And particularly help me to avoid the fatal habit that I must say something on every subject at every occasion.
Release me from craving to straighten out everybody’s affairs.
Keep my mind free from the recital of endless details.
Give me wings to get to the point.
Seal my lips when I’m inclined to tell of my aches and pains. They are increasing with the years and my love of rehearsing them grows sweeter as the years go by.
Teach me the glorious lesson that occasionally it is possible that I may be mistaken.
Keep me reasonably sweet.
I do not want to be a saint. Some of them are hard to live with, Help me to extract all possible fun out of life. There are so many funny things around us and I do not want to miss any of them.
Make me thoughtful but not moody; helpful but not bossy.
With my vast store of wisdom, it seems a pity not to use it all. But you, dear Lord, know that I want to have at least a few friends at the end. Amen.
Source: Brian Cavanaugh, Fresh Packet of Sower’s Seeds: Third Printing, pp. 70-71.
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