Tuesday, 8 November 2011

At your age

Something I am hearing more and more frequently as I trek from doctors surgery to hospital outpatients is this:
"At your age, you have to expect (whatever)".

"What are you talking about -and to a sprightly young thing like me!"  I mutter crossly to myself as I zimmer home.

Jehovah is called "the God of all comfort", and here was this wonderful thought from Him, via his congregation, in my "Examining the Scriptures Daily".  Food at the right time.

This is our Thought for Tuesday, November 8th, 2011

"The women telling the good news are a large army." - Psalm 68:11

"By having a full share in the ministry and by willingly making sacrifices for that work, sister prove that they treasure their role in the congregation.  In writing to Titus, Paul stated: "Let the aged women be reverent in behaviour... teachers of what is good that they may recall the young women to their senses to love their husbands, to love their children,  to be sound in mind, chaste, workers at home. good, subjecting themselves to their own husbands, so that the word of God may not be spoken of abusively". (Titus 2:3-5)  What a force for good the mature sisters in the congregation can be! By respecting the brothers who take the lead and by making wise decisions in such areas of life as dress and grooming and entertainment, they set a fine example for others, and show a high regard for their own place in the congregation."

I felt a lot better after reading that.  

Audrey and I (mature sisters if there ever was one) did some magazine calls and return visits this morning - in the drizzle.   And after I had taken her back home, I took myself straight off to the shops and got a load of stuff in, as I knew i would not want to go out again.

Captain B and I typed at each other under our blurry Skype pictures and waved a bit. And Bea and Audrey rang.  My conversation with Bea - about "The Diary of a Nobody", reminded us of the Betjeman poem "Middlesex" which starts off so funny, but ends on an elegiac note about the death of rural Middlesex, and for Murray Posh and Lupin Pooter "long in Kensal Green and Highgate, silent under soot and stone".

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