Death is nothing at all. I have only slipped away into the next room. I am I, and you are you. Whatever we were to each other, that we still are. Call me by my old familiar name, speak to me in the easy way which you always used.
Put no difference in your tone, wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow. Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes we enjoyed together. Pray, smile, think of me, pray for me. Let my name be ever the household word that it always was, let it be spoken without effect without the trace of a shadow on it. Life means all that it ever meant. It is the same as it ever was; there is unbroken continuity. Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight? I am waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near, just round the corner.
All is well.

I read of a reverend who stood to speak
At the funeral of his friend.
He referred to the dates on her tombstone
From the beginning... to the end.

He noted that first came the date of her birth
And spoke of the following date with tears,
But he said what mattered most of all
Was the dash between those years.

For that dash represents all the time
That she spend alive on earth.
And now only those who loved her
Know what that little line is worth.

For it matters not, how much we own:
The cars, the house, the cash.
What matters is how we live and love
And how we spend our dash.

So think about this long and hard,
Are there things you'd like to change?
For you never know how much time is left.
You could be at "dash mid-range."

If we could just slow down enough
To consider what's true and real.
And always try to understand
The way other people feel.

And be less quick to anger,
And show appreciation more
And love the people in our lives
Like we've never loved before.

If we treat each other with respect,
And more often wear a smile,
Remembering that this special dash
Might only last a little while.
So, when your eulogy is being read

With your life's actions to rehash...
Would you be pleased with the things they say
About how you spend your dash?
Copyright by Linda Ellis
Linda's Lyrics
www.lindaslyrics.com

God Saw You

God saw you getting tired,
When a cure was not to be.
So He wrapped his arms around you,
and whispered, "Come to me".

You didn't deserve what you went through,
So He gave you rest.
God's garden must be beautiful,
He only takes the best

And when I saw you sleeping,
So peaceful and free from pain
I could not wish you back
To suffer that again.

Author Unknown

Oh, I have slipped the surly bonds of earth
and danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings.
Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling
mirth of sun-split clouds, and done a hundred
things you have not dreamed of - wheeled
and soared and swung high in the sunlit silence.
Hovr'ring there, I've chased the shouting wind along,
and flung my eager craft through footless halls of air.
Up, up, the long, delirious, burning blue,
I've topped the windswept heights with easy grace
where never lark, or even eagle flew.
And while with silent, lifting mind I've trod
the high untrespassed sanctity of space,
put out my hand, and touched the face of God.

John Gillespie Magee, Jr. September 3, 1941

I Am Not Dead

Do not stand at my grave and weep;
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow;
I am diamond glints of snow;
I am the sunlight on ripened grain;
I am the gentle autumn's rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush;
I am the swift uplifting rush
of quiet birds encircled flight
I am the soft star that shines at night
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there, I did not die

Anonymous

I am With You Always

Do you need Me? I am there.
You cannot see Me, yet I am the light you see by.
You cannot hear Me, yet I speak through your voice.
You cannot feel Me, yet I am the power at work in your hands.
I am at work, though you do not understand My ways.
I am at work, though you do not recognize My works.
I am not strange visions. I am not mysteries.
Only in absolute stillness, beyond self,
Can you know Me as I am,
and then but as a feeling and a faith.
Yet I am there.
Yet I am here.
Yet I answer.
When you need Me, I am there.
Even if you deny Me, I am there.
Even when you feel most alone, I am there.
Even in your fears, I am there.
Even in your pain, I am there.
I am there when you pray and when you do not pray.
Though your faith in Me is unsure,
My faith in you never wavers,
because I know you, because I love you.
Beloved, I am there.

James Dillet Freeman

Cure For Sorrow

There is an old Chinese tale about a woman whose only son died. In her grief, she went to the holy man and said, "What prayers, what magical incantations do you have to bring my son back to life ?"

Instead of sending her away or reasoning with her, he said to her, "Fetch me a mustard seed from a home that has never known sorrow. We will use it to drive the sorrow out of your life." The woman went off at once in search of that magical mustard seed.

