Wednesday, 28 September 2016

True Forgiveness

 Someone asked me the other day – I have forgiven but cannot forget the pain and hurt caused to me. Does that mean I’ve not really forgiven?

Let’s examine un-forgiveness. Un-forgiveness is when we harbor thoughts of revenge, retribution and punishment … when we are angry, and full of hate, ill-will, hostility and ill-feelings towards those who hurt us.

If none of these feelings are within us – then we have truly forgiven. As best we can, we have truly forgiven.

Of course, the memory of the hurt and pain caused to us will remain. Perhaps forever. But as long as the memories are not accompanied by feelings of ill-will, then we have forgiven. Every time we remember the hurt should be an opportunity to forgive yet again.

The mind may not forget but the heart forgives.

Peter came to Jesus and asked, “Lord, if my brother keeps sinning against me, how many times do I have to forgive him? Seven times?” “No, not seven times,” answered Jesus, “but seventy times seven.” Matthew 18: 21-22

Monday, 26 September 2016

Where's My Willy Gone?

For the last few days we've had a dilemma on our hands in the family. It was and still is such a big dilemma that it is on all our collective hands.

My Willy, also known as Speedy, went missing. We looked everywhere and could not find him. Not in the garden, where he normally resides. Not in any neighbours' gardens, because we asked them. Not in the house, because he is never allowed inside; although we did search the house just in case. Not in the garage, not in the car, or indeed not anywhere. Willy went missing.

I knew my Willy was not hiding in some orifice or corner somewhere because he is totally claustrophobic. He is the only tortoise I know who gets really stressed about going back into his own shell. He hibernates in winter with his head and legs hanging out of his natural home. He prefers the outdoors. We have to wrap his head in a small scarf we've knitted for him and put his legs in home-made socks to keep him warm.

We've had him for two years or so and he shares the garden with a rabbit. They often lunch together on a leaf or two of lettuce and they wander about always under the watchful eye of someone in case they get throught the hedge to the neighbour's garden. At night they are put in their cage for safety. Willy is always out in the garden early in the morning jumping and running around with his friend the rabbit.

Obviously what happened is that one day last week, or should I say one evening last week, we forgot to put them in the cage for the night. It happened before with no great problem. The next morning they were both there waiting to be fed. But this time, the rabbit was there, but not Willy. He had vanished.

Being a tortoise, we did not think he'd gone very far. We searched everywhere as already mentioned and we could not find him. We printed leaflets with his photo, (we could have used a photo where he is smiling, but never mind), and then we pinned the leaflets to trees and lamposts in our area. We posted leaflets in neighbours houses asking them if they'd seen Willy; but to no avail. No one had seen him.

Then yesterday he was found. He was up a tree in our garden. There he was. Sitting on a branch some twenty feet up from the ground. Totally unperturbed and happy with his surroundings.

How did he get up there? I thought. Tortoises don't usually climb trees do they? More to the point, how do we get him down? It's certainly not something I'd want to do, climbing all the way up there.

Perhaps if we called him down and we all held a large sheet into which he would fall safely? No use. He is as deaf as a deaf bat ... sorry, only simile I could think of on the spur of the moment.

I phoned the pet shop where we normally buy the lettuce leaves to feed him and the rabbit. The man there told me that perhaps he took fright at something he saw and ran up the tree. Perhaps he saw someone with face cream and hair in curlers and that was enough to send him into a total panic. Now I'll admit that once or twice I may have ventured in the garden with my skin softening and conditioning cream on, and a curler or two in my hair; but that would not have frightened Willy, surely? Anyway, how did the man in the pet shop know I use face cream?

Eventually, one of our neighbours who is not afraid of heights came round and brought Willy safely down to terra firma. You should have seen him waggling his tail and jumping at our legs in delight. I mean Willy the tortoise was jumping at our legs, not the neighbour who brought him down! The rabbit was so happy to see Willy that they chased each other round the garden as they often do when playing. The neighbour was so delighted that he ran round chasing them also.

Totally exhausted, we put them both in their cage with an extra lettuce leaf each to celebrate.

We still don't know how Willy got up the tree. Any ideas?

Personally, I think he was over enthusiastic on the trampoline and he bounced himself so high that he landed on the branch twenty feet up.
This is me and our neighbour on the trampoline celebrating the return of Willy the tortoise.

