Into 2008
Well, I am back from holidays, and in the midst of cleaning out and packing and making a very big mess in the process. Christmas was nice and I, and my small blue car, survived the trip to Brisbane and back, which I am very thankful for. I then spent New Year's Eve sitting on the flight deck of a naval vessel with friends, very pleasantly watching the boats and the fireworks come and go. I could write a long diary-type entry, but there is too much mess to indulge it. Along that line, the last couple of weeks have given me cause to think about the purpose of Christmas newsletters, or "brag letters" as I have now become aware that they are sometimes called (not that I receive many I would put in that category). I paused to ask myself why I didn’t feel like writing one this year, and so didn’t send anybody anything. The reality is that nothing much happened circumstantially this year, and the things that made this year what it was are not the stuff of newsletters. In the wake of the all the news telling me of the blessings of new babies, new houses, holidays, children’s achievements, special anniversaries, I simply didn’t feel like trying to make my year a good read. But the thing I forget in doing so is that even being here for another Christmas is something to be thankful for (isn't there are line in a carol to that effect?), and that the lack of excitement and drama may itself be a blessing, and that God is faithful even in the not-so-interesting years, and sometimes many things are being learnt therein.
Anyway, upon reflection, I did face one particular trial earlier this year, and I am thankful that the outcome of it is what is – by the grace of God. Such are the times that you learn about your own character, its strengths and weaknesses. So, along those lines, here is some more of George Eliot’s narration in Adam Bede, which is the source of at least one famous line:
Are you inclined to ask whether this can be the same Arthur who, two months ago, had that freshness of feeling, that delicate honour which shrinks from wounding even a sentiment, and does not contemplate any more positive offence as possible for it? – who thought that his own self-respect was a higher tribunal than any external opinion? The same, I assure you; only under different conditions. Our deeds determine us, as much as we determine our deeds; and until we know what has been or will be the peculiar combination of outward with inward facts, which constitutes a man’s critical actions, it will be better not to think ourselves wise about his character. There is a terrible coercion in our deeds which may first turn the honest man into a deceiver, and then reconcile him to the change; for this reason - that the second wrong presents itself to him in the guise of the only practicable right. The action which before commission has been seen with that blended common-sense and fresh untarnished feeling which is the healthy eye of the soul, is looked at afterwards with the lens of apologetic ingenuity, through which all things that men call beautiful and ugly are seen to be made up of textures very much alike. Europe adjusts itself to a fait accompli, and so does an individual character, - until the placid adjustment is disturbed by a convulsive retribution.
It’s a scary thought, and it is a disturbing thing to watch Arthur’s degeneration in Adam Bede. Anyway, I hope and pray that my deeds determine me and I determine them, and that my critical actions speak for the good and the truth in 2008.