She came first to a splendid mansion, knocked at the door, and said, "I am looking for a home that has never known sorrow. Is this such a place ? It is very important to me." They told her, "You've certainly come to the wrong place," and began to describe all the tragic things that recently had befallen them.

The woman said to herself, "Who is better able to help these poor, unfortunate people that I, who have had misfortune of my my own?" She stayed to comfort them, then went on in search of a home that had never known sorrow. But wherever she turned, in hovels and in other places, she found one tale after another of sadness and misfortune. She became so involved in ministering to other people's grief that ultimately she forgot about her quest for the magical mustard seed, never realizing that it had, in fact, driven the sorrow out of her life.

Brian Cavanaugh

10. There is an urgent need to recover a correct perspective on life as a whole. The correct perspective is that of eternity, for which life at every phase is a meaningful preparation. Old age too has a proper role to play in this process of gradual maturing along the path to eternity. And this process of maturing cannot but benefit the larger society of which the elderly person is a part.

Elderly people help us to see human affairs with greater wisdom, because life's vicissitudes have brought them knowledge and maturity. They are the guardians of our collective memory, and thus the privileged interpreters of that body of ideals and common values which support and guide life in society. To exclude the elderly is in a sense to deny the past, in which the present is firmly rooted, in the name of a modernity without memory. Precisely because of their mature experience, the elderly are able to offer young people precious advice and guidance.

In view of all this, the signs of human frailty which are clearly connected with advanced age become a summons to the mutual dependence and indispensable solidarity which link the different generations, inasmuch as every person needs others and draws enrichment from the gifts and charisms of all.

I said to the man
who stood at the gate of the year,
'Give me a light that I may tread safely
into the unknown.'

And he replied ,
'Go out into the darkness
and put your hand into the hand of God
That shall be to you
better than light
and safer than a known way !'
So I went forth
and finding the Hand of God,
trod gladly into the night.
And he led me towards the hills
and the breaking of day in the lone East.

Minnie Louise Harkins 1875-1957

When I come to the end of the road
And the sun has set for me,
I want no rites in a gloom filled room!
Why cry for a soul set free!
Miss me a little - but not too long
And not with your head bowed low,
Remember the love that we once shared,
Miss me - but let me go.
For this is a journey we all must take
And each must go alone;
It's all a part of the masters' plan
A step on the road to home.
When you are lonely and sick of heart
Go to the friends we know
And bury your sorrows in doing good deeds.
Miss me - but let me go.

When I am gone release me
Let me go, I have so many things to see and do
You mustn't tie yourself to me with tears
Be happy that we had so many beautiful years
I gave to you my love
you can only guess how much you gave me in happiness
I thank you for the love you each have shown
But now it's time I travel alone
So grieve awhile for me, if grieve you must
Then let your grief be comforted by my trust
It's only for awhile that we must part
So bless the memories within your heart
I won't be far away, for life goes on
So if you need me, call and I will come
Though you can't see or touch me, I'll be near
And if you listen within your heart you'll hear
All my love around you soft and clear
And then when you must come this way alone
I'll greet you with a smile and say " Welcome Home".

Journey Home

Joy Conner

My journey starts with a soft voice calling me into the night.
I am lifted up and drawn toward a beautiful light.
I am leaving my family, friends and all other earthly things.
I am like a bird going toward the heavens, trying out my new wings.
But as I soar upward everything becomes so clear.
Special arms are wrapped around me, removing all my fears.
I am an eagle, climbing high over the pine trees, the lakes and the land.
A special love is gently leading me, taking me by the hand.
I have wings, I go higher into the deep blue of the sky.
But I am leaving you and I wonder why me,
Oh God, why?
I fly like an eagle--but am more like a dove.
For I am leaving you all with a heart full of love.
My journey is taking me to a home far away.
That same voice promising I'll see you some day.
I leave you with so very much regret.
But please--do not grieve for me yet,
for my soul and spirit are finally free.
I go at peace into eternity.

No one ever went to their grave wishing
they had spent more time at the office


Who ran to help me when I fell
And would some pretty story tell,
Or kiss the place to make it well?
My mother.

Anne Taylor (1782 -1866)

"God could not be everywhere and therefore he made mothers." -- Jewish proverb

"A wise woman once said to me: 'There are only two lasting bequests we can hope to give our children. One of these is roots; the other, wings."