Saturday, 24 September 2016

Saint Peter's Assistant

You have died ... and you find yourself in Heaven's Reception Room. There, sitting at the computer is Saint Peter searching for your details and information. Standing behind him is a figure pointing at you.

You look carefully and, despite the shroud covering the figure, you recognise who it is; and your heart misses a beat and sinks to your stomach.

There pointing at you is your arch-enemy. You did not even know the person is dead. You had an almighty argument years ago and you parted company the greatest of enemies. You have never met since. What is that person doing here and pointing at you accusingly.

Saint Peter looks up from his computer and says: "Meet my assistant. You two have not met for sometime!"

Your heart misses another beat and sinks even lower to your feet. If your arch-enemy is here there's no point in going on with the preliminaries of reception to this place. He will have told Saint Peter all about you. You might as well go down without a parachute.

"My assistant has something to tell you," continues Saint Peter.

Your arch-enemy speaks. "I am so sorry I have hurt you. I never sought forgiveness nor cared much for it. Please forgive me."

There's a lump in your throat. Your heart gives up in despair unable to go any lower.

Saint Peter explains. "My assistant here had an opportunity to examine his conscience before he died. He deeply regretted the way he lived and asked God's forgiveness. That's why he is here. When he heard of your arrival he asked if he could seek your forgiveness too. Welcome to Heaven."


If you have wronged someone, seek forgiveness now. You may not get the opportunity before you die. And you may not meet again in the other life. That is unless you both meet at a place where it does not matter whether we forgive or not! 

Wednesday, 21 September 2016

Don't cold-call me ... I'm in the shower

I don't know if you have cold-callers where you live. These are people who ring your doorbell at the most inopportune time and try to sell you something or other which you don't need and don't want. Door-to-door salesmen mainly.

Now, I have mixed feelings about these salesmen. I don't like them because they always call when I am alone in the house doing something important. Like painting the ceiling or cooking an omelette, of painting an omelette and cooking the ceiling. Something which I find equally fascinating. Have you ever been fascinated? As a child, I was fascinated in the arm with a needle. As a grown up, I was fascinated on the bottom by a nurse. I've always been fascinated by a nurse's bottom; but that's another story for another day.

Those door-to-door salesmen can be very persistent, you know. As I was saying before I was fascinated by the pretty nurse. They ring the bell over and over again making our dog mad barking and running all around the house warning me of an intruder. He is good this way, which means I have to stop what I'm doing and answer the door.

But my dislike for salesmen is tempered by the fact that years ago I too used to be such a salesman. I was a door-to-door salesman selling doors to people. I had three sample doors strapped on my back and a small bag with other models and samples of locks, hinges, keys and other paraphernalia. 

I once knocked on a door, a real one, not the one on my back. Are you paying attention you lot, or just fascinated? 

I knocked on a door and a man wearing nothing but a towel round his waist opened. He had obviously been in the shower as I knocked on his door.

I asked him if he wanted to buy a door, and he told me he already had more than one. I put the case I was carrying down on the ground and as I bent forwards to do this the doors strapped to my back hit the man hard on the forehead. He fell backwards like a boxer who'd been knocked down for the count; and in falling he dropped (or threw in) the towel - not a pretty sight!!!

What was I to do in this situation? Help stem the bleeding on his forehead with the towel; or cover his modesty bits with it?

As I was thinking what to do a huge Alsatian dog came running and barking out of the house.

I picked up my case, turned round and ran as fast as I could with the dog jumping at the doors on my back as if he wanted to open and enter an imaginary room. He was too stupid to go for my legs. Pretty soon, he got tired of running and returned back to his master, whom I could see standing up in his doorway, minus the towel, and waving his fist in the air. I think he was saying "Goodbye!"

Anyway, all this is leading to a door-to-door salesman who visited us the other day. That is despite our area being a "No Cold Caller" area. Some well to do areas are so designated by the Authorities prohibiting salesmen from calling on you unannounced.

So this salesman was ignoring the law to start with. What is more odd was his opening line.

"Good morning sir," he said, "do you ever think about death?"

I nearly replied that I'm thinking of his death right now, seeing that he interrupted me. But I said nothing.

He continued: "I am Gilbert D Funct and I represent Pets In Peace, a new service provider just established in your town, and our aim is to share and ease your pain when your beloved pet departs this vale of tears.”

“Hein?” said I.

