Secrets to a Happy Marriage

I was reading a book the other day about the secrets to a successful, long-lasting and happy marriage.

It’s amazing that after centuries of people coming together in matrimony there are still, apparently, secrets that we do not know about on how to make our marriages happy and successful.

I read with some trepidation and curiosity in order to discover what else I have to learn on the subject.

It seems that the first steps in choosing a partner for life are the most important ones. Marriage is not to be entered into too lightly and one must be careful with whom we pledge to spend the rest of our lives – come sunshine, rain or snow. It is imperative at the outset to decide who will clear the path when the snow is feet deep and blocking your way out.

Love, mutual respect, patience and understanding are obviously very important in a marriage. But just as essential is the fact that one of the spouses should be slightly deaf – preferably the husband.

The choice of spouse is vital not only for reasons of compatibility, shared interests, hopes, values and aspirations. It seems that the occupation and profession of one’s partner plays a major role in the longevity and success of the union.

Statistics prove beyond doubt that archaeologists make the best marriage partners. The older you get the more interested they are in you.

It is of course inevitable that in any marriage arguments will occur sometimes out of the blue and on the most absurd and un-important subjects. The trick is not so much on how to win an argument; if this was at all possible, but to avoid getting into one in the first place.

It’s not a question of capitulating and giving way in the first instance, but choosing which argument is important enough to defend as a matter of principle and which is not worth losing privileges for.

The question of principles is worth dwelling on for a moment or two. Don’t just have one unbreakable principle which you will uphold at the cost of your marriage, happiness, and future livelihood. Be generous. Have plenty of principles; and if one doesn’t work out for you choose another one. No one who is anyone has ever succeeded by having just one principle.

The book also has a chapter about mutual interests and doing things together as a couple which both marriage partners can enjoy.

Now, doing heavy work together like changing the engine oil in the car, tuning the engine, changing the tires and other mechanical tasks may be ideal for certain couples; but personally I’d rather sit back and admire her handiwork and praise her every now and then. Besides, I hate it when the engine oil and dirt gets under my fingernails. It’s a devil of a job to clean when I’m at the manicurist.

In a chapter specifically for men, the book states that women like to be re-assured frequently that they are loved and cherished. Frequently the words “I love you” are not heard as often after the honeymoon, or are used as a pretext to wanting something, like watching the football on TV.

The book suggests that the husband writes down the words “I love you” on a piece of paper which the wife can refer to as often as needed in future. Laminating the piece of paper will ensure its durability, especially if it is the size of a credit card so it can be easily carried in one’s purse or handbag. Drawing a heart, or a flower, (before laminating), will also ensure a successful purpose.

So there you have it … a few secrets to a long, happy and successful marriage. Now where’s my dinner?

Aunt Gertrude's Bloomers

My Australian Aunt Gertrude who has been staying with us for a while is a really peculiar person; and it has nothing to do with her age or the fact that some elderly people can be eccentric or odd.

Ever since I have known her she has been that way, apparently. I remember as a child hearing my parents saying that she is very tight-fisted when it comes to spending money; and if she were ever mugged she’d convince the mugger to give her his wallet.

This attitude, and others, have manifested themselves since we’ve renewed her acquaintance after so many years of living apart since she emigrated to Australia all those years ago.

For example, not that we’re expecting any gifts from her, let me explain and emphasize … but her choice of welcoming gifts has been “economically eccentric” not to put too fine a point.

She brought the children bags of Australian boiled sweets … and one packet was open because she needed something for a dry throat whilst on the plane.

When I met her at the airport she came towards me holding a can of Foster’s amber nectar; one of the best things to come out of Australia. I was delighted at the prospect of such a generous gift … turned out it was her lunch.

What she actually gave me was a book on how to make your own boomerang. Well, I exaggerate; it’s not a book but in fact a ten-page pamphlet.

Every time I threw the book away it came back.

The first time I left it semi-deliberately on the sofa so that the dog would pick it up to play and destroy it. It was retrieved and put on my bedside table for safety.

The second time I left it outside in the garden in the hope that it would just fly away. Again it found its way to the bedside table.

I finally put it in the waste paper basket and was told this is insensitive and that I should keep it in case some day, when I’m old and retired, I might want to make a boomerang for the grand-children. What an unlikely prospect!

