I Didn’t Know How Young I Really Was

I have heard it said that confession is good for the soul. I want to take that a step further and say confession is good for the body as well. I don’t often think about how old I am, I’m too busy with other thoughts. Occasionally, something happens that reminds me I am not quite […]

I Didn’t Know How Young I Really Was

I have heard it said that confession is good for the soul. I want to take that a step further and say confession is good for the body as well. I don’t often think about how old I am, I’m too busy with other thoughts. Occasionally, something happens that reminds me I am not quite as old as I think I am. Do not get me wrong, it is a good experience for soul and body. When I get up in the morning, I feel achy, not to mention grouchy because the Gracious Mistress of the Parsonage mentions that. I get up feeling old and dreary. I wallow in despair, thinking how old I really am and not knowing what to do with it. Oh, poor me, woe is me. Something happened this past week that gave me a completely different view of how old I really am.

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