“PIP … that’s our initials. Pets In Peace will be there to provide you with a casket in which to place the remains of your dearly departed pet. We have caskets in all sizes for goldfish, budgies, hamsters, rabbits, cats, dogs and any other animal or insect which may share your home as a member of your family. All caskets are made to the highest standard of professional workmanship in mahogany, oak, elm, cedar wood and pine. And they are lined in satin or silk in a variety of colours such as white, black, and velvet being the most popular.”

“I see …” I said, and before I could tell him I’m not interested Gilbert D Funct went on.

“Furthermore, sir, as part of our service we would conduct a solemn ceremony of whatever religious belief you desire, and then we would bury the casket containing the remains of your family pet on your property so you can visit him whenever you wish.”

“What if I lived in an apartment!” I interrupted. “Would you bury the pet under the carpet?”

That certainly stopped him.

“Oh …” he said, “fortunately you live in a lovely house with surrounding gardens; but if you do not wish your pet buried here we have access to a pet cemetery.”

I took the initiative and asked him: “We had planned to flush the goldfish down the toilet … you know … naval burial and all that. Are your caskets water soluble?”

“Er … no … I don’t believe so …” mumbled Gilbert, obviously unaware of my sarcasm.

“And then there’s the cat,” I continued, having gained the upper-hand in this sales pitch, “he’d be too big to flush down the toilet. I’ve often wondered how we’d dispose of him after he’s used up his nine lives …”

“Are you familiar with cremation?” asked Gilbert gaining an advantage point.

“My wife is expert at that … judging from her many Sunday roasts! Perhaps she could do the same to the cat!”

At this point, as luck would have it, she came in the house from one of her shopping trips.

“This is for you,” I said standing aside, “this gentleman has an idea on how to deal with our cat when we're away on holiday!" and I quickly rushed to the pub.

Friday, 16 September 2016

Observing Life

As I go through life I normally look around me at the absurdities that surround us which make life such a wonderful tapestry of nut-cases and stupidity. Modern life is moving so fast that a lot of it doesn't make sense anymore.

Now I'm a reasonable man and never do anything that others might consider odd or unusual. Yet I notice that all around me people and society are acting in a most peculiar way.

Let me give you some examples, and hopefully, you will comment your views and tell me whether it is me who is absurd and a nut-case; or is it all the others.

Are you and I, dear reader, the only sane ones on this planet? I ask myself not sure whether there's anyone reading this or not.

A few days ago I had to go to the hospital. They were checking whether my sense of humour was still intact.

They have a new system there to register people as they come in. It's a lovely touch-screen monitor which invites you to touch the month you were born at, then touch the date, then the first letter of your surname. Having done this the screen welcomed me to my appointment and said that I would wait for 19 minutes before I'd be seen.

Why 19 minutes? I thought.

Why not 20 or 15? Why be so precise?

The precision of their prediction made me look at my watch and then go in the waiting-room. It took precisely 37.5 minutes before I was seen. So, whoever programmed that monitor not only could not predict throughput of patients properly, but also drew attention to a delay which would not have been noticed had they not drawn attention to it. Why not say: You will be seen soon, and leave it at that?

The waiting-room had about a dozen people waiting their turns to be seen. All of them, except one, was intently looking at their smart-phones. The exception was looking at a Kindle, so she was probably reading a book. But what did all the others find so fascinating in their smart-phones? Were they all reading their texts? Sending texts? Playing computer games? Or what? How many texts do people send and receive every day? What is there new in life that needs to be said in texts which was not said before smart-phones were invented? Suddenly we have a new means of communications and the world seems to be communicating with each other by saying nothing. Some smart-phone packages in the UK give you 1000 FREE texts a month. Can you imagine that? 1000 a month. That's about 30 texts a day. How many friends do people have to send them 30 texts a day?

A person I know has over 1000 "friends" on Facebook. That's more "friends" than real people whom I have met in my entire life!

I looked from the corner of my eye at the man sitting beside me in the waiting-room. He was looking at photos on his phone. He was flicking from one photo to another. Hundreds of them.

Talking of flicking ... I noticed that the woman with a Kindle licked her finger every time she changed pages on her Kindle tablet. New technology but old habits, I suppose.

Not to be out-done I picked up a book which was lying about and stared at the front cover. Every now and then I punched the book with my finger as one would do with a tablet or smart-phone. This un-nerved the other people in the waiting-room as they did not understand what I was doing. The guy next to me stopped looking at his photos and moved a few seats away.

