Words of Wisdom

I sometimes wonder why I am the way I am. Then I remember my Mom. She was a true kitchen table philosopher. She often saved writings that made her feel all the feels. I hope the following trigger some feelings for you.

Maturity is:

  • The ability to stick with a job until it’s finished

  • The ability to do a job without being supervised

  • The ability to carry money without spending it

  • And the ability to bear an injustice without wanting to get even.

A Horse’s Prayer

Feed me, water me, and care for me. And when my day’s work is done, provide me with shelter, a clean, dry bed, and a stall wide enough for me to lie down in comfort. Talk to me. Your voice often means as much to me as the reins. Pet me sometimes, that I may serve you them more gladly and learn to love you. Do not jerk the reins and do not whip me when going uphill. Never strike, beat, or kick me when I do not understand what you mean, but give me chance to understand. Do not tie my head in an unnatural position, or take away my defense against flies by cutting off my tail. (I don’t take away your mosquito curtains.) And last, my master: When my strength is gone, do not turn me out in a pasture with no shelter and let me freeze to death, or sell me to some cruel owner to be slowly starved or worked to death, but take my life in the kindest way, and your God will reward you - hereafter.

- Author Unknown

It was Grandfather’s Birthday

By Rudy Joe Mano

It was Grandfather’s birthday. He was 79. He got up early, shaved, showered, combed his hair and put on his Sunday best so he would look nice when they came. He skipped his daily walk to the town cafe where he had coffee with his cronies. He wanted to be home when them came. He put his porch chair on the sidewalk so he could get a better view of the street when they drove up to help celebrate his birthday. At noon, he got tired buy decided to forgo his nap so he could be there when they came. Most of the rest of the afternoon he spent near the telephone so he could answer it when they called. He has five married children, 13 grandchildren, and three great grandchildren. One son and daughter live within 10 miles of his place. They hadn’t visited for a long time. But today was his birthday and they were sure to come. At suppertime, he left the cake untouched so they could cut it and have dessert with him. After supper, he sat on the porch waiting. At 8:30, he went to his room to prepare for bed. Before retiring, he left a note on the door that read, “Be sure to wake me up when they come.” It was Grandfather’s birthday. He was 79.

The Station

By Robert J. Hastings

Tucked away in our subconscious is an idyllic vision. We see ourselves on a long trip that spans the continent. We are traveling by train. Out the windows we drink in the passing scene of cars on nearby highways, of children waving at a crossing, of cattle grazing on a distant hillside, of smoke pouring from a power plant or row upon row of corn and wheat, of flatlands and valleys, of mountains and rolling hillsides, of city skylines and village halls. But uppermost in our minds is the final destination. Bands will be playing and flags waving. Once we get there our dreams will come true, and the pieces of our lives will fit together like a jigsaw puzzle. How restlessly we pace the aisles, damning the minutes for loitering - waiting, waiting, waiting for the station. “When I’m 18.” “When I buy a new 450 SL Mercedes - Benz!” “When I put the last kid through college.” “When I have paid off the mortgage!” “When I get a promotion.” “When I reach the age of retirement, I shall live happily ever after!” Sooner or later we must realize there is no station, no one place to arrive at once and for all. The true joy of life is the trip. The station is only a dream. It constantly outdistances us.