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“I am but an ordinary Man. The Times alone have destined me to Fame–and even these have not been able to give me, much…Yet some great Events, some cutting Expressions, some mean Hypocrisies, have at Times, thrown this Assemblage of Sloth, Sleep, and littleness into Rage a little like a Lion.”

John Adams, the inveterate diarist soon to become our second president, penned this two-sided description of himself in 1779.

Bland in comparison to Adams’ writing, the bulk of my 30 years of sporadic journal entries lack sufficient sparkle to even lift themselves from the mundane: “Went to church.” Others memorialize comic absurdity. “Brudderman is ripping at the rug as if he still had claws.”

And much more rarely, significant emotion springs to life. “In yesterday’s early morning hours, an unexpected guest took us by surprise by quickly and quietly snatching away the precious daughter entrusted to us, to have and to hold, to guard and to protect, for almost 23 years. And in that single moment of visitation, Death changed our lives forever.”

Sparse though it be, my journal is the pen and ink ledger of how I have spent the days allotted me. Life and death, joy and sorry, forgiveness and bitterness, hope and despair–all are buried among words often jotted in spasms of duty.

A journal is a melting pot where disjointed thoughts may simmer until extracted and hammered into a strong and useful shape on the anvil of retrospect. The eye of experience, blind to grammar, spelling and punctuation, discerns the potential in the words.

Though never approaching Adams’ color, flair or intensity, my journal notations often illustrate a point he made to his distinguished son, John Quincy, that a diary “helps you focus in your life. It is the act of writing that causes the brain to come into focus and have insights you wouldn’t have otherwise.” Writing crystallizes and precipitates fuzzy thinking.

My journal chronicles the birth of dreams, hopes and aspirations, more often to death than to fulfillment. Occasionally, however, wandering tracks across the years magically converge on a path going somewhere in particular. When our son left home, for example, I handed him 50 typed pages of my journalized aspirations–with prayers that he would live up to them.

Written words have the remarkable ability to reach beyond the grave.

In his article “Writing Down Our Thoughts,”our friend Jim Elliff states, “We leave our thoughts to future generations when normally the preponderance of them, if not every last one of them, would have vaporized upon our death or mental decline.”

In the halls of eternity, another journal resides, awaiting notations.

“Then those who feared the Lord spoke to one another, and the Lord gave attention and heard it, and a book of remembrance was written before Him for those who fear the Lord and who esteem His name.”

But in this life, our words, and the persons they represent, must be captured before time snatches the pen from our hands.

Copyright 2004 James McAlister

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Bulletin Insert

On the last day of 1810, missionary Adoniram Judson addressed this issue head-on. If his theology troubles you, set it aside for the moment, but don’t ignore the intent of his words. They are a powerful reminder that “today” is the richest treasure we have, one that must not squandered by “just killin’ time.”

“We have a general intention of living religion; but we intend to begin tomorrow or next year. The present moment we prefer giving to the world. ‘A little sleep, a little slumber.’ Well, a little more sleep, and we shall sleep in the grave. A few days, and our work will be done. And when it is once done, it is done to all eternity.

“A life once spent is irrevocable. It will remain to be contemplated through eternity. If it be marked with sins, the marks will be indelible. If it has been a useless life, it can never be improved. Such it will stand forever and ever.

“The same may be said of each day. When it is once past, it is gone forever. All the marks which we put upon it, it will exhibit forever. It will never become less true that such a day was spent in such a manner. Each day will not only be a witness of our conduct, but will affect our everlasting destiny. No day will lose its share of influence in determining where shall be our seat in heaven. How shall we then wish to see each day marked with usefulness! It will then be too late to mend its appearance.

“It is too late to mend the days that are past. The future is in our power. Let us, then, each morning, resolve to send the day into eternity in such a garb as we shall wish it to wear forever. And at night let us reflect that one more day is irrevocably gone, indelibly marked.”

Opportunity is indeed fleeting. I encourage you — even implore you — to make the most of each day, to let it be marked with love and tenderness toward those who are nearest to you. You may not be afforded the chance tomorrow. Don’t let the sun go down upon your wrath, and learn to overlook transgressions. Keep short accounts of offenses lest a root of bitterness spring up and defile many.

And let us each resolve, as did Adoniram Judson, to send each day — while it is still called today — into eternity clothed with those instances of patience, kindness, deference, love and tenderness that we would have it to wear forever.

Copyright 1999 James McAlister

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