Anyway, back to looking surreptitiously from the corner of your eyes. Wouldn't it be great if we all had two more eyes on each side of our heads by our ears? Just like a chicken? That way we could look sideways without turning our heads.

Personally, I'd prefer an extra mouth at the top of my head. That way I could put a sandwich under my hat and eat it without anyone noticing.

The waiting-room had plenty of notices around the wall. One of them said: BREAST FEEDING WELCOME HERE.

Now I don't know how you feel about that? Would you breastfeed in public?

Here in the UK there's a continuous debate going on about this subject. Every so often it surfaces when a woman tries to breastfeed in a restaurant, or waiting-room and she is told to move to the toilet or some other room out of sight. People are vehemently divided on the issue. Some feel it is the right of any mother to breast feed wherever she wants; others think it is a private matter best left out of sight.

About a year ago I was on a busy train and in front of me was a woman wearing a tank-top. Like in the photo below:

She had a small baby with her and when it started crying she pulled down her top revealing both breasts and then breast fed the baby. I did not know where to look - well, I did really; but you know what I mean.

Another thing that I've observed in life which annoys me no end, I don't know why, is men wearing their caps back to front. Like this:
Why do men wear their caps like that? The other day I had a workman doing some work at home. It was indoors all the time, so there was no need for a cap, unless he was concerned the electric lights would give him sunburn. Yet, he wore his cap back to front all day whilst doing his work. It annoyed me no end. I can't explain why. After he left, in order to face my own demons regarding this, I wore my trousers and my shirt back to front for the rest of the day.

Unfortunately, later on that day I fell off a ladder as I was pruning a tree. When the ambulance men came they nearly killed me trying to turn my head all the way round to match my trousers and shirt !!!

Oh ... another thing that annoys me with modern society is when you phone a large organisation and they keep you hanging on the phone. And it's not free - sometimes you pay a premium rate on those calls. They say: "Your call is important to us. You will be connected soon. You are number 998 in the queue. Due to excessive customer calls we are experiencing a delay on this service.

Yeah right ... Why can't they get more staff if there's such a long queue of customers?

And what's worse is when they play some dirge music whilst you're waiting. Wouldn't it be wonderful if you phoned say a Funeral Undertaker Business and they played "Rock Around The Clock"? Or if you rang a church and they played "I'm a believer" by The Monkees?

And what's worse than worse is when they tell you: Press 1 if you are a new customer. Press 2 if you want to renew your insurance policy. Press 3 if you want to change your insurance policy ... Press 79 if you're fed up waiting and wish to kill yourself !!!

Can you imagine if Catholic Churches had their message saying: Press 1 if you want to confess menial, small, white sins. Press 2 if your sins are a little more serious. Press 3 if your sins are of a violent or sexual nature. Press 4 if you are swearing under your breath right now ...

Talking of modern technology. Did you know that our church allows you to make regular monthly donations by standing order from your bank account to theirs? So there's no need to give money on Sunday when the collection plate comes round. I find it embarrassing telling the man I have nothing for the collection plate when he comes round. I'm even more embarrassed since I don't donate by bank standing order either.

What I do, in my mind, is that I start with a donation of £x; and every minute the priest goes on with his sermon more than 10 minutes I deduct a sum of money from my potential donation. So far the priest owes me £15.67

In summary, these were my observations of a crazy world we live in. I'd be glad if you'd comment on some or all of my observations. Or mention an observation of your own. Let's get talking.

Monday, 12 September 2016


Reflections and prayers for those special times in our lives. 
Please click HERE.

Saturday, 10 September 2016

I cannot forgive

Father Ignatius got an unexpected confession when sitting in his confessional on Saturday. The unknown voice on the other side of the small window of the wooden confessional said clearly “Father, I cannot forgive!”

The priest waited a second or two before asking “Have you tried to forgive?”

“Yes Father,” said the voice, “I’ve tried and tried and I cannot forgive. I don’t see the point of being here right now. Even if you absolve me, I just cannot forgive!”

Father Ignatius said a quick silent prayer, as he often did when he needed Divine help, and then said “Why don’t you wait in church for a while. After all confessions are over, perhaps we can have a chat and discuss this a bit more!”

When confessions had finished the priest got out of his confessional to find a well-dressed man in a pin-striped suit sitting alone at the front of the church, just by the statue of the Virgin Mary. The very place where Father Ignatius often sits to recite the Rosary.
The priest approached him and asked “Are you waiting to see me?”

