Lord, keep me sweet when I grow old,
   And things in life seem hard to bear;
When I feel sad and all alone,
   And people do not seem to care.

O keep me sweet when time has caused
   This body, which was once so strong,
To droop beneath its load of years,
   And suffering and pain have come.

And keep me sweet when I have grown
   To worry so, at din and noise;
And help me smile, the while I watch
   The noisy play of girls and boys.

Help me remember how that I,
   When I was younger than today,
And full of life and health and joy,
   Would romp and shout in happy play.

Help me to train my heart each day,
   That it will only sweetness hold;
And as the days and years roll on,
   May I keep sweet, as I grow old.

O keep me sweet, and let me look
   Beyond the frets that life must hold,
To see the glad eternal joys,
   Yes, keep me sweet in growing old.

     Albert asked me to fill in while he’s away from the computer. I told him I’d do my best, so here goes.

     The above poem has special signifigance to me because of those around me whom are growing old. When I was a younger man I had little thought concerning the aged among us. I worked in and throughout nursing facilities all across the state in which I live and I never thought a thing about it, although some of the facilities were very poor as well as the care and that did make me sad for those who were forced to live there.

     There will be a time when I grow old and unable to care for myself, at least one must consider that possibility. Nursing homes in the U.S. are generally good and the caretakers kind and caring, but there is only so much that they can do as the number of staff versus patients is such that they can only devote a given amount of time to each person in their care.

     My own parents are gone now, and I did not have to put them in a nursing home, although looking back I might should have done so with my mother, but she was a viable contributing member of society almost right to the end. But if you have a loved one who is in such a situation, YOU need to be there for them.

     No, I’m not talking about a monthly visit. I’m talking about a weekend visit each and every weekend–four times a month. Show them you care for them, that you want to see them, that they’re important to you, and for heaven sakes, care for them in the best way you can.

     If you have trouble doing this, just think back to when you were a kid and how they took care of you. Did they only look in on you once a month? I’m sure they did not even do that on a weekly basis. They were there for you each and every day.

     Don’t be a deadbeat kid. I saw too many older folks in nursing homes who had no one. Nurses would tell me that their children rarely come to visit with them. How sad! How deadbeatish!

Don’t be a deadbeat kid!

     Al Colombo, tpromo.com

Somehow this poem impressed on me the thought that God has no “denomination”. God is neither a Methodist, a Catholic, or a Baptist. Why do denominations exist in the first place?

In the wee-early hours of the morning, standing outside looking at the misty horizon, I’m reminded that God is all, that He is not a respector of persons, other than those who advocate His most Holy Son, Jesus Christ.

On the battlefield, both sides often claim a belief in Jesus. On both sides we may have soldiers who advocate God’s most Holy Son, Jesus, and yet they point guns at one another, often killing one another in the name of some special religion.

Is there a “special religion”?

The answer to that is yes: Christianity, for Christianity brings with it hope of an eternity in Heaven with our Father, God. Without a Redeemer, without the Son of God, there can be no hope.

The owl as wisest wins our praise
Because, while other birds their lays
Are singing early, late,
The owl, both solemn and sedate,
Sits on his branch in royal state,
And murmurs as if the truth he knew,
Only “who, who.”

So would you be considered wise
Don’t s sing all kinds of melodies,
And thereby show your ignorance,
But like the owl, with less expense,
A single syllable repeat
Not very loud nor very sweet,
That tells us everything you knew
“Who, who?”