Lord, you know better than I know that I’m growing older. Keep me from the fatal habit of thinking that I must say something on every subject and on every occasion. Stop me from craving to straighten out everybody’s affairs.

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 know, O 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 enough to enjoy the tale of others’ pains, but help me to endure them with patience.

I dare not ask for improved memory but for a growing humility and for a Lessing cocksureness when my memory seems to clash with the memories of others. Teach me 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 hard to live with–but a sour old person is one of the best works of the devil. Give me the ability to see good things in unexpected places, and talents in unexpected people. And give me the grace, O Lord, to tell them so.

Amen. ( A Medieval Nun’s Prayer)