There is a tendency to sit back and say: "What's the use? Our plans and projects will only have to be abandoned anyway. And so we will wait." But uncertainties are always in the offing. They always were. There were uncertainties ten years ago, twenty years ago, a hundred years ago, a thousand years ago. And if because of future uncertainties young people were to resign themselves to taking whatever comes, without previous preparation, no generation would ever have any capable or qualified men.

One thing that makes most people inpatient is advice they don't want and haven't asked for. At one time or another, both in the innocence of youth and in self-satisfied maturity, it isn't uncommon for us to assume that we can get along without any advice. It takes some of us a long time to learn that we usually have more to repent of when we don't take our counselors into our confidence. And when someone offers a comment of caution, we often impatiently think we know all the answers and need no admonition. Especially is it difficult for parents to delay children. long enough to hear their last-minute precautions, as the youngsters hastily make their way toward the nearest exit.

Undeniably a pall of pessimism has been hovering over people—a pessimism in the wake of war, born of the failure of the full promise of peace. It is the pessimism of the failure of faith. It is deeply damaging to lose faith in other men. But it is yet more damaging to lose faith in ourselves. The win to live has carried many a man through a critical condition, when others with greater physical strength but with less faith have failed to survive.

With each time of returning to school many variations of attitude are in evidence. There are those who are eager to get back and those who are reluctant to return. There are children who wish vacations were much longer. And there are parents who wish they were much shorter. These recurring occasions of reopening school doors constantly call before us the question as to who is responsible for what. How much should the home expect of the school, and how much should the school expect of the home?

Men make money in many ways. And making money—or at least making a living—is important. Everyone has to do it one way or another, either by his own efforts or by the efforts of others. But more important than merely making a living is making an honest living. Sometimes some men aren't satisfied with an honest and ample living. Sometimes they want quick and easy affluence—and compromise themselves to get it, sometimes by means which are morally fraudulent, but which seem to be legally safe. But, as many a man has later learned, quite apart from moral issues, making money by false means is seldom legally safe, and those who benefit thereby have no quiet thoughts and no assurance of safety.

It is a puzzling paradox that often those who enjoy the fruits of freedom work against the very freedom which has given them privilege and protections.  Why should it be so? There may be many answers. And one may be that some people really don't know when they are well off. They are the chronic malcontents. It wouldn't matter what way of life they were privileged to partake of, they would always be dissatisfied and against whatever is. There are people like that, and it doesn't appear that anyone has ever been able to account for them.

There are disturbing times in the lives of all of us, sometimes because of personal problems, sometimes because of the problems of the world in general, and sometimes because of our perplexity as to life itself. Often questions cry out: Here am I in the midst of the universe. What part of it am I? What purpose underlies it all? In times of peace and of happiness, in times of our own personal wellbeing, the answer sometimes seems nearer—or perhaps the question troubles us less.

Quite commonly we hear the person who proclaims his right to live his life as he pleases, regardless of what anyone else thinks about it. He says that his life is his own and, bluntly, what he does with it is none of anyone else's business. Usually he recognizes, in part at least, the restraints of civil law, because he wants to keep out of the hands of those who are sworn to uphold it. But beyond that, he says that no moral law or social convention, no public opinion or private counsel, is going to have any effect on his way of living—and he doesn't care who knows it.

Sometime ago someone coined the phrase "tolerance without compromise," which would seem to deserve further comment. To be tolerant of others it is not necessary to partake of their beliefs or of their manner of living. In fact, one may be tolerant of another and still vigorously oppose everything he represents, yet grant him his right to represent it. Tolerance does not imply that we must get on the band wagon, that we must think or act with the majority, or that we must compromise our sincere convictions.

Pioneering is an important factor of progress—which brings us to the question: What is it that makes a pioneer? By this term we do not mean merely those who leave established communities and old countries because of the difficulty of making a living where they are and the promise of making an easier living elsewhere.

There is in our language a dangerously disarming phrase by which people often persuade other people to compromise principles. It is the phrase "just this once." "Just this once" has a siren-like lure. It is the forerunner of the phrase "just once more." It is the beckoning voice of a false friend that leads us from safety to a false position, first "just this once," and then "just once more." "Just once more won't matter." "Just once more, and then I'll quit." And so we sometimes move from one false step to another, often deluding ourselves into thinking that this is the last time. In some social and personal matters, many of us live somewhat this way.

The thought has been often expressed that there is no such thing as a basic morality, that the laws to which men are accountable for their moral conduct change as do any other laws, from time to time and from place to place, according to custom and convenience. However much this may seem to be so, let us look where it would lead: To say this would be to say that whatever is condoned by any people or any generation is right for that people and for that generation—that anything any society may decide to do is right for them to do.

From the Book of Genesis, we recall the account of Abraham pleading with the Lord to spare the city of Sodom if there were but fifty righteous to be found therein. "And the Lord said, If I find in Sodom fifty righteous . . . then I will spare all the place for their sakes."1 Then Abraham, knowing or fearing that not fifty could be found, said unto the Lord: ". . . wilt thou destroy all the city for lack of five?"2 And the Lord said, "If I find there forty and five [righteous] I will not destroy it."2 Upon Abraham's continued pleading the Lord promised not to destroy the city if but ten could be found who were worthy to be spared. But the ten were not to be found.

As children we are excused for many mistakes because of our ignorance. And often later in life there are times when we would like to claim the same immunity which brings again before us the question: When is ignorance excusable? This would be easier to answer if all ignorance were of the same kind— but it is not.