Another example of her meanness was portrayed in church last Sunday. During collection she put in £1 and took out some change from the collection plate. She complained afterwards that she only managed to retrieve 85 pence whereas she wanted to collect 90.

Anyway, Aunt Gertrude’s peculiarities are not confined to the not spending-money variety.

Our house faces a beautiful park leading to pleasant country walks amongst the valleys and hills beyond. When Aunt Gertrude arrived we gave her a front facing bedroom so she could see the beautiful views from her window.

I got home the other day to find the largest pair of white bloomers hanging out to dry from a makeshift rope out of her window. The underwear was so big that it would have been used by Captain Cook as a sail for his ship on its way to Australia. Next to her pants was the largest bra I could ever imagine.

I was speechless … I mean … is this what they do in Australia? Hang their under-washings out of the window for the whole world to see?

What would the neighbours think or say? It is bad enough the way they look at me when I’m wearing my red tartan shirt, green trousers and cowboy hat with a feather in it. Now they have the huge white under-garments as an additional subject of conversation.

Fortunately, as I am not renowned for my diplomacy, I was forbidden to mention the objectionable items, and a quiet word in her ears quickly removed the clothing to the washing line in our back garden.

“Will the birds poo all over it in the back garden?” enquired Auntie Gertrude.

“No … they only poo at the front,” I replied … diplomatically of course.

Rescue Drive

For a few days Father Ignatius had been thinking over his conversation with Father Donald about the dream he had.

In the dream, St Peter asked Father Ignatius directly, ‘Have you done a good job of looking after Our Lord’s lambs and sheep?’

“What a challenge!” thought Father Ignatius, “St Peter himself asking me if I was a good priest!”

Jack lived a few yards down the road from St Vincent Church, just the other side of the Convent.

One Friday evening he was waiting outside the Fish and Chips Shop just opposite the church when Father Ignatius joined the queue.

“How are you keeping Jack?” he asked, “you look really miserable right now … just like a mile of bad road, I should say!”

“Hello Father …” mumbled Jack under his breath, “it’s a long story!”

“You’d better tell me about it … let’s move away from this queue …”

The two men left the queue and walked a few paces away from the shop.

“It’s this friend of mine …” Jack said hesitantly, “he’s over seventy years old, lives in Brintown, and he’s not too well. I think he’s dying. I spoke to the lady friend he lives with and she said the doctor is not holding much hope. I’ll go and see him tomorrow as I’m not working this weekend … I hope I get there in time …”

“I’ll pray for him Jack. I notice you said lady friend … is he not married then?”

“Oh … that’s another long story Father.” said Jack, “Many years ago, when he was thirty or so, he met this lady and fell in love with her. She was divorced and his priest would not marry them. In fact he argued the matter with the priest and the priest excommunicated him.

“I think he probably excommunicated her as well … I don’t know.

“Anyway, they’ve lived together ever since … that’s about forty years. I don’t know if they ever got married in the Civil Court.

“But the man kept faithful to the ban imposed on him. He didn’t move to another church and take Communion there, even though they moved town several times. In fact I believe he never set foot in another church ever since that day!”

“We’d better go and see them then …” said the priest.

“What now … it’s five o’clock. It will take us two hours to get to Brintown!”

“The sooner we start the better,” replied Father Ignatius, “you go to my office and phone them from there. I’ll get the car ready!”

Moments later Father Ignatius was driving up the highway as fast as the speed limit allowed.

They arrived just after 7:30 that evening. Father Ignatius went to see the old man in his bedroom whilst Jack stayed with the old lady in the front room.

They could hear talk, and sometimes laughter from the bedroom. The priest stayed there for a while. He heard the old man’s Confession and gave him Holy Communion. Then they chatted away about the past … the old man had spent some time in Italy, not far from where Father Ignatius studied for the priesthood, so they talked about Italy and all the places they visited whilst there.

Eventually the priest came out and asked Jack to go and stay with the old man.

He heard the old lady’s Confession and gave her Holy Communion.

Father Ignatius and Jack set off back home at about 10:45 that evening. In the car, on the way to St Vincent, Jack said, “Thank you Father … being with you is like being with Jesus!”

“Don’t ever say that,” replied the priest, “no one can possibly be like Jesus!”

The old man died three days later.

The old lady also died a few months after that.

(Based on a true story).

Aunt Gertrude

For days on end the house was full of excitement because “Aunt Gertrude is coming! Aunt Gertrude is coming!”

