Spoken Word Messages - Page 72

There sometimes seems to be a disposition to assume that the lessons which another generation has learned somehow don't apply to the present.  And seemingly on this assumption, young people are often impatient with the counsel and cautioning’s of parents.  But this they should know that it can be more foolish to spurn a rich legacy of experience than to spurn a rich legacy of goods or of gold. 

We sometimes hear something said about "sitting this one out."  It is all right to sit out some things, but it is tragic to sit out life and let it pass as if we were not a part of the picture.  Sometimes too much of what we do—or think we do—is in the nature of simply sitting and seeing someone else do something. 

Scarcely does it seem possible, but a twelfth part of the year has already past.  More suddenly and sooner than we suppose it will be spring.  More suddenly and sooner than we suppose, it will be summer.  And soon again the summer will have passed, and soon again we shall be looking at the closing of the calendar, and, soon again we, shall be asking ourselves: Where has it gone, and what have we done with it? 

In thumbing through some commonplace words, we find the word fringe—and we find it thus  in part defined, as “an ornamental border…” or “something resembling a fringe; . . . as the outer fringe of a crowd.” 

We read these days of speeds that move men beyond the so-called "sonic barrier," and of the forces and feelings encountered when super-powered planes physically fight their way through the "sound wall" almost as if they were moving through a solid substance. 

Sometimes we think of the past as a thing quite apart from the present.  To say that something happened a century or so ago may seem like dimly long ago.  But if we have lived through half a century, or a quarter, or even a sixth of a century, we know how quickly it has come and gone. 

We sometimes shy away from words—especially words that have acquired unpleasant connotations; for example, we may speak quite comfortably of good resolutions, but perhaps not quite so comfortably of repentance as it may concern ourselves.  But often there is little distinction between the two. 

This is the time of year when thoughts of unfinished business become acute, and when we are comfortable or uncomfortable according to the degree to which we have done the things, we know we should have done, the things which a year ago we resolved in good faith to do. 

There is a question concerning Christmas that keeps recurring: What is it that makes it so different a day?  Except for some very real and far-reaching considerations it wouldn't be so different a day—and if it weren't, we should be going through some meaningless motions.  Christmas has its own special spirit, quite apart from all other commemorative occasions.  It is different, and there are reasons why it is and should be so. 

On this question again of "the light which lighteth every man that cometh into the world" (John 1:9): Men seem to have an urgent sense of searching for something.  Indeed, it may be safely said that most men are searching for something, they are not now, aware of having seen. 

It is recorded in the first book of the Bible that God said: "Let there be light" (Genesis 1:3)—and from there on through scripture, the great theme, the blessed theme of light is over and over emphasized: "The Lord is my light" (Psalms 27:1);  "Let us walk in the light of the Lord" (Isaiah 2.5);  "Then shall thy light break forth" (Isaiah 58:8); "Arise, shine, for thy light is come" (Isaiah 60:1); "Ye are the light of the world"'(Matthew 5:14);  "a burning and a shining light" (John 5:35); "Let your light so shine before men" (Matthew 5:16); "Walk as children of light" (Ephesians 5.8); “Christ shall give thee light” (Ephesians 5:14);  "a light that shineth in a dark place" (11 Peter 1:19). 

Some years ago Gustaf Stromberg, eminent Swedish-American scientist, had some significant things to say in one of his scholarly works concerning the memories of men: "A study of the nature of memory shows immediately that it must be carried by an immaterial structure. The matter in our brain is continuously changing . . . And thus, we have a 'new' brain after a relatively short time . . . and the necessity of an immaterial living structure in the brain, independent of that of atoms, becomes immediately evident.  This structure . . . appears to be indestructible." . . . “We therefore conclude that there are good reasons for the following important assertion: The memory of an individual is written in indelible script in space and time.”1 

One doesn't have to live very long before he becomes aware of the pleasure of doing things for appreciative people and the disappointment of doing things for people who seem to lack a sincere sense of appreciation or who somehow fail to show it. 

