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10:40 P.M. November 19th, 1927. The close of another week and the end of another day. My throat is sore. I have a little cough. I do not know whether I am sick or not and care less. It is not within my power to control the weakness of my physical being. When I die I shall be dead a long time. I know not how long I shall live. That is one thing man is certain of. I wanted to go with her nearly a year ago now but I could not. I try to be worthy of an equal share of the rest which now is hers, but I am not. In passing I might be credited with the glory of an undying devotion which death seems not a part of that, I am not worthy. There is not within me one atom of life, as life should be, that is equal to her loving sacrifice. I shall live a long time. I shall never die because I shall never be good enough. I can only go to Greenwood tomorrow. “Ilya toyed skuisya.” 11:00 P.M.”

(Sally here: John seems more depressed than ever in this entry. It might be coupled with his becoming sick. I often prayed right after my husband died, please Lord, help me not to become sick because I wasn’t sure if I could survive the grief and the sickness. But, one of the first widow’s I met after the death of my husband was Muriel. She was 10 years older than I and her husband had died 3 years earlier. Muriel ended up getting cancer and watching her go through her grief and also fight cancer; well my heart went out to that precious woman. She had such incredible strength but it was so very difficult on her, and that’s an understatement. She has since passed and is now with her spouse…..and so is John)

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Sin

11:05 P.M. November 18th, 1927. I suppose I must become accustomed to the cold, to sleeping alone and having no one to help keep me warm. I am not worth being comfortable else I should not now be uncomfortable. I am only a very weak specimen of humanity. I shall never be anything else. Our actions are not always as we want them to be, for we never reach the perfection we strive to attain; it is not possible to do so in reality. We are never equal to our imagined idols of goodness-only He who rules the universe can be that. We permit ourselves to become sinful and slaves to our body, yet we only point out the sin which appears as such to us and despite the consequences of it, but we do not go so much into the cause of sin. One is not born sinful; there is always some cause of it. I may find a cause someday. “Ilya toyed skuisya” 11:20 P.M.”

(Sally here: I have to keep reminding myself that John is only a few months into his grief, his deepest grief. I think I’ve been blogging from John’s diary for a few years now and so for a brief moment while I share passages from his diary I why he is still feeling so dark but then reality hits me and I remember he is new in this world of darkness; it hasn’t even been a full year for him. My husband has been gone for almost 10 years now, which seems almost impossible for me to comprehend. But in those early months, those early years, my darkness was as great as any I can imagine. Same with my self worth….that will change John, just hold on.)

Veneer

10:25 P.M. November 17th, Not so cold tonight, yet I shall probably be cold and cannot sleep before morning. Oh, well, I have slept colder, or at least had to try to sleep under much worse conditions. I am getting older, and should not complain but it is only my part of life. And so civilization is only a sort of veneer. I guess that is about true. We often hear of the cultural veneer of some of our prominent social leaders. They act or live only as the custom demands. It is not natural, so all our civilization is the same thing in a lesser degree. Any and all of us revert back to the true stage of human instinct with which we are endowed under certain conditions. Restraint or an affected personality, each destroy our real beauty. “Ilya toyed skuisya.” 10:35 P.M.”

(Sally here: Goodness, there is so much here it’s making my head spin. John is so right and even tho this diary was written 91 years ago it is so relevant to today. If we could only see the true hearts of people; but then again it just might be too much for us to handle; I’m not sure. Still pondering…..)

Merely Puppets

I don’t always keep up on this blog as regularly as I should but I’m much better on my facebook page and my instagram page which are both under Sally’s Diaries.

11:10 P.M. November 16th, It is cold again tonight, near freezing I imagine. I get so cold near morning I cannot sleep and I’ve a comfortable bed and plenty of covers to keep me warm. There seems to be no circulation in my feet and legs and I cannot keep them warm. I have been busy today and I am glad for that but I am not pleased with what the evening brought. It is always the same, always the time comes when I am hardly worth the air I breathe, and I am always sorry it is so. Man may expect much as great blessings to come from his religious zeal; but I do not believe man is ever worthy of the sanctity which he endeavors to build about himself. We are all very much alike, merely puppets. “Ilya toyed skuisya” 11:25 P.M.”

Hattie’s Words

I must explain why the delay in my blog, yet another delay I might add. Still working on my new diary adventure. For over 30 years now I’ve been buying, collecting, reading and researching “other peoples” diaries and letters and in that 30 years I’ve been so moved and blessed by what I’ve learned. So much, that for quite sometime I’ve been looking for a way to really share the words of others. Although I can’t say right now, I believe I’m getting closer to a fabulous project that might enable me to share worldwide.