I can’t understand all the fuss myself; since no one has met Aunt Gertrude and the last time I saw her was millions of years ago in the Jurassic era I believe.

Sure, the old fossil does keep in touch, once a year, when she sends a re-cycled Christmas card which someone else has sent her. Yes, I mean it … a re-cycled Christmas card! She sticks a piece of paper on the card where previous well-wishers have written and then she writes her Yuletide Greetings. We often peel off the paper carefully and guess who originally sent her the card!

She has always been very tightfisted as I remember. So miserly that she looks at you from on top of her spectacles so as not to wear out the lenses!

Anyway … this distant relative, (she lives in Australia), whom no one has ever met except me has decided to visit us. Apparently her husband, a successful business man, had planned a business trip to the UK before he died suddenly, and she did not want to waste the airline ticket!

As soon as he was underground she was over ground and flying.

And I was tasked to go and meet her in the airport. I took the day off work and left early to get there on time. I waited endlessly in the reception area and eventually my eyes set upon the much awaited relative from down under.

She walked very slowly and carried a small case in her hand. I offered to carry it for her and she refused holding it tightly to her chest. We waited for the rest of her luggage which I loaded onto a trolley and then into my car.

No sooner had we left the airport that she started complaining. “Why do you drive so slow?” she asked, “where I come from we walk faster than that!”

I smiled politely, looked at her from the rear view mirror and said: “There’s a speed restriction area up front. Road works I believe!”

“Why do they have to fix the roads at inconvenient times and near a busy airport? Why can’t they fix them elsewhere?”

I must admit I had no good answer to this one. Why indeed do they fix the roads near the airport and not the ones in a desert somewhere, in the middle of a jungle or up a mountain? How inconsiderate of these road mending people!

“Do you live far?” was her next question.

“It’s about an hour away, I’m afraid!” I replied hesitantly.

“You should consider moving nearer the airport.” she retorted quickly, “it would be more considerate when you have visitors from abroad.”

Once again, she was right of course. We should all leave our place of employment locally, and where the schools are close to hand, and move near the busy airport on the off-chance that our distant relative, (not distant enough right now), might one day in a lifetime get hold of a spare airline ticket and choose to use it rather than attempt to get a reduced refund.

I remained silent and then started to panic as I saw the traffic build up right ahead. There had been an accident and we soon came to a stop on the highway.

“Are we there yet?” she asked.

“No!”

“Why have we stopped then?”

“There’s been an accident. The police is re-directing us another way.”

“Not many accidents in Australia.” she claimed, “My husband drove for fifty years and never had an accident. Except once! When he reversed on Aristotle, the cat! Didn’t like him anyway … the cat. Didn’t like my husband much either …”

I said nothing and left the highway slowly as directed by the police.

A few minutes later my cell-phone rang. I stopped the car to answer it.

“Where are you? Why have you not picked up Aunt Gertrude from the airport?”

It took a few seconds for my slow brain to realize what I had done. I’d picked the wrong aunt from the airport!

How was I to know? She wore spectacles. She walked slowly. She looked old … she WAS old! She looked Australian, she spoke in an Australian accent and came off an Australian plane!

Was I to check her identity in her passport double-locked in her hand bag held tightly against her chest?

Why is it always my fault when everything goes wrong?

That evening I opened my Bible and read: “Do not be afraid, for I have redeemed you. I have called you by your name; you are mine.” Isaiah 43: 1-5.

I bet He knows the right Aunt Gertrude better than me!

Angry Vengeful God?

Imagine you've died and gone to Heaven.

Joy of joys !!! At last, you've made it. God has seen it fit for you to deserve Heaven. An eternity with Him. You are so glad, more than you've ever been your entire life.

You look around and meet old friends and relatives who have made it here too. You greet them with a tear in your eye - a tear of joy as well as a little sadness when you remember how you missed them and cried when they were gone!

You renew old acquaintances as well as make new ones as you meet the Saints you've read so much about but had never met.

Then you realise someone is missing. 

A relative, or friend, whom you'd expected to see here is missing. You ask St Peter and he confirms your suspicion. That person is not here.

Is he in transit? In the Purification Center we call Purgatory, perhaps?

No ... he is ... in the other place.

Your joy turns to sadness, confusion, despair even. How can it be? You so expected to be with that person in Heaven for eternity.

What do you do?

