The diary’s still floating around, because I’m finding surprises.
For starters, I was shocked to read I’d accepted a dinner invitation in 1978 from S and K. In “good society,” that would be a major faux pas. … But as a young adult I hadn’t yet learned such things. (I guess naïveté has its perks.)
It was also surprising to read I’d dined with M and R. M had hurt R, and R had hurt me. But as I turn the diary pages, I find no analysis of their dirty laundry; none of that seemed to matter.
As I mull this over, the synapses are connecting. I remember now: back then, I didn’t even know people kept such notes. In fact, I kept in touch with S for years, but later discovered that others had erased him from their memory. As for R, it happened there was a laundry list on me, so there was a temporary hiatus; it all came out in the wash.
Well, time can change things. I became acquainted with “society.” Somehow the company I kept—began to restrict the company I kept. That zone is like a drawn-out version of the scene in “Star Wars” where they’re being slowly trapped in a trash compactor.
Matt. 18:35 My heavenly Father will also do the same to you, if each of you does not forgive his brother from your heart.
But in recent years I’ve come out the other side. Seeing this diary punctuates the irony: I’m getting back to basics. I’ve exited so-called “society” (those who shoot their own wounded). While I’m convinced (and thankful) that God will never let me return to the folly of my youth, I do see the need to renew that innocence.
Matt. 18:4 Whoever then humbles himself as this child, he is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.
There’s a simple test to see if I will put my money where my mouth is. It’s a one-question test: How concerned am I about what X and Y would think if I picked up the phone and invited S and/or R to dinner?
The answer came to me quickly: I am not at all concerned what X and Y would think. Do I really want to climb back into that trash compactor?”