Spoken Word Messages - Page 61

Last week we spoke of the false philosophy of supposing that if we have made one mistake, it won't matter much if we make one more, and of the need for reversing a wrong process if we ever want things to go the right way.  There is yet this further thought on a somewhat related subject, and it has to do with debt.  Debt is a burden, a worry (or should be)—that is, it should be if it is a debt past due.  Debt is a real and actual obligation.  It represents the use of something that actually wasn't ours, or the use of something for which we have postponed payment.  And it is a fallacy to feel that being somewhat deep in debt, it doesn’t matter very much if we go yet deeper. 

Last week we spoke of special days and seasons, and of the danger of delaying repentance or improvement, and closed with this comment (and conviction : "When we need repentance, we need it now." There is this further thought on a somewhat related subject: Sometimes, if we have made one mistake, we may think it won't matter much if we make one more.  We may fall into the fallacy of supposing that the multiplying of mistakes is not, additionally, so serious.  This is, of course, an untenable position to take.  It is certainly no less wrong and it may be much more—to make the second mistake than to make the first. 

We are disposed to attach particular significance to certain times and seasons.  We look to special days and anniversaries and events.  We speak of special hours—the eleventh hour, the midnight hour.  We look to the clock and the calendar, and thus mark off the measures by which we live our lives. 

From Charles Dickens we recall these warm and wonderful words- "I have always thought of Christmas time as a good time; a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time; the only time I know of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely."

In law we confirm a past occurrence with the word of witnesses.  In scripture it is recorded "that in the mouths of two or three witnesses every word may be established."1 

We recall a comment accredited to Thomas Carlyle: "Conviction is worthless unless it is converted into conduct."1

"Life is a short walk along a narrow thread ... beginning and ending in a mysterious unknown.  Hope keeps us balanced as we walk the narrow line.  Life is short as we see it, but in reality ... never ends—and, long or short, it is all that we have."1 Life is all we have. 

It is an odd thing, in a way, how each generation seems to feel that each preceding generation is somewhat old-fashioned.  Youth is so sure the rules have changed.  Age is sure they haven't.  Youth feels it knows how far it can go.  Age is deeply aware of the danger. 

In commenting on the complex problems of people—the breaking of homes and families, the emotional upsets, the disillusionment and discouragement—an able physician recently suggested three short questions that could be asked to indicate how well a particular person might adjust to the troubles and tensions that most of us might be expected to meet somewhere […]

It is a frightening fact that a man may do a thing right a thousand times, and then do it wrong just once, and tragedy comes.  Except for some very narrow escapes, perhaps any of us or all of us could be numbered with those whom we pity or with those whom we condemn.  And we may never even know how narrowly we may have missed the fate of someone who has fallen into misfortune. 

Last week we cited this sentence: "Make an enemy, and you see him everywhere,"1—and suggested the wisdom of settling differences before sundown.  We often hear the phrase, "Forgive and forget"—but may sometimes forget how much "forgetting" is a part of "forgiving."

Somewhere there is a sentence which says in substance: "Make an enemy, and you see him everywhere."1 If we have ever walked out of our way to avoid speaking to someone, we no doubt remember how uncomfortable we were.  The more people we feel we have to avoid, the more ill at case we are. 

There is a long-told tale of Alexander the Great, who paused, at the age of thirty-two, at the tomb of Cyrus the Great—Cyrus who had preceded Alexander by some two centuries.  Each in his own time had conquered virtually all he could see and had acquired more than his understanding could encompass. 

As a memorial was being considered to commemorate the accomplishment of some great people of the past, one in the group expressed considerable concern in having seen someone peering at a portrait of a great personality of the past, and saying, altogether unimpressed: "Who's he?  What did he do?"

We have read somewhere in some rules of safety the following sentence: “Never point a gun at anything you don’t intend to shoot.” This is basic to a whole series of parallel precautions essentially summarized in this single short sentence: “Don’t start what you shouldn’t do.” It applies to habits, to projects and promises, to […]

There likely isn't a much greater loneliness than the loneliness of a man who cannot find comfort and assurance and help outside himself.  There likely isn't much greater loneliness than the loneliness of a man who has never found effectively in his life the great and moving power of prayer.. 

Perhaps all of us pursue some things which, after we acquire them, seem somewhat shallow or shoddy or at least unessential.  And then we wonder why we wished for them so much and worked for them so hard and passed up more worthwhile things we might have had. There is a parable by John Ruskin […]

The passing of any season is somewhat sobering, or any day, or any period of the past.  When a season begins, when a day begins, we think what we will do with it—what we haven't done—what we should do. 

We closed last week with a quoted comment that “the outlook for our country lies in the quality of its idleness. . . .”1 To this we would add that the outlook of an individual lies in the quality of his idleness also. There comes a time in the lives of those who live longer, […]

These words of dedication from a grateful author currently appear in print: "To my own mother and father and to all parents like them, who have dedicated their lives to providing their children with the world's best inheritance—The Will to Work and the Wisdom to Enjoy It"1

These recent weeks we have considered happiness and. ignorance and understanding: the need for understanding facts and places, and people—perhaps especially people, for we so much need an understanding of each other, at home, at school, at work, in marriage, and in every relationship of life. 

Last week we referred to the fallacy of the old adage that “ignorance is bliss”—and to the need for understanding.  Now to turn for a moment to another phase of this subject of ignorance and understanding. Some centuries ago, Nicholas Ling said that “Ignorance is a voluntary misfortune.”1 And John Locke later added: “A man […]

We spoke last week of happiness, of discontent, and of the problem of comparisons, and cited this two-century-old sentence: "If one only wished to be happy, this could be easily accomplished; but we wish to be happier than other people, and this is always difficult, for we believe others to be happier than they are."1

A sentence written some two or more centuries ago is significant in the search for the happiness that all of us so much seek.  “If one only wished to be happy,” it says, “this could be easily accomplished; but we wish to be happier than other people, and this is always difficult, for we believe […]

Last week we cited a sentence from Sir Richard Livingstone that "the young, whether they know it or not, live on borrowed property,"1 and observed that all of us borrow much from many, from the present and the past, and that we are deeply indebted to too many to mention. 

In a significant sentence Sir Richard Livingstone once said: "The young, whether they know it or not, live on borrowed property."1 At all ages, young or old, we all borrow much, and we are deeply aware today, at the beginning of' our thirty-first year on the air, of' the borrowing we have done, and of the debt we owe to too many to mention. 

We have talked in recent weeks of self-control, of the fact that every man must sometime be trusted to himself, and of the influencing of others by the living example of our lives. And now, as to some further related thoughts on this general theme: Time passes with exceeding swiftness between the time when we are very young and free and flexible until the time when thoughts and habits and attitudes become somewhat firmly fixed.

May we recall these two phrases from a moving and meaningful song: "Confirm thy soul in self-control, Thy liberty in law."1 Always and earnestly urgent in all the issues and in all the aspects of life are "self-control" and "liberty" and "law." And always to be taught, and never to be forgotten, is that liberty is preserved by law. 

Last week we talked of the feelings of self-sufficiency that sometimes seem to assert themselves when people feel sure that they no longer have need of others, and we reminded ourselves that no man can be sure he will not have need of others, ever, nor be sure that he will not need someone soon, no matter how successful or how assured life looks

Last week we closed with a sentence from John Locke on the teaching and training of children, in which he said: "For you must take this for a certain truth, that let them have what instructions you will, and ever so learned lectures . . . daily inculcated into them, that which will most influence their carriage will be the company they converse with, and the fashion of those about them."1