-- Hodding Carter

"By and large, mothers and housewives are the only workers who do not have regular time off.
They are the great vacationless class."
-- Anne Morrow Lindbergh

I think it must be written somewhere
that the virtues of the mother
shall be visited on the children

Charles Dickens, 1812 - 1870

What the world needs is not romantic lovers who are sufficient unto themselves, but husbands and wives who live in communities, relate to other people, carry on useful work and willingly give time and attention to their children.
Margaret Mead

Grown don't mean nothing to a mother. A child is a child. They get bigger, older, but grown. In my heart it don't mean a thing.
- Toni Morrison

To describe my mother would be to write about a hurricane in its perfect power.
Maya Angelou

My mother had a great deal of trouble with me but I think she enjoyed it.
Mark Twain

A partnership with God is motherhood. * * *

Do not ask for smoother pathways,
but for stronger shoes to wear,
Do not wish for easy times,
but for a great courage pray -
So that you can meet with joy
whatever comes with every day.

Patience Strong

The Blessings of the Years

Do not count the passing years, but count your friends instead,
Remembering the old friends and the new.
Do not count the milestones as the road of life you tread -
But the good things God has given you.
Don't add up the birthdays as they come and as they go -
With vain regrets that Time flies all too fast ....
Count the happy memories that set your heart aglow:
The blessings of the present and the past.

Patience Strong

I Remember a thousand things when I remember you:
of firelight glowing on polished oak, a table set for two.
the gleam of lamps in a rain-washed street; the shimmer of wet leaves.
The smoky grey of November nights. The blue of April eves.

A meeting under the station clock. A song; a smile, a dance.
The muted sweetness of violins, the music of romance...
A country walk and a cottage tea, a window with a view.
I remember a thousand things when I remember you.

Patience Strong

These things make the ideal home and work the miracle
The touch that turns the commonplace into the beautiful.
The love that lights the daily round and brighten every part.
The sunshine of good humor and the kindness of the heart.

Patience Strong

The best and sweetest things in life and things you cannot buy:
the music and the birds at dawn, the rainbows in the sky;
the dazzling magic of the stars, the miracle of light:
the precious gifts of health and strength,of hearing, speech and signt.

the peace of mind that crowns a busy
life of work well done; a faith in God
that deepens as you face the setting sun;
the pearl of love, the gems of friendship.
As the years go by
you find the greatest blessings are the things you cannot buy.

Patience Strong

Play life like an instrument, making melodies.
Change the daily discords into harmonies...
Draw the sweetness from it. Somebody may hear
the tune behind the strident sounds that jar upon the ear
Make your music as you move through the world's distress.
Someone passing by may catch your note of happiness...
Play life gently, play it softly. Play with style and grace -
bringing beauty out of what is dull and commonplace.

Patience Strong

The blessing of a loving mother nobody can measure.
You cannot put it into words or price this precious treasure.
She suffers when you suffer and she shares in your success.
She works for you and wishes your health and happiness.

Your love express in words before she passes on her way -
then there'll be no sadness over what you failed to say...
It is now that kindness countss: we sometimes leave too late
a thank you for some little thing that we appreciate.

Patience Strong

or
How Toys Become Real
by Margery Williams

[Doubleday and Company: Garden City, New York - no copyright or pub date]

THERE was once a velveteen rabbit, and in the beginning he was really splendid. He was fat and bunchy, as a rabbit should be; his coat was spotted brown and white, he had real thread whiskers, and his ears were lined with pink sateen. On Christmas morning, when he sat wedged in the top of the Boy's stocking, with a sprig of holly between his paws, the effect was charming.