Seek an explanation from God? Perhaps there's been a mistake! Ask Him to re-consider. Plead with Him even? Beg that this person is brought up to Heaven?

Has that person's absence tarnished your joy of being in Heaven? Changed your view of God's justice and mercy?

How can you possibly be here in Heaven for ever, knowing full well that a dear loved one is in the other place and will never join you?

On the Cross Jesus forgave those who dared to inflict so much suffering and death to the Son of God. What more heinous sin could your relative or friend have committed to deserve an eternity in hell?

Your human sense of justice; and your understanding and perspective of forgiveness and mercy would like things to be different and, no matter what that person has done in life, you wish him here with you in Heaven.

But God does not work like that. His perspective is not a human perspective. He decided otherwise.

In Luke 16:19-31 we read that the rich man in "the other place" pleaded that his brothers may not join him there. But his pleadings were met with the response that each person makes his or her own decisions in life, and by their actions they choose whether to go to Heaven or not.

No one goes to hell by mistake. We choose to go there. And many, by their actions, are sleep-walking their way to hell.

The time for action and prayers is now.

And yet ... what if we're one day in Heaven and our loved one is not there? What then?

Father Francis Maple - 50th Anniversary

Father Francis Maple

Father Francis Maple is an occasional guest writer on this Blog. He lives in England and has recently celebrated his 50th Anniversary as a priest. He re-visited the Church where he was ordained and this is his homily which will hopefully inspire someone somewhere to consider joining the priesthood.

   

Welcome everyone!  I would like to welcome particularly Bishop George of Kerala in India who just happens to be passing through Bedford and has asked to concelebrate Mass with us this morning.  I would like to thank my family and parishioners for coming today to celebrate and help me thank God for being His priest for 50 years.

On the day of my ordination I gave my mother my memorial card.  She read it.  I also gave her the memorial card of another priest who was ordained with me the same day.  Very gently my Mum said, “Son, I wish you had written on your card what he had written.”  He wrote, “I thank the Lord for choosing me to be His priest.  I wrote on mine, “I thank the Lord for the gift of the priesthood.”  Mum was right, his was more personal.

I am standing here today because I owe my vocation to my saintly parents.  I think of them today and thank God for the parents He gave me.

HOMILY

I invited Canon Seamus Keenan, the parish priest, to say these words.  He declined saying, “I am sure your family would like to hear you speak.  So if you don’t like what I have to say, you know whom to blame!”

Every priest, like St. Matthias whose feast we keep today, is chosen by Christ.  No priest can say, “I chose to be a priest.”  Rather it is Jesus who says, “I chose you.”  It is Jesus who leads us to the priesthood in different ways.

The majority of priests come from good Catholic homes.  I was blessed with saintly parents.  I was one of twelve children, eight girls and four boys.  If God had called all of us to be priests and nuns I am sure my Dad and Mum would have been extremely happy.  That says something about the holiness of my parents.  One girl became a nun and one boy a priest.  The rest married and I can proudly say that not one lapsed and all happily married.  We owe this to the strong faith of our parents and the good example they gave us.

We owe so much to our ancestors.  One day when I was a deacon, well on the way to the priesthood, my grandmother said to me, “Do you know Marcy God is calling you to be a priest.  It will be you who will lead us all to Heaven.”  I said, “Mamma, please don’t place that responsibility on my shoulders.

What inspired me to be a priest?  It was hearing my father say, “If one of my sons becomes a priest it will be the happiest day of my life.”  I think I was about six at the time, but those words made a deep impression on me that I, who loved my Dad so much, was going to be the one who would bring about the happiest day of his life.  Someone could make the case that my motive wasn’t the right one, but it was God who eventually channelled that motive to please Him first before pleasing my father.

Now what sort of priest was I going to be?  A strange circumstance in life brought this about.  I was now eight years old, an altar server in a Corpus Christi procession in New Delhi.  There I was a young lad of eight, with a huge quiff of hair like Elvis Presley, carrying a lighted candle.  I could hear a burning noise.  Suddenly from nowhere a Capuchin priest rushed over to me and started patting my head.  The candle I carried had set my hair on fire.  There was a bald patch there for a few weeks.  That priest was Fr. Luke.  I got to like him and decided when I grew up I would become a priest like him, wearing a brown habit, a black beard and a pair of sandals. 

