Time Gets Better With Age

Read through to the end, it gets better as you go!

I’ve learned that I like my teacher because she cries when we sing “Silent Night”.

- Age 5

I’ve learned that our dog doesn’t want to eat my broccoli either.

- Age 7

I’ve learned that when I wave to people in the country, they stop what they are doing and wave back.

- Age 9

I’ve learned that just when I get my room the way I like it, Mom makes me clean it up again.

- Age 12

I’ve learned that if you want to cheer yourself up, you should try cheering someone else up.

- Age 14

I’ve learned that although it’s hard to admit it, I’m secretly glad my parents are strict with me.

- Age 15

I’ve learned that silent company is often more healing than words of advice.

- Age 24

I’ve learned that brushing my child’s hair is one of life’s great pleasures.

- Age 26

I’ve learned that wherever I go, the world’s worst drivers have followed me there.

- Age 29

I’ve learned that if someone says something unkind about me, I must live so that no one will believe it.

- Age 30

I’ve learned that there are people who love you dearly but just don’t know how to show it.

- Age 42

I’ve learned that you can make some one’s day by simply sending them a little note.

- Age 44

I’ve learned that the greater a person’s sense of guilt, the greater his or her need to cast blame on others.

- Age 46

I’ve learned that children and grandparents are natural allies.

- Age 47

I’ve learned that no matter what happens, or how bad it seems today, life does go on, and it will be better tomorrow.

- Age 48

I’ve learned that singing “Amazing Grace” can lift my spirits for hours.

- Age 49

I’ve learned that motel mattresses are better on the side away from the phone.

- Age 50

I’ve learned that you can tell a lot about a man by the way he handles these three things: a rainy day, lost luggage, and tangled Christmas tree lights.

- Age 51

I’ve learned that keeping a vegetable garden is worth a medicine cabinet full of pills.

- Age 52

I’ve learned that regardless of your relationship with your parents, you miss them terribly after they die.

- Age 53

I’ve learned that making a living is not the same thing as making a life.

- Age 58

I’ve learned that if you want to do something positive for your children, work to improve your marriage.

- Age 61

I’ve learned that life sometimes gives you a second chance.

- Age 62


I’ve learned that you shouldn’t go through life with a catchers mitt on both hands. You need to be able to throw something back.

- Age 64

I’ve learned that if you pursue happiness, it will elude you. But if you focus on your family, the needs of others, your work, meeting new people, and doing the very best you can, happiness will find you.

- Age 65

I’ve learned that whenever I decide something with kindness, I usually make the right decision.

- Age 66

I’ve learned that everyone can use a prayer.

- Age 72

I’ve learned that even when I have pains, I don’t have to be one.

- Age 82

I’ve learned that every day you should reach out and touch someone. People love that human touch-holding hands, a warm hug, or just a friendly pat on the back.

- Age 90

I’ve learned that I still have a lot to learn.

- Age 92

The Story of the Bible and the Diamond Ring

A married lady was expecting a birthday gift from her husband.

For many months she had admired a beautiful diamond ring in a showroom, and knowing her husband could affort it, she told him that was what she wanted.

As her birthday approached, this lady waited for signs that her husband has purchased the diamond ring.

Finally, on the morning of her birthday, her husband called her into his study room. Her husband told her how proud he was to have such a good wife, and told her how much he loved her.

He handed her a beautiful wrapped gift box. Curious, the wife opened the box and found alovely leather-bound Bible, with the wife’s name embossed in gold. Angrily, she raised her voice to her husband and said, ‘With all your money you give me a Bible?’ And stormed out of the house, leaving her husband.

Many years passed and the lady was very successful in business. She managed to settle for a more beautiful house and a wonderful family, but realized her ex-husband was very old, and thought perhaps she should go and visit him. She had not seen him for many years. But before she could make arrangements, she received a telegram telling her that her ex-husband has passed away, and willed all of his possessions to her. She needed to come back immediately and take care of things.

When she arrived at her ex-husband’s house, sudden sadness and regret filled her heart. She began to search through her ex-husband’s important papers and saw the still new Bible, just as she had left it years before. With tears, she opened the Bible and began to turn the pages. Her ex-husband had carefully underlined a verse, Matthew 7:11, ‘And if you, being evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more shall your Heavenly Father, who is in heaven, give what is good to those who ask Him?’

As she read those words, a tiny package dropped from the back of the Bible. It had a diamond ring, with her name engraved on it — the same diamond ring which she saw at the showroom. On the tag was the date of her birth, and the words. ‘LUV U ALWAYS’.

How many times do we miss God’s blessings, because they are not packaged as we expected?

“If your gift is not packaged the way you want it, it’s because it is better packaged the way it is.”

“Always appreciate little things;
they usually lead you to bigger and better things.”

“The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched…
They must be felt with the heart.”

Almighty Father, give me a cheerful and grateful heart that never fails to recognize Your blessings regardless of what package they may come in. You know what is best for me dear Lord; teach me to trust always in Your Divine wisdom. Amen.

Tommy’s Story

Rev. John Powell, a professor at Loyola University in Chicago, writes about a student in his Theology of Faith class named Tommy:

Some twelve years ago, I stood watching my university students file into the classroom for our first session in the Theology of Faith. That was the day I first saw Tommy. My eyes and my mind both blinked. He was combing his long flaxen hair, which hung six inches below his shoulders. It was the first time I had ever seen a boy with hair that long. I guess it was just coming into fashion then. I know in my mind that it isn’t what’s on your head but what’s in it that counts; but on that day I was unprepared and my emotions flipped. I immediately filed Tommy under “S” for strange… Very strange.