There is no one we know of who is free from problems.  Most of us at times have difficult situations to solve.  But there are some who succumb to adverse circumstances more easily than others (sometimes on the assumption that nothing can be done).  And there are some who refuse to give up easily—and often by their own efforts (and with help that comes from outside themselves) somehow manage to bring things about.

Sometimes it would be well if we could step aside and see ourselves as if we had never seen us before—and see not only ourselves, but see also the things around us, free from the tired impressions we have of places and people.

Perhaps we have all had the experience of traveling in strange territory, of trying to find a place we haven't been before, and of turning off the right road—and then somehow sensing that we had turned off the right road.  But despite the warning sense within us, we may doggedly have pursued the wrong road until we arrived at a dead end, or until we had gone so far that we had lost much time and had much distance to re-trace. 

There is a profound thought in these words of William James: "The greatest discovery of my generation is that human beings can alter their lives by altering their attitudes of mind."  This is one of the great discoveries of any generation—or of any individual—and in one sense it is simply a restatement of the principle of repentance.  There are times when most of us have need to alter our attitudes. 

As young people face their formal education, there may be many puzzling questions that present themselves, some of which concern the constant discovery of new knowledge, some of which concern the flux and shifting of conflicting theories. 

No doubt all of us are troubled at times by the unanswered questions of life.  No doubt all of us are given to wondering at times about the point and purpose of many things, and even to wondering why we are here.  Such thoughts may sometimes come because we are too close to the commonplace activities of each day—too close really to see ourselves or to see the over-all objectives. 

We recall the often-quoted comment of Lewis Carroll's Red Queen: "Now here, you see, it takes all the running you can do to keep in the same place."1 It does require an earnest effort to keep even with life—and one of the chronically discouraging experiences is to be chronically behind.  Leaving things that should be done sooner, until just a little later is a factor in unhappiness and failure. 

Sometimes we may feel overpowered and depressed by the tasks that lie before us, by the undone things that we have yet to do. 

Among the long list of things that make men unhappy, none is more devoutly to be avoided than hate in the human heart.  And among all the elements and ingredients of which human happiness is made, none of them, nor all of them together, will produce the desired product without love. 

In days of restlessness and of uncertainty, sometimes people (all people, including young people) are disposed under pressure to make shortsighted decisions—decisions that seem attractive at the moment, but which may imperil future prospects; decisions that may seem to come closer to what is wanted right now, but at the risk of placing a permanent penalty upon the future. 

It is an unhappy day in the life of any man when he fails to find sincere satisfaction in doing useful things for the joy of doing them—and in doing them to the best of his ability.  We may have ambitions; we may want money; we may want prestige and position; all of which, as Ruskin observed, are admissible as secondary objectives, but all of which are subordinate in giving satisfaction and in producing essential qualities of character. 

There is a word in our language, a significant word coined by Walpole, but little known and little used.  It is serendipity—which means essentially: something unexpected that you find along the way when you are looking for something else. 

Further in this matter of making decisions: Taking time to decide is frequently an essential factor of safety.  But there is also such a thing as taking too much time.  The power of decision is sometimes seized from us by too long a delay. 

Sometimes when we are faced with decisions, we may well wish that we had a blueprint that we could count on.  We may well wish that we could see the end from the beginning.  As between two jobs, for example, both of which have something to be said for them, it would be reassuring if we knew for a certainty which it would be best to take. 

Sometimes judgment (in the sense of retribution and reward) is thought to be something rather remote—something to be ultimately arrived at but not necessarily now—something such as the "day of judgment" associated with heaven and the hereafter. 

May we look again at this question of compensation: Sometimes it may seem that rewards are long delayed.  Sometimes it may seem that those who are selfish, that those who shirk, those who engage in sharp practice, those who follow forbidden ways, acquire an enviable living and live an enviable life. 

Since Emerson wrote his essay on compensation, it has been difficult to say anything new on the subject.