Spoken Word Messages - Page 73

The role of fathers seems traditionally to have been somewhat less associated with outward evidence of affection than some other roles have been.  As between fathers and sons, for example, there has sometimes seemed to be a kind of a code, not definitely defined, but which suggests some sentimental restraints. 

This month of many marriages suggests some thoughts concerning those who are beginning together.  Songs of spring and love and of undying devotion are good to the ears of all of us.  There would be much missing, much emptiness without music and moonlight and romance. 

It has often been observed that a little learning is a dangerous thing.  And if a little learning is dangerous, surely a little ignorance is also dangerous—and much ignorance also.  Both learning and ignorance are dangerous when accompanied by conceit. 

On this question again of the frictions of life that wear us away: There are situations and circumstances that would prematurely wear us all away if we would let them.  There are rough, eroding experiences that with some of us leave raw, deep wounds, but with others seem somehow to heal sooner or not to cut so cruelly.  In some we sometimes see so tight a tenseness that the wearing process is painfully apparent. 

To be able to close each day with a sense of accomplishment is one of the greatest blessings and precious privileges of life, one that entitles a person to sound sleep and sincere satisfaction as few other things do. 

As young people face the future no doubt there are some who suppose (and some who sometimes say) that they would rather have been born to some other time, that they would rather have lived in some other day—which is partly understandable, because troubles with which we are closely acquainted seem so much worse than troubles with which we are not closely acquainted. 

One might search and ponder long without finding anything new to say concerning mothers.  But need there be anything new?  To say that there is nothing new is not to say that some things should not be said again. 

On this question again of balance: Almost anyone, if he will let himself, can bring himself to seeing only one side of a subject—the side he wants to see. 

The Tower of Pisa has been famous for centuries because it has stood so long while leaning some sixteen feet off center.  In this it is an exception—for most physical structures that have leaned that far have fallen and are no more remembered. 

Sometimes we suffer the symptoms of diseases we don't have.  And sometimes we suffer the symptoms of unhappiness for insufficient reasons.  Often unhappiness comes from overemphasizing the negative side of situations. 

In making decisions or in meeting emergencies, it is sometimes significant to see what a man is most concerned to save.  In case of fire, for example, it is interesting to observe what each man considers to be his most priceless possessions.  In one way or another, all of us are daily demonstrating our sense of values by what we do or fail to do, by what we buy or refrain from buying, and by every use or misuse of time, and talents, and opportunities. 

The longer we live the more aware we are of the shortness of this life we live, and the more aware we are of a sense of loss and of loneliness as those whom we have lived among and loved leave us one by one. 

In the normal course of living there are many pleasantries that pass from person to person.  There is also much social. veneer and much perfunctory impersonal politeness.  For example, in passing we may more or less automatically ask others “how they are,” often not waiting for an answer or really expecting one. 

There is no more basic question in life than the question of freedom and force.  No doubt it was a foremost question before the world was.  If there is to be order, there must be law.  But with freedom there is always likely to be some violation of law. 

As we see a new home, finished and landscaped and lovely, we may partly forget the process by which it was brought into being.  There was dirt to be dug; and rough materials to be shaped and put in place—and littered plaster and sawdust and shavings and much noise along with all else.  And while it was in the making, we had to have perspective, and we had to have faith—faith in the plan, in the blueprint, in the materials, and in the men who made it. We had to believe that it would someday be what it promised to be. 

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 by more worth-while things we might have had. 

We sometimes use formidable words to express simple ideas.  Consider, for example, the word psychosomatic.

When we think of America's patriots of the past, there are two who almost unfailingly are mentioned, whom this month we hold in special remembrance. 

On a certain journey not long ago, some travelers encountered one of those untamed onslaughts of the elements which man, despite all his previous preparations, is never quite prepared for.  It became a question of survival, or of fear test they should not survive.  And afterward, one who was there soberly said: "There were some people who talked to the Lord that night, who had not talked to him for a long time."

As concerning young people, parents are sometimes heard to say: "I don't know what more I can do.  I have given them everything anyone could ask."  But sometimes it seems that we are willing to give everything—except ourselves! 

There are many circumstances and situations in which we may feel that we are marking time—or worse—wasting time.  There are times when we are waiting for people and appointments when we feel cheated as we think of what we might have done with the time we waste in waiting. 

Often, we complain about being busy, and certainly at times we are—too busy—sometimes at essential things and sometimes at non-essential things.  And because we are so busy, we may sometimes wish for inactivity, even for idleness; we may wish for the leisure to pursue what have come to be called pleasant pastimes.  But before we sever ourselves from pressing assignments, before we turn away from work, before we disengage ourselves from real responsibility, we should take a realistic look at what are sometimes called pleasant pastimes. 

Sometimes someone is heard to say what he will do to someone else—if—!  And in that "if" a threat is uttered or implied. 

There is in most of us a tendency at times not to do anything that is difficult to do, not to perform any unpleasant service or engage in any inconvenient activity. The tendency is often apparent in our younger years when we haven't yet had to learn some things which later in life, we find that we must learn. 

There is a comforting line from Shakespeare, which, in one short sentence has much to suggest: "What's past is prologue."1 It is a plea, for hope, for new beginnings, for not brooding about what cannot now be reclaimed or recalled, a plea for faith in the future—a plea for repentance. 

So soon the cycle has once more swiftly turned itself, and suddenly we have come again to the closing of the calendar.  It seems only a few short weeks since we were watching another calendar close, since we were watching another winter, watching another spring, watching the growing season of summer. 

In commenting on this Christmas, may we pass for a moment the usual texts that we might turn to, and take one from far back, from the first book of the Bible, that recalls how the Creator of heaven and earth looked over what had been brought into being—"and God saw that it was good."1 And it was good: a beautiful and bounteous earth with its seasons and its sustenance, with forests and fields, the sun and the sea, the fruits and flowers, the meadows and mountains and so much else unmentioned, given for our good  by a loving Father in whose image men were made. 

In any loss or injury or illness or accident, the first sharpness of pain, the first fear, the first disappointment, the first sense of sorrow, may seem almost unbearable.  But mercifully, in the case of physical injury, usually the first sharpness subsides—enough at least to be bearable.  And mercifully, this is true to some extent in other things also. 

There is an always urgent field for thought in the problem of disciplining people.  Parents, and others, may frequently find themselves searching and praying and pleading for wisdom and guidance in the teaching and disciplining of young and impressionable people, and of others also. 

We often hear of the quality of faith—faith in God, faith as an antidote to fear, faith for a future that cannot be foreseen, faith as a sustaining force in misfortune and sorrow and uncertainty, faith in eternal plan and purpose and in limitless personal progress and everlasting reunion with those we love, faith in "the substance . . . of things not seen" which are true.