Tommy turned out to be the “Atheist in residence” in my Theology of Faith course. He constantly objected to, smirked at, or whined about the possibility of an unconditionally loving Father/God. We lived with each other in relative peace for one semester, although I admit he was for me at times a serious pain in the back pew. When he came up at the end of the course to turn in his final exam, he asked in a cynical tone, “Do you think I’ll ever find God?” I decided instantly on a little shock therapy. “No!” I said very emphatically. “Why not,” he responded, “I thought that was the product you were pushing.” I let him get five steps from the classroom door and then called out, “Tommy! I don’t think you’ll ever find Him, but I am absolutely certain that He will find you!”

He shrugged a little and left my class and my life.

I felt slightly disappointed at the thought that he had missed my clever line — He will find you! At least I thought it was clever. Later I heard that Tommy had graduated, and I was duly grateful.

Then a sad report came. I heard that Tommy had terminal cancer. Before I could search him out, he came to see me. When he walked into my office, his body was very badly wasted and the long hair had all fallen out as a result of chemotherapy. But his eyes were bright and his voice was firm, for the first time, I believe. “Tommy, I’ve thought about you so often; I hear you are sick,” I blurted out. “Oh, yes, very sick. I have cancer in both lungs. It’s a matter of weeks.” “Can you talk about it, Tom?” I asked. “Sure, what would you like to know?” he replied. “What’s it like to be only twenty-four and dying?” “Well, it could be worse.” “Like What?” “Well like being fifty, and having no values, thinking that drinking booze, seducing women, and making money are the real biggies in life.” I began looking through my mental file cabinet under “S” where I had filed Tommy as strange. (It seems as though everybody I try to reject by classification, God sends back into my life to educate me.)

“But what I really came to see you about,” Tom said, “is something you said to me on the last day of class.” (He remembered!) He continued, “I asked you if you thought I would ever find God and you said, ‘No!’ which surprised me. Then you said, ‘But He will find you.’ I thought about that a lot, even though my search for God was hardly intense at that time.” (My clever line. He thought about that a lot!)

“But when the doctors removed a lump from my groin and told me that it was malignant, that’s when I got serious about locating God. And when the malignancy spread into my vital organs, I really began banging bloody fists against the bronze doors of heaven. But God did not come out. In fact, nothing happened. Did you ever try anything for a long time with great effort and with no success? You get psychologically glutted, fed up with trying. And then you quit.

“Well, one day I woke up, and instead of throwing a few more futile appeals over that high brick wall to a God who may be or may not be there, I just quit. I decided that I didn’t really care about God, about an after life, or anything like that. I decided to spend what time I had left doing something more profitable. I thought about you and your class and I remembered something else you had said: ‘The essential sadness is to go through life without loving. But it would be almost equally sad to go through life and leave this world without ever telling those you loved that you had loved them.’” “So, I began with the hardest one, my Dad. He was reading the newspaper when I approached him. “Dad. “Yes, what?” he asked without lowering the newspaper. “Dad, I would like to talk with you.” “Well, talk.” “I mean . It’s really important.”

The newspaper came down three slow inches. “What is it?” “Dad, I love you, I just wanted you to know that.” Tom smiled at me and said it with obvious satisfaction, as though he felt a warm and secret joy flowing inside of him. “The newspaper fluttered to the floor. Then my father did two things I could never remember him ever doing before.. He cried and he hugged me. We talked all night, even though he had to go to work the next morning. It felt so good to be close to my father, to see his tears, to feel his hug, to hear him say that he loved me.”

“It was easier with my mother and little brother. They cried with me, too, and we hugged each other, and started saying real nice things to each other. We shared the things we had been keeping secret for so many years.

“I was only sorry about one thing — that I had waited so long. Here I was, just beginning to open up to all the people I had actually been close to.

“Then, one day I turned around and God was there. He didn’t come to me when I pleaded with Him. I guess I was like an animal trainer holding out a hoop, ‘C’mon, jump through. C’mon, I’ll give you three days, three weeks.’”

“Apparently God does things in His own way and at His own hour. But the important thing is that He was there. He found me! You were right. He found me even after I stopped looking for Him.”

“Tommy,” I practically gasped, “I think you are saying something very important and much more universal than you realize. To me, at least, you are saying that the surest way to find God is not to make Him a private possession, a problem solver, or an instant consolation in time of need, but rather by opening to love. You know, the Apostle John said that. He said: ‘God is love, and anyone who lives in love is living with God and God is living in him.’ Tom, could I ask you a favor? You know, when I had you in class you were a real pain. But (laughingly) you can make it all up to me now. Would you come into my present Theology of Faith course and tell them what you have just told me? If I told them the same thing it wouldn’t be half as effective as if you were to tell it.”

“Oooh.. I was ready for you, but I don’t know if I’m ready for your class.”

“Tom, think about it. If and when you are ready, give me a call.”

In a few days Tom called, said he was ready for the class, that he wanted to do that for God and for me. So we scheduled a date.

However, he never made it. He had another appointment, far more important than the one with me and my class. Of course, his life was not really ended by his death, only changed. He made the great step from faith into vision. He found a life far more beautiful than the eye of man has ever seen or the ear of man has ever heard or the mind of man has ever imagined. Before he died, we talked one last time. “I’m not going to make it to your class,” he said.

“I know, Tom.”

“Will you tell them for me? Will you … tell the whole world for me?” “I will, Tom. I’ll tell them. I’ll do my best.”

So, to all of you who have been kind enough to read this simple story about God’s love, thank you for listening. And to you, Tommy, somewhere in the sunlit, verdant hills of heaven — I told them, Tommy, as best I could.

- Rev. John Powell, Professor, Loyola University, Chicago

Almighty Father, give me the grace to open up my self to love. So that in doing so, I may allow You to find me — to heal me, to empower me, and to transform me more and more into the person You have destined me to be. Amen.