Talented Writer Is Remembered

Dear Readers: One of the most frequently requested essays since I have been writing this column is “The Station” by Robert Hastings. That talented writer passed away recently, but his work will be read and appreciated for many years to come. What follows will be familiar to many of you. I believe it was his best.

The Station by Robert J. Hastings

Tucked away in our subconscious minds is an idyllic vision in which we see ourselves on a long journey that spans an entire continent. We’re traveling by train, and from the windows, we drink in the passing scenes of cars on nearby highways, of children waving at crossings, of cattle grazing in distant pastures, of smoke pouring from power plants, of row upon row of cotton and corn and wheat, of flatlands and valleys, of city skylines and village halls.

But uppermost in our minds is our final destination - for at a certain hour and on a given day, our train will finally pull into the station with bells ringing, flags waving and bands playing. And once that day comes, so many wonderful dreams will come true. So restlessly, we pace the aisles and count the miles, peering ahead, waiting, waiting, waiting for the station.

“Yes, when we reach the station, that will be it!” we promise ourselves. “When we’re 18… win that promotion… put the last kid through college… buy that 450 SL Mercedes-Benz… pay off the mortgage … have a nest egg for retirement.”

From that day on, we will all live happily ever after.

Sooner or later, however, we must realize there is no station in this life, no one earthly place to arrive at once and for all. The journey is the joy. The station is an illusion - it constantly outdistances us. Yesterday’s a memory; tomorrow’s a dream. Yesterday belongs to history; tomorrow belongs to God. Yesterday’s a fading sunset; tomorrow’s a faint sunrise. Only today is there light enough to love and live.

So, gently close the door on yesterday and throw the key away. It isn’t the burdens of today that drive men mad, but rather the regret over yesterday and the fear of tomorrow.

“Relish the moment” is a good motto, especially when coupled with Psalm 118:24: “This is the day which the Lord hath made; we will rejoice and be glad in it.”

So stop pacing the aisles and counting the miles. Instead, swim more rivers, climb more mountains, kiss more babies, count more stars. Laugh more and cry less. Go barefoot more often. Eat more ice cream. Ride more merry-go-rounds. Watch more sunsets. Life must be lived as we go along. Copyright 1986 by the Southern Illinois University Press.

Dear Ann Landers: You recently asked why so many World War II marriages lasted when the couples barely knew each other. Here’s my answer after 54 years with my wife. “Sally” arrived in Washington, D.C., from Massachusetts in April 1941, along with thousands of young people who came to work for the U.S. Navy. I had arrived the previous February from Brooklyn. We met on her first day at work. She was Catholic. I was Jewish. I joined the Army in July 1942. We married the following January.

The wartime separations and adversities bound us together forever. We needed love and security in those difficult times and found it in one another.

We have three children and four grandchildren. Our marriage endured because we communicated, cooperated and loved one another. - Bill, Clearwater, Fla.

Dear Bill: Beautiful. Your “answer” was right on. Long may you love.