I don’t know why I keep sharing all this stuff from my journals, since they’re supposed to be top secret, keep out or else, and all that. But apparently I don’t write as much private stuff in my journals as 10-year-olds are wont to do. Plus, I’m still dwelling on them, and blogs are supposed to be about things we’re pondering, so I figured I might as well spring for it.
First, I’m not completely insane, I promise. However, I do sometimes do odd things. For instance, in a journal that I kept about three or so years ago, I decided to do a rather insane thing. My first entry has a portion that goes as follows:
“Well, I’ve finally started my new diary. Just for background information (for 47 years from now, if the Lord doesn’t come, or tribulation saints (hi!) if He does) I’m __ years old. I lead a rather uneventful life and can’t write in straight lines… and absolutely NO handwriting skills. Good luck, oh ye tribulation saints. Go find a Bible or something—way more profitable and way easier to read!
“So, _______ conference comes up soon, and no doubt these pages will be full to the brim of “guess what?” stories. I seem to always collect stories at conferences, like flies to honey, or something. Not that I’m honey, or stories are flies, but it was just the best analogy I could think of. By the way, I can’t spell, not even if my life were hanging on the chance. So, my tribulation saints: beware. And as I said, Bible is always better. But if you do insist, I shall keep writing.
“That gives me an idea. You know how Anne Frank did that annoying “Dear Kitty” thing? Well, for this insufferably long journal, I can do a “Dear Tribulation Saint.” I doubt that’s been done too many times before. And if it has, well, so what. We’re all just excited about the Lord’s coming.”
So apparently I decided to keep a journal dedicated entirely to a random tribulation saint. We often talk in our house about how we hope the trib saints get to our house before the government, because then they can get our many Bibles. Clearly this has influenced me to consider that they might take off with my journals as reading material.
So, I carried forth for several months, starting each journal entry with a “Dear Tribulation Saint,” or, if I were feeling rather blasé, I’d just say “Tribulation Saint:” and carry forth. But one day, I had a rather startling thought.
“Friend,
“I just realized something. What if you’re not a tribulation saint? What if *gasp* you’re an evil dictator who has scoured the homes of known believers for information on meeting places and stuff? AHHH!!!! Get away from my diary!
“Anyhow, if the (hopefully large) chance that you’re a Saint, and/or still reading this, I shall endeavor to tell you about my day.”
Then, one September 11th, I got pensive about that.
“Before I get too far I just want to say, September 11 already? I know that you, as a tribulated person, have all sorts of crazy stuff in your world, but September 11 was pretty crazy for me.”
I just couldn’t believe that I would even vaguely compare our little problems to Tribulation-sized problems. Clearly I have no sense of fair comparisons.
While going tangenty one day, I made this observation to my friend TS,
“Anyhow, that got a little off-topic from my subject, but that’s OK, because 1) this is a diary and I can say pretty much whatever I want, and b) if you’re really a tribulation saint, then I’m in Heaven and the rules of writing don’t even apply any more.”
I’m not sure why I thought that the rules of writing would cease to apply once I got a Heavenly-type promotion, but maybe my old self knew something it hasn’t bothered to share with the current me.
“Happy Valentine’s Day!
“Oh wait, do you have happy anything days there in the tribulation? That would kind of stink, not having happy anything days. I mean, I guess you have joy in the Lord and all that, but that would just kind of stink.”
Actually, I think the most amusing part of my whole thing was that I eventually shortened my saint’s title from “Tribulation Saint” to “TS.” It took me a little while to realize that T. S. Eliot has such initials, so I started calling my Tribulation Saint TS, Thomas, or just Eliot. And sometimes Thomas. It vaguely weireded me out to realize that writing my journal to a man didn’t seem odd, because I’d been subconsciously writing it to a male the whole time.
Which should be weirder, but when I think of tribulation saints, I mostly think of men, for some reason. Silly, I know, because women and children would be the most likely to grab journals from someone’s room (the men would be in the basement stocking up on pliers and flathead screwdrivers) and so it goes to follow that a woman or childly person would end up with my journal.
But, it’s all foolishness anyhow, because if I manage to remain on earth for very long, I intend to burn most (code word: all) of my journals anyhow. So, Tribulation Saint, don’t bother looking for those journals. Go help your mom raid our pantry. Also in the basement, by the way, so just follow the menfolk, and you’ll do fine.
