During an interview in 1974, Corrie ten Boom shared how she once encouraged fellow believers in Africa with one of her father's memorable lessons on why Christians need not fear being strong enough to endure suffering:
"I once said to my father (I was still a little girl), 'Daddy, I will never be strong enough to suffer for Jesus.'
And Father said, 'When you go to travel with a train to Amsterdam, when do I give you the train ticket? Three weeks before?'
I said, 'No, Daddy, the day that I go to travel.'
And Father said, 'That's what God does. Today, you do not need to have strength to suffer for Jesus, but the moment you will have the honor to suffer for Him, He will give you all the strength.' And then I was confident.
And I said to these people, 'When you have to suffer for Jesus, the Lord will give you the train ticket.'"
@ScottRoberts I'll Meet You In the Morning, He Set Me Free, Camping in Canaan's Land, Farther Along. Hymns from my childhood. I grew up in a small church, where everyone sang parts from the hymn book.
@BHG look at your "new spring" edition - the exact same as 2023 spring edition. I have tried to deal with them for help and they are so incompetent. What a waste of my money. #ripoff#repeat#theyshouldbeembarrassed
Rest in peace, Patricia Routledge 🙏🏻
In memory of her, I encourage everyone to read these words of hers from February last year.
Whether young or old, you're bound to get something out of it.
*****
"I’ll be turning 95 this coming Monday. In my younger years, I was often filled with worry — worry that I wasn’t quite good enough, that no one would cast me again, that I wouldn’t live up to my mother’s hopes. But these days begin in peace, and end in gratitude.
My life didn’t quite take shape until my forties. I had worked steadily — on provincial stages, in radio plays, in West End productions — but I often felt adrift, as though I was searching for a home within myself that I hadn’t quite found.
At 50, I accepted a television role that many would later associate me with — Hyacinth Bucket, of Keeping Up Appearances. I thought it would be a small part in a little series. I never imagined that it would take me into people’s living rooms and hearts around the world. And truthfully, that role taught me to accept my own quirks. It healed something in me.
At 60, I began learning Italian — not for work, but so I could sing opera in its native language. I also learned how to live alone without feeling lonely. I read poetry aloud each evening, not to perfect my diction, but to quiet my soul.
At 70, I returned to the Shakespearean stage — something I once believed I had aged out of. But this time, I had nothing to prove. I stood on those boards with stillness, and audiences felt that. I was no longer performing. I was simply being.
At 80, I took up watercolour painting. I painted flowers from my garden, old hats from my youth, and faces I remembered from the London Underground. Each painting was a quiet memory made visible.
Now, at 95, I write letters by hand. I’m learning to bake rye bread. I still breathe deeply every morning. I still adore laughter — though I no longer try to make anyone laugh. I love the quiet more than ever.
I’m writing this to tell you something simple:
Growing older is not the closing act. It can be the most exquisite chapter — if you let yourself bloom again.
Let these years ahead be your TREASURE YEARS.
You don’t need to be famous. You don’t need to be flawless.
You only need to show up — fully — for the life that is still yours.
With love and gentleness,
Patricia Routledge
*****
Once more, rest in peace. 🤍
@seanfeucht I taught PE and I'd always pray at the start of the year over my gym for safety, etc. I also prayed every week for each class and specific students that were brought to mind.