There were other things in the stocking, nuts and oranges and a toy engine, and chocolate almonds and a clockwork mouse, but the Rabbit was quite the best of all. For at least two hours the Boy loved him, and then Aunts and Uncles came to dinner, and there was a great rustling of tissue paper and unwrapping of parcels, and in the excitement of looking at all the new presents the Velveteen Rabbit was forgotten. For a long time he lived in the toy cupboard or on the nursery floor, and no one thought very much about him. He was naturally shy, and being only made of velveteen, some of the more expensive toys quite snubbed him. The mechanical toys were very superior, and looked down upon every one else; they were full of modern ideas, and pretended they were real. The model boat, who had lived through two seasons and lost most of his paint, caught the tone from them and never missed an opportunity of referring to his rigging in technical terms. The Rabbit could not claim to be a model of anything, for he didn't know that real rabbits existed; he thought they were all stuffed with sawdust like himself, and he understood that sawdust was quite out-of-date and should never be mentioned in modern circles. Even Timothy, the jointed wooden lion, who was made by the disabled soldiers, and should have had broader views, put on airs and pretended he was connected with Government. Between them all the poor little Rabbit was made to feel himself very insignificant and commonplace, and the only person who was kind to him at all was the Skin Horse.

The Skin Horse had lived longer in the nursery than any of the others. He was so old that his brown coat was bald in patches and showed the seams underneath, and most of the hairs in his tail had been pulled out to string bead necklaces. He was wise, for he had seen a long succession of mechanical toys arrive to boast and swagger, and by-and-by break their mainsprings and pass away, and he knew that they were only toys, and would never turn into anything else. For nursery magic is very strange and wonderful, and only those playthings that are old and wise and experienced like the Skin Horse understand all about it.

"What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"

"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."

"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.

"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."

"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"

"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in your joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."

"I suppose you are real?" said the Rabbit. And then he wished he had not said it, for he thought the Skin Horse might be sensitive. But the Skin Horse only smiled.

"The Boy's Uncle made me Real," he said. "That was a great many years ago; but once you are Real you can't become unreal again. It lasts for always."

The Rabbit sighed. He thought it would be a long time before this magic called Real happened to him. He longed to become Real, to know what it felt like; and yet the idea of growing shabby and losing his eyes and whiskers was rather sad. He wished that he could become it without these uncomfortable things happening to him.