Moments later the two men were sitting in the sacristy. The man started “Father, you don’t know me. I don’t come to this church …”

“There is no need to know you …” interrupted Father Ignatius, “feel free to tell me what’s on your mind!”

The man smiled and continued “I’ve had a health scare … the doctors aren’t happy with my condition.

“I’ve come here to make my peace with God, but I just can’t. It got to the point where I cannot say the Lord’s Prayer because of that bit about forgiving others’ sins.”

The priest nodded encouragingly and said nothing.

“Some years ago we had a family dispute,” said the man, “As disputes go this was really a big one … and as you can imagine we were all at fault. Everyone took entrenched positions and every one was of course in the right … as we all thought at the time.

“The result of this is that one individual hurt someone close to me very badly … so badly that it is still affecting their life even now. That individual has now moved on and we no longer communicate. But I cannot forgive the hurt done to my close relative.

“I was hurt too … and somehow I think I can forgive that. I was just as guilty as anyone else I suppose. But I just cannot forgive the hurt that was done, and is still being done, to my close relative who was innocent and not involved in the dispute!”

The man stopped talking. His clenched fists on either side of his body betrayed long-held pent-up anger and frustration.

Once again the priest asked for Divine inspiration in a silent prayer for this stranger and his family.

“Look at that painting on the wall …” he said eventually, “It depicts the Virgin Mary holding the dead body of her Son just as He has been brought down from the Cross.

“Moments earlier He was hanging up there in agony as He breathed His last at the hands of His enemies.

“Moments earlier he had asked His Father to forgive His enemies. I don’t know how He did it. I would probably not have forgiven them had all this happened to me. But He did forgive them. That’s very important.

“Now look at Mary’s face. Look at the pain still in her heart, having witnessed this most cruel of deaths to her innocent Son. She gave birth to Him and raised Him from a baby to the Divine man He became. And now here He is, dead in her arms. Can you imagine the agony of this mother at this particular moment in her life?

“Do you think she forgave the people who did all this? The Pharisees and Sadducees, the Romans and all the enemies of Christ?

“I suppose at the time this painting depicts she probably did not forgive them. We have no way of knowing of course. I’m only guessing. How can a loving mother forgive what has been done to her Son when emotions are still raw and the pain at its most intense?

“But I’m sure that with time she did forgive them. Especially when she saw her Son rise again in Glory.”

The priest stopped for a while, as he often did, to accentuate what he had just said.

“You still hurt …” continued Father Ignatius, “not so much for yourself, but for your close relative who still suffers the wrong done to him or her.

“You know … this is good.

“It is good that you still hurt. It shows a generosity of spirit and a love towards your close relative that is Christ-like.

“I believe that when Jesus met the poor, the destitute, the lame, the blind, deaf, dumb and all those who were ill … even the dead and their grieving relatives. He suffered with them. He felt their pain and their agonies. He took pity on them and He made them better.

“Note that on every occasion … on every occasion … He approached the individual on a personal basis and spoke to them and helped them as individuals.

“He was all powerful. He could have clicked his fingers and all the sick people in the crowd would have been healed.

“But He did not do that. He stopped and approached the blind man shouting His name in the crowd. He talked to the woman who dared touch His gown to be healed.

“Your love for that close relative of yours is portrayed in the way you still carry their hurt. Even though you may not be aware of it!”

The man brought his hand to his eyes pretending to wipe some imaginary dust from his eye lid.

The priest continued “And now … what do we do with the situation regarding your lack of forgiveness towards the person who caused the hurt?”

The man sat straight in his chair.

“In difficult situations I always delegate upwards!” said the priest with a smile. “I ask God for help. I tell Him honestly how I feel and ask for His help and guidance.

“Tell God how you feel about the situation … just as you told me. Tell him that you find it difficult to forgive and ask Christ’s help, and Mother Mary’s too.

“And when you feel the resentment and anger towards that person who created all this hurt, why not pray for them?

“Just like Jesus, ask God to forgive them. Tell him you still feel the pain and you would ask Him to forgive them instead. Hold these people up to God.

“The hurt in your heart may never go away; but let it be an opportunity, every time it surfaces, to hand over these people to God and to ask for His forgiveness.”

The man brought his hand to his eye once again and said “It’s very dry in this room … it must be the air-conditioning!”

“I’m sure it is …” replied the priest, “now go in peace and consider yourself absolved.”

