佩吉·伍德/PeggyWood
Occasionallymymotherusedtoannouncethatshewasgoingtotaketimeoutfromtheday'sactivities “torest”, shewouldsay, “andtoinvitemysoul.”Shealwaysputthephraseinquotes, inorder, Iexpect, todivertthefacetiousremarkswhichmightarisefromtheworldlyorpractical-mindedfolkwithinearshotortodisarmthosewhomightfeel“soul”wasaSundaywordnottobeusedineverydayconversation.
Butshemeanttodoexactlywhatshesaid “invitemysoul”.
Thepressureofthemodernworldissogreatuponustodaythatwefindlittletimeforrest, physicalrest, , whenwetaketheword “soul”outofitsSundayclothesitisunfamiliartous, wedon'; tosomeitmaymean “conscience”, , thatthemiraclecalledlife, whichcannotbemanufacturedbyman, doescomefromasourcewhichwecallGod, -blank, “Whatdoyoubelieve?”Ihedgeandplayfortimeinmyconfusionbysaying, “Well, now, that'saprettybigquestion.”
Itisnotaltogetherthepressureofthemodernworldwhichhascloudedourcomprehension; “thesimplefaithofourfathers”'ssearchintotheoperationsofourhiddenselvesshookourconvictionthatmancouldbemadeintheimageofGod.
Itmightbesaidthatsuchmattersaffectonlydogmaandnotbelief, andyetthemountingcomplexitiesofman'sdiscoveriesabouthimselfandtheworldhelivesinincreasesowiththeyearsitislittlewondermancriesoutforsomethingsimpleandenduringinwhichtobelieve.
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