None of us invite difficult days, arriving without our consent to drive us off course, even reducing us to a worrying wreck when the going becomes too much for us to bear. The days pass with our depression deepening, and our resilience bruised to breaking point. Yet, with the awareness that we are weathering the storm, the result of that tiny voice from within us encouraging us to go the extra mile, we draw fresh reserves of endurance to keep on persevering with all that life is sending us, growing us into the pioneer of life's journey of self discovery.
In the realm of ideas everything depends on enthusiasm... in the real world all rests on perseverance. ~ Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
When living in Swansea, Glamorgan, South Wales my local barber, William Woolard had served with the Australian Army at Gallipoli where he had been wounded in the leg, obliging him to walk with a brace, and resulting limp. My Welsh great, grandfather, John who had also served at Gallipoli with The South Wales Borderers would give me a shiny sixpenny piece each month to visit Willy Woolard's salon for my haircut. Sitting in the barber's chair I was sufficiently curious to ask Mr. Woolard the story behind the painting hanging directly in front of me, entitled "the landings at Gallipoli." He replied that he had, had the honour of visiting Turkey. The conversation then returned to football.
Two old comrades in arms never openly discussed their war time horror stories, for they had lost too many of their mates to feel any sense of pride. After their demobilisation they found work, and continued living their life with hope of better days. Willy Woolard met and married a local Swansea girl, remaining in Swansea until his passing.
The road to perseverance lies by doubt. ~ Francis Quarles
Those doubts are always present to teach us that faith in God is never a matter of being totally certain that all will be well, especially when stormy weather drenches us with obstacles designed to grow our resilience, never to surrender to our fear that The Father will stop protecting us.
I am not finished....for my great, grandfather John also handed me a shiny sixpenny piece, and a missal every Sunday morning with clear orders to represent him at Sunday Mass at St. Joseph's church. Grandpa John was 85 years of age and unable to walk too far. At seven years of age I had been empowered to represent a man who spoke nothing of his long, hard life filling me with hope that I could emulate the best of a man who had entrusted me with so much to treasure in my memory banks.
After John's passing I broke open his tin possessions box filled with his war medals, and Turkish lire sufficient to teach me that my grandfather's journey of self discovery included locking away memories of the past, thus ensuring that the faces of his dead mates did not intrude on his birth right to live his life, for all that his today presented to him to live.
“Memories are a nice place to visit, but a terrible place to live.”― Marty Rubin
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