Just recently a woman asked me, “How has reading other peoples diaries affected you?” I’ve never really thought about this until she asked me and for the last few weeks have reflected on that very question. It would take me pages upon pages to really describe how this diary world has affected and also changed me. I guess if I had to sum it all up, the main thing that I have learned is that we all have a story and an important one at that. That in itself helps me to stay focused on what’s important and not to judge or criticize someone because I have no idea what they’ve been through in their life.

I just got through ready two diaries written by a 40 year old woman by the name of Hattie. She began her diaries in 1893 and I must share one of her passages…..

September 24th, 1893. Mrs. Whitney says something like this; If one is genuinely introspective, she will not be so upon paper. I wonder if I write with the idea that someone, sometime, will read what I have written? Truly, I have no wish that somethings should be read and criticized. And I know of late it has been almost impossible to write my best thoughts, in fact, it has been quite impossible. I cannot measure my growth, if growth there be. Like a child that pencils her height from time to time on the wall, neither can I keep an account of the daily happenings in my monotonous life. They will only signify in what they make of me. Nevertheless, I have from time to time written of some actual experiences or some thought has come to me that I wished to remember; sometimes a half awakened dream or vision that may in time be fully revealed to me in all its meaning and beauty. Had I a dear, dear friend who loved me dearly and would read my journal in love, I do not think I would object. And I think hereafter I will write with that thought in mind. That I am writing to my dearly loved friend who is to be mine, manifestly, in God’s own good time, is now safe in the Lord’s knowledge and leadings, perhaps across the world or years away in time to come. Still sure to come, as we or when we are fitted for each other. “Be still and know I am God.””

Jenna's Photos of My Diaries 025Am I Hattie’s “dear, dear friend” who was “years away in time to come”? I could only hope and pray so.

Death seems Dear

(Sally here: Again, I make apologies for not blogging sooner. My world has been a bit full lately concerning my diary business. I can’t say exactly right now what I’ve been doing but my adventures might make it possible for me to share my diaries in a bigger way. Lots of meetings lately and in November I head to England for more meetings. So, with that said, I’ve been a busy, and very excited girl. More to come on that subject but really more importantly, it’s John’s turn……)

“10:35 P.M. November 15th, Sitting by the fire alone. Cora and Bethine are asleep. It is colder tonight. I do not want to go to bed. I cannot keep warm and so I sit by the fire and wonder a great deal about life until I cannot longer stay awake. Now there is no planning for the future, the days bring only what they may. I cannot seem to bear my loss without grief and bitterness in my heart; I am still too much a coward to face life bravely and make the best of it. Such changes life brings and life seemed so dear I was afraid of death. Now death seems so dear and I am afraid of life and yet I live. How easily I might end my life but we are taught it is wrong to do so and so I do not. I wonder if cowardice holds me back? I suppose. “Ilya toyed skuisya.” 10:55 P.M.”

(Sally here: WOW….. “life seemed so dear I was afraid of death. Now death seems so dear and I am afraid of life and yet I live.”)

Sally here: Well I’m back….finally. And what a passage to come back to. November 14th’s entry is heartbreaking and so beautiful. Bless your heart John….

11:25 P.M. November 13th, I

It is getting late. I must be in bed soon. The drive home from Ft. Worth this evening has left me tired but I do not want to go to bed. Pat had such a nice dinner today. I’m sorry I could not eat more to make her feel as tho I appreciated it, when it was for my birthday. The white and yellow chrysanthemums I took to Greenwood today were so pretty; I take them for her; she loved flowers so. If there were only still her loving arms to receive them. How I worship her yet; if it is wrong then it cannot be helped. I can be no different I wish I was only half as good as I try to be. “Ilya toyed skuisya” 11:40 P.M.”

10:20 P.M. November 14th, How precious memory is and yet how it makes the heart ache again. This evening I got out my little drafting board to sketch some plans of another airplane model which I intend to build; the little board which she used to hold in her lap when curled up in her rocker and there write letters to mother and daddy and to me if I should happen to be gone for a day. On the back of the board is her name in her own handwriting. It made my heart beat faster when I saw it but just beside her name is the faint pencil lines of a hand, my hand which I laid on the board and she traced the outline around it. It all came to me as quick as a flash and the little love pats which she gave my hand. I could hardly refrain from bursting out sobbing. Oh God! How could you take her away? Please let me go to her! “Ilya toyed skuisya.” 10:35 P.M.”