I used to keep a diary. Trust me, it was a scary thing. I’m terribly embarrassed by it, now and have thought of creative ways to destroy the volumes of terrible emotional venting. I also wish that I had kept a journal or diary over the past ten years because so much growth has occurred during that time and some of the wisdom acquired has been lost. I have a terrible memory that serves me as well as an Applebees waiter on Sunday.
So today I’ve felt mostly down. When asked what’s wrong, the only response I could come up with that didn’t incriminate against myself was “I’m not living up to my potential.”
That statement in itself is true and generic enough to let people derive their own conclusions. Life, work, marriage, fatherhood, worship, leading, following, you name it.
Sometimes it feels good to be emotionally drained. It leaves more room for the happiness in the days that follow.
My wife dropped by a thrift store today and got me a copy of Nathaniel Hawthorne’s The House of Seven Gables, Salem Edition, Printed 1893. It looks “loved,” but is still somewhat readable. All said, it’s in pretty nice shape for a 116 year old.
It isn’t by accident that The House of Seven Gables is about a long string of consequences to generational sin that in many ways reflects Hawthorne’s own fears. And it’s an interesting question he poses: Does a person, like Phoebe, who lives out of human kindness and gentleness immune to that curse? His answer is that such people certainly experience pain, but they are redeemed by their own moral quality. Sadly, this is a strong humanistic world view rather than a Judea-Christian one where only God determines the rules that save us from contempt.