Chapter 21

by Antoine de St Exupery

It was then that the fox appeared.
"Good morning," said the fox.
"Good morning," the little prince responded politely, although when he turned around he saw nothing.
"I am right here," the voice said, "under the apple tree."
"Who are you?" asked the little prince, and added, "You are very pretty to look at." "I am a fox," said the fox.
"Come and play with me," proposed the little prince. "I am so unhappy."
"I cannot play with you," the fox said. "I am not tamed."
"Ah! Please excuse me," said the little prince.
But, after some thought, he added:
"What does that mean-- 'tame'?"
"You do not live here," said the fox. "What is it that you are looking for?"
"I am looking for men," said the little prince. "What does that mean-- 'tame'?"
"Men," said the fox. "They have guns, and they hunt. It is very disturbing. They also raise chickens. These are their only interests. Are you looking for chickens?"
"No," said the little prince. "I am looking for friends. What does that mean-- 'tame'?"
"It is an act too often neglected," said the fox. It means to establish ties."
"'To establish ties'?"
"Just that," said the fox. "To me, you are still nothing more than a little boy who is just like a hundred thousand other little boys. And I have no need of you. And you, on your part, have no need of me. To you, I am nothing more than a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But if you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all the world. To you, I shall be unique in all the world..."
"I am beginning to understand," said the little prince. "There is a flower... I think that she has tamed me..."
"It is possible," said the fox. "On the Earth one sees all sorts of things."
"Oh, but this is not on the Earth!" said the little prince.
The fox seemed perplexed, and very curious.
"On another planet?"
"Yes."
"Are there hunters on this planet?"
"No."
"Ah, that is interesting! Are there chickens?"
"No."
"Nothing is perfect," sighed the fox.
But he came back to his idea.
"My life is very monotonous," the fox said. "I hunt chickens; men hunt me. All the chickens are just alike, and all the men are just alike. And, in consequence, I am a little bored. But if you tame me, it will be as if the sun came to shine on my life. I shall know the sound of a step that will be different from all the others. Other steps send me hurrying back underneath the ground. Yours will call me, like music, out of my burrow. And then look: you see the grain-fields down yonder? I do not eat bread. Wheat is of no use to me. The wheat fields have nothing to say to me. And that is sad. But you have hair that is the colour of gold. Think how wonderful that will be when you have tamed me! The grain, which is also golden, will bring me back the thought of you. And I shall love to listen to the wind in the wheat..."
The fox gazed at the little prince, for a long time.
"Please-- tame me!" he said.
"I want to, very much," the little prince replied. "But I have not much time. I have friends to discover, and a great many things to understand."
"One only understands the things that one tames," said the fox. "Men have no more time to understand anything. They buy things all ready made at the shops. But there is no shop anywhere where one can buy friendship, and so men have no friends any more. If you want a friend, tame me..."
"What must I do, to tame you?" asked the little prince.
"You must be very patient," replied the fox. "First you will sit down at a little distance from me-- like that-- in the grass. I shall look at you out of the corner of my eye, and you will say nothing. Words are the source of misunderstandings. But you will sit a little closer to me, every day..."
The next day the little prince came back.
"It would have been better to come back at the same hour," said the fox. "If, for example, you come at four o'clock in the afternoon, then at three o'clock I shall begin to be happy. I shall feel happier and happier as the hour advances. At four o'clock, I shall already be worrying and jumping about. I shall show you how happy I am! But if you come at just any time, I shall never know at what hour my heart is to be ready to greet you... One must observe the proper rites..."
"What is a rite?" asked the little prince.
"Those also are actions too often neglected," said the fox. "They are what make one day different from other days, one hour from other hours. There is a rite, for example, among my hunters. Every Thursday they dance with the village girls. So Thursday is a wonderful day for me! I can take a walk as far as the vineyards. But if the hunters danced at just any time, every day would be like every other day, and I should never have any vacation at all."
So the little prince tamed the fox. And when the hour of his departure drew near-- "Ah," said the fox, "I shall cry."
"It is your own fault," said the little prince. "I never wished you any sort of harm; but you wanted me to tame you..."
"Yes, that is so," said the fox.
"But now you are going to cry!" said the little prince.
"Yes, that is so," said the fox.
"Then it has done you no good at all!"
"It has done me good," said the fox, "because of the color of the wheat fields." And then he added:
"Go and look again at the roses. You will understand now that yours is unique in all the world. Then come back to say goodbye to me, and I will make you a present of a secret."
The little prince went away, to look again at the roses. "You are not at all like my rose," he said. "As yet you are nothing. No one has tamed you, and you have tamed no one. You are like my fox when I first knew him. He was only a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But I have made him my friend, and now he is unique in all the world."
And the roses were very much embarassed.
"You are beautiful, but you are empty," he went on. "One could not die for you. To be sure, an ordinary passerby would think that my rose looked just like you-- the rose that belongs to me. But in herself alone she is more important than all the hundreds of you other roses: because it is she that I have watered; because it is she that I have put under the glass globe; because it is she that I have sheltered behind the screen; because it is for her that I have killed the caterpillars (except the two or three that we saved to become butterflies); because it is she that I have listened to, when she grumbled, or boasted, or ever sometimes when she said nothing. Because she ismyrose.
And he went back to meet the fox.
"Goodbye," he said.
"Goodbye," said the fox. "And now here is my secret, a very simple secret: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye."
"What is essential is invisible to the eye," the little prince repeated, so that he would be sure to remember.
"It is the time you have wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important."
"It is the time I have wasted for my rose--" said the little prince, so that he would be sure to remember.
"Men have forgotten this truth," said the fox. "But you must not forget it. You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed. You are responsible for your rose..."
"I am responsible for my rose," the little prince repeated, so that he would be sure to remember.