Tuesday, 6 September 2016

A Valuable Manuscript

One of my many hobbies is visiting car boot sales to see what I can pick up. This is like the garage sales but with cars. Sellers usually gather in a church car park, or other large space, open the back of their cars and display on small tables items they want to get rid off and sell cheaply.

You'd be surprised what people sell at these sales. Mostly what you find are worthless items, but every now and then, if you know what you are buying and have a keen interest in antiques, you can find a gem or two which you can re-sell later on for a fortune.

I remember years ago I was very lucky to find two rare items at the same car boot sale. First I found an oil  painting by Stradivarius, and then later on that day I discovered a violin made by Rembrandt.

I took them to an antique dealer. He told me they were rare but unfortunately Stradivarius was a bad painter and Rembrandt could not make a good violin to save his life. I sold both items for $400.

On another occasion I found a fountain pen and a cell-phone which belonged to King Henry the VIII. I later sold them for $2 each.

I also found a watercolour painting of King Harold at the Battle of Hastings, I think it was. He was shot in the eye with an arrow, in that battle. You can see it clearly in the painting. King Harold sitting on a horse with an arrow in his eye. Below it there's the inscription: Keep blinking your Majesty. It will work its way out!

Undeterred I continued visiting and searching car boot sales. And that's where I found a very rare brown canary. He was going cheep ... cheep ... cheep. I was told later that he was just a sparrow, so I let him go free. He immediately pulled off all his feathers revealing beautiful yellow plumage.

Anyway ... all this is leading to what I found last week at a sale. An old manuscript which looked very ancient indeed. It was hand-written, (that's why it's called a manuscript), in some very ancient language. I could not make out what language it was, or decipher any of the letters; and neither could the seller. It looked as if it dated back centuries, perhaps even a date B.C. - can you imagine that. It was leather bound and in fairly good condition considering its age. The pages had become brown with age and you could see the writing faintly on every page.

I took it to several experts to try to identify the language it was written in. None could identify it or even place a date as to when it was written, or indeed where.

I was very excited that at last I had discovered something that was worth a fortune. Can you imagine the feeling? Holding something in my hand that years ago could have belonged to some ancient sage, or perhaps a King from a far off land, or perhaps a wizard like Merlin or such like person.

If only I knew what was written in that book and decipher its secrets. Perhaps some ancient cures to many ailments that challenge modern science, or secret recipes for longevity, or magician's potions or spells perhaps.

Eventually I took the manuscript to an ancient language expert in our library. The expert wasn't ancient. He was about fifty years old or so. His skill was deciphering ancient languages; hence him being an ancient language expert. He was also an expert of anthropology. At first I thought this was the study of how ants apologise - ant thropolofy. But he told me he studied humankind; particularly human societies and cultures.

He said: "Do you realise that whilst you've been standing here 3000 people in the world have died?"

"OK," I said, "in that case I'll stand over there!"

He smiled and explained, "What I meant to say, every time I breathe in and out one person in the world dies!"

"You should try a better mouthwash," I replied.

Anyway, he looked at the hand-written manuscript and indentified it straightaway. It is a doctor's diary. Apparently all doctors write this way.

Saturday, 3 September 2016


It’s funny how your mind wanders when you’re sitting in a doctor’s waiting-room. I thought:

Jesus died at the age of thirty-three.

He never lived to a ripe old age and, as a human, whom He was, as well as being God, He never got to experience what we humans experience as we grow old.

The pains of rheumatism and arthritis. The slowing down of our body and the inability to run or walk as fast as we used to. The odd lapse of memory. Difficulty with hearing or with seeing properly; and the many other ailments which beset us as we grow old.

Had He grown old like some of us do; would He have used His powers to heal Himself and take away the pain?

Of course, all this is pure speculation. The reality is that He died a most horrible and painful death on the Cross, which far far outweighs whatever ailments we suffer from as we grow old.

The fact that He has not experienced our old age, or any other experiences we go through in this world, does not mean that He doesn’t understand them and that He does not hurt when we hurt.

He feels our pain because He loves us. He accepted the torture of His death because He loves us.

Perhaps we too should try, as best we can, to understand and accept our age related pains with dignity. For His sake.

I know an elderly man who has had many illnesses and operations – he is in constant pain. Whenever I ask him how he is doing, he replies: Thank God I am OK – there are so many so much worse off than me.

Lately, he chuckled and added: Pain is a sign that you are still alive. When you stop feeling pain that’s when you should worry.

Dear Lord help those in pain right now. Amen.