It was now my ninth birthday, and on our birthdays, our father used to tell us to go the priest and get his blessing.  I was shy at that time and I didn’t want to do it, but you could not say no to Dad.  It was to Fr. Luke I went.  When I told him my Dad had sent me to get his blessing as it was my birthday, he said, “Fancy that!  It’s my birthday too!”  So he was the one who inspired me to be a Capuchin friar and priest.

Fifty years ago on 31 March 1963 I said my first Mass in this Church.  Sadly my father had died two years before I was ordained a priest.  He did not see me a priest, but knew I was well on the road to becoming one.  My mother and all my family were present at my ordination and first Mass.  Canon Anthony Hulme was the parish priest at that time; also present were Fr. Tom McConville from Northern Ireland, who served for many years as a curate here and for whom I had great respect and Fr. Tony Philpot a fellow altar server of mine in this church.  I remember that day so well.

I can’t believe that 50 years has gone by since that day.  A man wrote to me the other day congratulating me on being a priest for 50 years.  He said, “How many people’s lives as a priest have you touched in those 50 years?”  It made me wonder and start to think.  At all stages of people’s lives a priest is there to administer to all their needs.  I would love to know how many babies I have baptised and set on the road leading to Heaven.  Several times as a hospital chaplain I was called out in the early hours of a morning to baptise babies weighing just over 2 lbs.  One of these babies lives in Chester.  He is now 14 and comes regularly to me for Confession. 

Then there is the Sacrament of the Holy Eucharist.  In 50 years every priest would give as much a million Holy Communions.  What an honour that is.

A bishop is the ordinary minister of the Sacrament of Confirmation, but one Pentecost day I was privileged to administer this Sacrament to 62 children.  The week before the parish priest was due to confirm these children he broke his leg and he asked me if I would confirm them.

On average every year I hear 900 confessions.  That means in 50 years I have heard 45.000 confessions.  I can recall the happiness I have brought to many people by hearing their confessions.  Only recently I heard the confession of a lady whose marriage had broken down, she remarried outside the church.  Her husband died and after being away from confession for nearly forty years she made her confession to me.  She told me, “I can’t describe the joy and peace you have given me by going to confession.  I shed tears of joy throughout the whole of Mass and when you placed the consecrated host on my hand I just wanted to gaze at It forever.”

Here is another story about a confession I heard as a young priest.  The doorbell of the confessional rang.  I entered the confessional.  By the sounds on the other side of the confessional I knew it was an old person who was the penitent.  She began, “Father, I don’t know where to begin.  The last time I went to confession was the day before my wedding when I was 18 and now I am 82.”  All I could say to her was, “Congratulations!  It must have been very hard for you to come here.”  She replied, “If only you knew how many years I have just wanted to do this!”  After her confession her daughter who had brought her to church rang our doorbell and told me, “Father, you will never know how happy you have made my mother.  May I bring my mother, who is house bound, along again to confession to you outside the appointed hours of hearing confession.”  I told her, “Bring her along any time.  That’s what we are here for.”  I could tell you dozen of stories of this nature where through this sacrament people have experienced the peace of Christ.  No doubt those people have now died and I feel sure are in heaven.  They are there because it was that moment of their turning back to the Lord and hearing from my lips those wonderful words, “And I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.”

Countless times I have administered the Sacrament of the Sick.  I remember the occasion I was visiting the sick in hospital.  I don’t know what made me to be drawn to this particular man lying in a bed.  I never even knew he was a Catholic.  We chatted.  It turned out he was a Catholic, married outside the Church and had left the church for years.  He told me he had just days to live.  I encouraged him to make his peace with God.  He accepted my invitation.  The result was that I heard his confession, regularised his marriage and administered the Sacrament of the dying and in two weeks’ time gave him a Catholic burial.  I wish I could convey to you the happiness I brought to him, his wife and his family.  What a wonderful way God has in using His priests to bring the lost sheep back into His fold.  How can I ever thank God for that honour?

A priest doesn’t administer the Sacrament of Matrimony.  It is the husband and wife who do so.  The priest is the chief witness of the church.  I like doing marriages.  They are happy family occasions.  I like to make it personal by singing two songs, one for the bride on behalf of the bridegroom and the other for the bridegroom on behalf of the bride.  I know how much these songs are appreciated.  I wonder how many children those marriages have produced because you were the priest who helped to tie the knot.  I shall never forget the first wedding at which I ever officiated.  It was that of my younger sister Francesca.  She told her husband Gordon of happy memory, “We are not going to get married until my brother is a priest and he will marry us.”  And they were married in this church.

