From The Scarlet Letter, Chapter 1, The Custom House (a chapter which is somewhat autobiographical):

The truth seems to be, however, that, when he casts his leaves forth upon the wind, the author addresses, not the many who will fling aside his volume, or never take it up, but the few who will understand him, better than most of his schoolmates or lifemates. Some authors, indeed, do far more than this, and indulge themselves in such confidential depths of revelation as could fittingly be addressed, only and exclusively, to the one heart and mind of perfect sympathy; as if the printed book, thrown at large on the wide world, were certain to find out the divided segment of the writer’s own nature, and complete his circle of existence by bringing him into communion with it. It is scarcely decorous, however, to speak all, even where we speak impersonally. But–as thoughts are frozen and utterance benumbed, unless the speaker stand in some true relation with his audience–it may be pardonable to imagine that a friend, a kind and apprehensive, though not the closest friend, is listening to our talk; and then, a native reserve being thawed by this genial consciousness, we may prate of the circumstances that lie around us, and even of ourself, but still keep the inmost Me behind its veil. To this extent and within these limits, an author, methinks, may be autobiographical, without violating either the reader’s rights or his own.

It seems to me that some bloggers have trouble with where to draw the lines in sharing personal thoughts and feelings in this “new medium” of internet blogging. However, is blogging so much different from publishing in print? Similar rules apply. Realize that anyone in the world might read what you have written, including the people you are writing about. Imagine your reader(s) as friendly souls, a sympathetic audience, but take care to preserve some “inmost Me behind its veil.” And respect the privacy of friends and relatives who might not like being the subject of your internet post–especially not the subject of criticism or true confessions. Speak the truth in love, and know when to quit blogging.

Come, Thou Fount of every blessing,
Tune my heart to sing Thy grace;
Streams of mercy, never ceasing,
Call for songs of loudest praise.
Teach me some melodious sonnet,
Sung by flaming tongues above.
Praise the mount! I’m fixed upon it,
Mount of Thy redeeming love.

Here I raise my Ebenezer;
Hither by thy help I’m come;
And I hope, if by Thy good pleasure,
Safely to arrive at home.
Jesus sought me when a stranger,
Wandering from the fold of God;
He, to rescue me from danger,
Interposed His precious blood.

O to grace how great a debtor
Daily I’m constrained to be!
Let Thy goodness, like a fetter,
Bind my wandering heart to Thee.
Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it,
Prone to leave the God I love;
Here’s my heart, O take and seal it,
Seal it for Thy courts above

This 18th century hymn was written by Robert Robinson. I get conflicting information about him from the web. Some say his heart was “prone to wander,” that he was first converted under the preaching George Whitfield, then became a Methodist preacher, then a Baptist pastor, and finally a Unitarian influenced by British scientist and Unitarian minister Joseph Priestly. Another website says that Robinson did not become a Unitarian, but remained a Baptist and a Christian to the end of his life. In Baptist Heritage by Leon McBeth, Robinson is said to have “preached and wrote against slavery and in 1788 helped to frame an early resolution to Parliament against the practice.” (p. 198) I prefer to believe that God did seal Robinson’s heart and give him the grace to endure to the end–as I pray He will all of us.

As noted in the previous post, I have been reading Walden by Thoreau for our American Literature discussion group. I can’t agree with Mr. Thoreau on some things, and we don’t share the same passions. (I’m not much of a nature lover; I think it’s a character deficiency.) Nevertheless, Henry David Thoreau and I are in nearly complete agreement on the subject of clothing. First Thoreau:

As for Clothing, to come at once to the practical part of the question, perhaps we are led oftener by the love of novelty and a regard for the opinions of men, in procuring it, than by a true utility. Let him who has work to do recollect that the object of clothing is, first, to retain the vital heat, and secondly, in this state of society, to cover nakedness, and he may judge how much of any necessary or important work may be accomplished without adding to his wardrobe.

It is an interesting question how far men would retain their relative rank if they were divested of their clothes.

Every generation laughs at the old fashions, but follows religiously the new.

I say, beware of all enterprises that require new clothes, and not rather a new wearer of clothes. If there is not a new man, how can the new clothes be made to fit? If you have any enterprise before you, try it in your old clothes.

Next, the Bible:

Why are you anxious about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow. They don’t toil, neither do they spin, yet I tell you that even Solomon in all his glory was not dressed like one of these. But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which today exists, and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, won’t he much more clothe you, you of little faith?

No one sews a piece of unshrunk cloth on an old garment, or else the patch shrinks and the new tears away from the old, and a worse hole is made. No one puts new wine into old wineskins, or else the new wine will burst the skins, and the wine pours out, and the skins will be destroyed; but they put new wine into fresh wineskins.

Last and probably least, Sherry herself waxes philosophic:

Clothing should be modest (free from showiness or ostentation; unpretentious), suited to the purpose or the occasion, and if at all possible, beautiful. There’s nothing wrong with wearing clothes that look pretty or distinguished or handsome; in fact, as Christians we are clothed in the righteousness of Christ himself, and our earthly clothes can be only a pale reflection of His glory. When God sees me, He doesn’t see my plaid dress or my blue jeans; he sees me dressed in the righteousness of Christ. I can choose to dress in rags that barely cover my body, or I can buy the most elegant and expensive outfit that money and good taste can procure. However, I won’t impress God. Just as all my good deeds and “trying hard to be good” are compared to filthy rags in the Scripture, so my actual clothing is ragged and threadbare compared to the riches of heaven. So I should wear clothing that pleases me and pleases other people (without leading anyone into sin). I want my clothing to be comfortable and beautiful, to reflect Christ and to express a little of who I am, the colors I enjoy and the styles I like. Finally, though, who cares about fashion, and why invest too much time or money into something that tomorrow will be thrown into the oven?