E
EasterJoy
Guest
While coming to the realization that I needed to take some time off from CA, I ran across this poem, which my dearly departed MIL had hung on her wall in a modest little frame. Before I check out from here, I wanted to pass this on. I think it makes it obvious why this woman died with more than “a few friends at the end.” I hope to be back in a few months, but in the meantime, I leave you with this! 
Prayer for the Middle-Aged
*Lord, thou knowest better than I know myself
that I am growing older and will someday be old
Keep me from the fatal habit of thinking I must
say something on every subject and on every occasion.
Release me from the craving to straighten out
everybody’s business. With my vast store of wisdom
it seems a pity not to use it all….but thou
knowest Lord, that I want a few friends at the end.
Keep my mind free from the recital of endless details—
seal my lips on my aches and pains—I dare not ask for
grace enough to enjoy the tales of others’ pains, but
help me to endure them with patience.
I dare not ask for improved memory, but for growing
humility, when my memory seems to clash with the memories
of others. Teach me the glorious lesson that occasionally
I may be mistaken.
Keep me reasonably sweet. I do not want to be a saint—
some of them are so hard to live with—give me the ability to
see good things in unexpected places and talents in the unexpected
people. Give me the grace to tell them so.*
Amen.
Prayer for the Middle-Aged
*Lord, thou knowest better than I know myself
that I am growing older and will someday be old
Keep me from the fatal habit of thinking I must
say something on every subject and on every occasion.
Release me from the craving to straighten out
everybody’s business. With my vast store of wisdom
it seems a pity not to use it all….but thou
knowest Lord, that I want a few friends at the end.
Keep my mind free from the recital of endless details—
seal my lips on my aches and pains—I dare not ask for
grace enough to enjoy the tales of others’ pains, but
help me to endure them with patience.
I dare not ask for improved memory, but for growing
humility, when my memory seems to clash with the memories
of others. Teach me the glorious lesson that occasionally
I may be mistaken.
Keep me reasonably sweet. I do not want to be a saint—
some of them are so hard to live with—give me the ability to
see good things in unexpected places and talents in the unexpected
people. Give me the grace to tell them so.*
Amen.