What is the chief duty of a priest?  It is to offer sacrifice.  Every morning as he stands at the altar he takes bread into his hands and holds the chalice of wine and says over them those beautiful words, “This is My Body…This is My Blood”.  At that solemn moment he performs the greatest miracle that takes place in our world every day, when bread and wine are changed into the risen Lord Jesus.  On behalf of the church he offers this sacrifice of Jesus to God the Father for the salvation of the world.  Is there any greater thing a human person can do?  Is there any greater power and honour God can confer upon a man?   How can a sinful man ever thank God for bestowing such a gift upon him?  It is now that I can appreciate the words of my father, “The day one of my sons becomes a priest will be the happiest day of my life.”

Singing has a played an important and enjoyable part of my life.  How pleased I am to relate to you the fact that I sing a pro-Life song called “Cry from the heart” and as far as I know that song has influenced at least twenty two mothers who were contemplating abortion not to have one.  In fact the twenty second life it saved was a boy of ten who wrote to me.  He said, “Father Francis, I want to thank you for that song, ‘Cry from the heart’.  My mother was about to abort me when she heard it and said, ‘I can’t do it.’  And because of that I am living today.  I can’t thank you enough.”

Every priest must be very near to the heart of Our Blessed Lady, the mother of the High Priest Jesus.  I would like to thank her for all the love and care she has given to me over these fifty years and I would like to place the rest of my life in her hands.  I long for the day to be in heaven and embraced by our loving mother.

The Golden Jubilee of a priest is what we are celebrating today.  I thank all of you, but particularly my family, for coming to celebrate this occasion and helping me to thank God for the many graces he has bestowed on me the last 50 years of my life.  I thank Canon Seamus Keenan for allowing this happy event to take place in his Church.  May God reward you all.

Three Wishes

There I was face to face with St Peter. He looked at his computer monitor and said. “Yep … your credentials are OK. You’ve made it. Welcome to Heaven!”

I smiled silently.

“We like our guests to be very comfortable here” continued the Saint, “and not feel too disoriented from where they come from. So you’re allowed to go back to earth for a short period and bring with you three items from down there which will help make you more comfortable up here.

“I have to enter them on the computer … so, what will they be?”

I stopped and thought for a few moments. Three items … what could I bring from earth which will make my eternity here more pleasant … as if that were possible.

I saw him smile at that last thought.

Perhaps I could bring my MP3 player with all my music collection … that would be nice.

He frowned a little and was about to type when I added … “Oh … it’s got Latin hymns on it too …” He said nothing and I saw him type 3PM in the reflection of his spectacles.

Perhaps I could also bring my DVD collection of all those movies I never had time to see …

He interrupted my thoughts by saying, “Whilst you’re thinking about this can I also tell you that you can bring three people from down there to share Heaven with you. Who will they be?”

“Three people?” I thought, “but I know more than three people whom I’d love to see in Heaven for eternity.

“My wife … my children, my extended family, my friends, and all my Blogging friends whom I’ve ‘met’ through the Internet. There’s many more than just three people I’d like here with me.

“But … but … their lives are so inter-dependent. If I bring my wife here, who will look after the children left behind? And is it right and fair to bring young children here before they’ve had a chance to live life? How about my extended family … I can’t bring one and leave the others behind? This is so unfair!”

“Sit down,” said the Saint sternly, “you think it is unfair because you see things through human perspective. You analyze and measure things your way; often in a possessive manner.

“You say things like my wife, my children, my parents and my friends … as if these people belong to you.

“No one and nothing belongs to anybody and everything belongs to God.

“God gave life and only He decides when it ends and whether people come here or … the other place.

“You humans often complain when a young life is taken or when someone leaves dependents behind with seemingly no one to care for them.

“You forget that God is there to care for them, and He leaves plenty of opportunities for those people left behind to take on the task He has set them.

“Everyone has his allotted time on earth, and whilst there, their main job is to do God's will so that when their turn comes to leave earth they end up here! You understand?”

I nodded meekly.

“Now tell me,” he continued with a smile, “which Latin hymns do you have in your collection?”

“Not everyone who calls me 'Lord, Lord' will enter the Kingdom of Heaven, but only those who do what my Father in Heaven wants them to do.” Matthew 7:21.