Another Kid In The Attic

I remember the first book I ever stole.

I justified stealing the book with simple human logic—they had it. I wanted it.

It was a copy of Dracula, the quintessential vampire novel by Bram Stoker. Another Boy Scout recommended the book when I was about 12 years old. Reading it captivated me for two reasons: one, I’d seen the Bela Lugosi movie; and two, Stoker wrote his novel in the form of journal and diary entries.

Never before had I ever heard of anyone keeping a diary. The idea enthralled me. Just imagine, someone’s life could be so exciting, so interesting, that it was worth recording.

Wow. My 12-year-old mind imagined how I’d conquer vampires if I ever ran across one. Therefore, I’d better begin keeping a journal so there’d be a record of my brave deeds. I began my first journal that same day…

Trouble was my life was a dud.

I dutifully recorded things like Mrs. Powel made us do page 174 for homework.

Jonathan Harker never had to do homework.

I gave up on keeping my first journal… and my second journal… and my third…but the idea stayed with me.

Since my own life proved so unexciting—no vampires, no mummies, no zombies, not even a stupid ghoul did I encounter—but I began reading other people’s published diaries. I found the everyday lives of people who lived generations before me fascinating. They didn’t fight vampires either, but they did struggle against the hardships and problems and villains of their own times.

I drew courage to fight my own hardships and problems and villains from reading about how diarists of former days coped.

They inspired me.

So I kept reading their old diaries and I grew more faithful about keeping my own. Off and on for 40 years I have kept an almost daily record of my life… Let me qualify that a bit. For instance when I drove an 18-wheeler over the road, I kept a daily log for inspection by government inspectors. And everyone knows that all truck drivers are scrupulously honest truthful men; therefore when my log records that I loaded a 40-foot trailer in half and hour then drove 580 miles and unloaded it all within the ten-hour legal limit—my logs, like all truckers’ logs, accurately tell precisely what I was doing and where I was that day…

Be that as it may, I have tried to be honest in my regular daily journals.

I lost all my earliest journals through moves, re-marriage and a house fire, but I still have between 30 and 35 years worth of the things stuffed in a back closet. If anyone is interested in reading my more recent ones, I’ve published them in my Dirty Old Man Goes Bad series at www.bluefishbooks.info .

Sorry, don’t be disappointed to find that I never did turn in page 174 to Mrs. Powel and I still haven’t conquered a single vampire.

One thing that I’ve noticed in my reading is how often some teen has found an old diary in an attic somewhere, read passages out of curiosity, and had his life changed.

I think of the experience of A.B. Simpson, who grew up to found the Christian Missionary Alliance, an organization which sent thousands of missionaries to all parts of the world. Or I think of Charles Finny, who found an old book in the attic and grew up to become the Billy Graham of his generation.

I often put notes addressed to The Kid In The Attic in my own journals; I want the far future kids who finds one of my dusty diaries in his folks’ attic to know that this is what one Christian’s life is really like. I want him to make a commitment to Christ, but I want him to know what he’s getting into when he does. He will see my sins and faults and faith—in real time so to speak…

Please be patient. I am going somewhere with this.

Last Saturday for lunch Ginny and I went Kosta’s in Five Points, our favorite Italian restaurant. Afterwards we browsed in the Fans & Stoves Antique Mall next door.

In one booth I ran across an old leather-bound diary.

On investigation it proved to the a pocket diary from 1854 kept by W.L. Short of Bloomington, Illinois.

Short’s diary measures 3 by 4 ¾ inches, The leather covers fold to protect the pages from getting wet. I have no idea how this diary ended up in Jacksonville.

Short likely wrote using a crow quill—crow feathers were cheaper than goose quills and they sharpened to a finer point for the tiny print needed for the book’s small size.

Short wrote in clear Spencerian script, but he used various grades of ink, some of which faded the text to illegibility—even when I scan some damaged pages into my computer and enhance the text adjusting brightness, contrast and mid-tones, I still only come up with this:.

I paid a trifle for the diary, and when I got it home to read the pages that can be read, I discovered that I’d bought a treasure. Mr. W.L . Short was a Christians recording the faith, temptations, sessions of depression, moments of elation, and the tedium of his days.

As I read, I found my own spirits uplifted.

Here was a yankee teacher/attorney/lay preacher (hard to tell which) who struggled with the same sort of thing I do.

Some of his days, such as Wednesday, April 19^th, 1854, he could only write, “Nothing of special interest today”.

Other days, such as Wednesday, January 11, 1854, he said, “Feeling better. Took the morning train for Bloomington. …Received letter from Miss. Laning. … An important day in my history”.

That’s an understatement.

The diary reveals that the young man was juggling three women: Sara Belle Laning, whom he describes as “My dearest”; Miss. Amanda of whom he writes, “She is a good girl”; and another woman whom he describes as “My temptation”.

Each lady held attractions and this young man sought God’s guidance as to which one to marry.

Talk about suspense—Dracula has nothing to match it!

Yet in almost every entry Short records his prayers for direction from above; he lived daily in the presence of God.

In one place he says, “O Lord, I will praise Thee; my heart shall rejoice in Thy salvation. Suffer not the tempter to have no power over me. My heart, my life, my all be Thine… I here record a vow to live altogether for God. Lord, help me to keep it”.

When I browse through such entries of a life lived in real time through Mr. Short’s diary, it strengthens my own feeble faith and inspires me to press on …

Say, do you suppose that I—That I am the kid in his attic?