This moring I paused and reread/prayed this prayer than hangs in my kitchen (The traditional title is “17th Century Prayer”)
Lord, Thou knowest better than I know myself than I am growing older & 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 craving to straighten out everyone’s affairs.
Make me thoughtful but not moody: helpful but not bossy. With my vast store of wisdom it seems a pit 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; Give me wings to get to the point.
Seal my lips on my aches and pains. They are increasing and love of rehearsing them is becoming sweeter as the years go by. I dare not ask for grace enouh to enjoy the tales of others’ pains, but help me to endure them with patience.
I dare not ask for improved memory, but for a growing humility and a lessening cocksureness when my memory seems to clash with the memories of others. Teach me the 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 — but a sour old person is one of the crowning works of the devil.
Give me the ability to see good things in unexpected places, and talents in unexpected people.
And give me, O Lord, the grace to tell them so!