Footprints Too

A variation of the classic Footprints story

"Now imagine you and the Lord walking down the road together. For much of the way, the Lord's footprints go along steadily, consistently, rarely varying the pace. But your prints are a disorganized stream of zigzags, starts, stops, turnarounds, circles, departures and returns.
For much of the way it seems to go like this. But gradually, your footprints come more in line with the Lord's, soon paralleling His consistently. You and Jesus are walking as true friends.
This seems perfect, but then an interesting thing happens: your footprints that once etched the sand next to the Master's are now walking precisely in His steps. Inside His larger footprints is the small 'sandprint', safely enclosed. You and Jesus are becoming one.
This goes on for many miles. But gradually you notice another change. The footprint inside the larger footprint seems to grow larger. Eventually it disappears altogether. There is only one set of footprints. They have become one. Again, this goes on for a long time. But then something awful happens. The second set of footprints is back. And this time it seems worse. Zigzags all over the place. Stops. Starts. Deep gashes in the and. A veritable mess of prints.
You're amazed and shocked. But this is the end of your dream. Now you speak. 'Lord, I understand the first scene with the zigzags and fits and starts and so on. I was a new Christian, just learning. But You walked on through the storm and helped me learn to walk with you.'
'That is correct.'
'Yes, and when the smaller footprints were inside of Yours, I was actually learning to walk in Your steps. I followed You very closely.' 'Very good. You have understood everything so far.'
'Then the smaller footprints grew and eventually filled in with Yours. I suppose that I was actually growing so much that I was becoming like you in every way.'
'Precisely.'
'But this is my question. Lord.. Was there a regression or something? The footprints went back to two, and this time it was worse than the first.'
The Lord smiles, then laughs. 'You didn't know?' He says. 'That was when we danced'."

--- Source Unknown

you.

Life with Mom

1 year Mama.
4 years I want my Mamma.
7 years I need to ask my mommy first.
12 years My Mother is so uncool.
17 years Naturally Mother doesn't understand.
21 years Mom is so out of touch - What would you expect?
30 years A little patience....Maybe Mom will have a good idea.
35 years I'll call Mom and see what she thinks about it. Mom is really a lot of help.
40 years Maybe Mom and I could do that together.
50 years I wonder what Mom would have thought about it.
60 years I wish I could talk it over with Mom once more.

Source Unknown

The young mother set her foot on the path of life.
"Is the way long?" she asked.
And her Guide said: "Yes.
And the way is hard.
And you will be old before you reach the end of it.
But the end will be better than the beginning."
But the young Mother was happy, and she would not believe that anything could be better than these years. So she played with her children, and gathered flowers for them along the way, and bathed with them in the clear streams; and the sun shone on them, and life was good, and the young Mother cried,
"Nothing will ever be lovelier than this."
Then night came, and storm, and the path was dark, and the children shook with fear and cold, and the Mother was weary, but at all times she said to the children,
"A little patience, and we are there."
So the children climbed, and when they reached the top, they said,
"We could not have done it without you, Mother." And the Mother, when she lay down that night, looked up at the stars, and said:
"This is a better day than the last, for my children have learned fortitude in the face of hardness. Yesterday I gave them courage.
Today I have given them strength."
And the next day came strange clouds which darkened the earth--clouds of war and hate and evil, and the children groped and stumbled, and the Mother said: "Look up. Lift your eyes to the Light."
And the children looked and saw above the clouds an Everlasting Glory, and it guided them and brought them beyond the darkness. And that night the Mother said,
"This is the best day of all, for I have shown my children God."
And the days went on, and the weeks and the months and the years, and the Mother grew old, and she was little and bent. But her children were tall and strong and walked with courage. And when the way was hard, they helped their Mother, and when the way was rough, they lifted her, for she was as light as a feather; and at last they came to a hill, and beyond the hill they could see a shining road and golden gates flung wide.
And the Mother said:
"I have reached the end of my journey. And now I know that the end is better than the beginning, for my children can walk alone, and their children after them."
And the children said,
"You will always walk with us, Mother, even when you have gone through the gates." And they stood and watched her as she went on alone, and the gates closed after her. And they said:
"We cannot see her, but she is with us still. A Mother like ours is more than a memory. She is a Living Presence."

- - Temple Bailey

A mother can be almost any size or any age,
but she won't admit to anything over thirty.
A mother has soft hands and smells good.
A mother likes new dresses, music, a clean house,
her children's kisses, an automatic washer, and Daddy.
A mother doesn't like having her children sick,
muddy feet, temper tantrums, loud noise, or bad report cards.
A mother can read a thermometer (much to the amazement
of Daddy) and, like magic, can kiss a hurt away.
A mother can bake good cakes and pies,
but likes to see her children eat vegetables.
A mother can stuff a fat baby into a snowsuit in seconds,
and can kiss sad little faces and make them smile.
A mother is underpaid, has long hours, and gets very
little rest. She worries too much about her children,
but she says she doesn't mind it at all.
And no matter how old her children are,
she still likes to think of them as her little babies.
She is the guardian angel of the family,
the queen, the tender hand of love.
A mother is the best friend anyone ever has.
A mother is love.

