My mother always said that one day I'd be grateful for having studied Latin

Memory is a strange thing. We went to a service in Latin this morning (ultra Anglo-Catholic, with lots of crossings of oneself and clouds of incense) and I realised I could understand most of it. It was fifteen years ago that I gave up Latin at school, too. I sat there thinking about what I remembered of what I thought about God fifteen years ago. As a teenager, as I remember it, the God I believed in wanted very much for people to love one another. I sat there, looking at the stained glass, thinking about that.