- -Mary Dawson Hughes

I do, because I must do something.
People are unreasonable, illogical and self-centered. Love them anyway.
The good you do will be forgotten tomorrow. Do good anyway.
Honesty and frankness will make you vulnerable. Be honest and frank anyway.
What you spent years building may be destroyed overnight. Build anyway.
Give the world the best you've have and you'll be kicked in the teeth. Give the best you've got anyway.
Calcutta can be found all over the world if you have eyes to see.
In the developed countries there is a poverty of intimacy, a poverty of spirit, of loneliness, of lack of lo ve. There is no greater sickness in the world today than that one.
When you have nothing, then you have everything.
God loves a cheerful giver. She or he gives best who gives with a smile.
It is not the magnitude of our actions but the amount of love that is put into them that matters.
Never lose heart. We always -- thank God...can smile. At least you can smile if nothing else.
Let there be kindness in your face, in your eyes, in your smile, in the warmth of your greeting. Always have a cheerful smile.
Don't only give your care, but give your heart as well.

by Erma Bombeck

I would have talked less and listened more.
I would have invited friends over to dinner even if the carpet was stained and the sofa faded.
I would have eaten the popcorn in the 'good' living room and worried much less about the dirt when someone wanted to light a fire in the fireplace.
I would have taken the time to listen to my grandfather ramble about his youth.
I would never have insisted the car windows be rolled up on a summer day because my hair had just been teased and sprayed.
I would have burned the pink candle sculpted like a rose before it melted in storage.
I would have sat on the lawn with my children and not worried about grass stains.
I would have cried and laughed less while watching television - and more while watching life.
I would have shared more of the responsibility carried by my husband.
I would have gone to bed when I was sick instead of pretending the earth would go into a holding pattern if I weren't there for the day.
I would never have bought anything just because it was practical, wouldn't show soil or was guaranteed to last a lifetime.
Instead of wishing away nine months of pregnancy, I'd have cherished every moment and realized that the wonderment growing inside me was the only chance in life to assist God in a miracle.
When my kids kissed me impetuously, I would never have said, "Later. Now go get washed up for dinner."
There would have been more "I love you's".. more "I'm sorry's"... but mostly, given another shot at life, I would seize every minute...look at it and really see it... live it...and never give it back.

CARDINAL NEWMAN

O weary Champion of the Cross, lie still:
Sleep thou at length the all embracing sleep;
Long was thy sowing day, rest now and reap:
Thy fast was long, feast now thy spirit's fill.
Yea take thy fill of love, because thy will
Chose love not in the shallows but the deep:
Thy tides were spring tides, set against the neap
Of calmer souls:they flood rebuked their rill.
Now night has come to thee - please God, of rest:
So some time must it come to every man:
To first and last, where many last are first.
Now fixed and finished thine eternal plan,
Thy best has done its best, thy worst its worst:
Thy best its best, please God, thy best its best.

SLEEPING AT LAST

SURPRISED BY JOY

Then sing, ye Birds, sing, sing a joyous song!
And let the young Lambs bound
As to the tabor's sound!
We in thought will join your throng.
Ye that pipe and ye that play,
Ye that through your hearts today
Feel the gladness of the May!
What though the radiance which was once so bright
Be now forever taken from my sight,
Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;
We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind;
In the primal sympathy
Which having been must ever be;
In the soothing thoughts that spring
Out of human suffering;
In the faith that looks through death
, In years that bring the philosophic mind.


WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:
The soul that rises with us, our life's Star.
Hath elsewhere its setting,
And cometh from afar:
Not in entire forgetfulness,
And not in utter nakedness,
But trailing clouds of glory do we come
From God who is our home.

William Wordsworth 1770 - 1850