Keep me from getting talkative, and particularly from the fatal habit of thinking I must say something on every subject and on every occasion.
Release me from the craving to try and straighten out everybody’s affairs.
Keep my mind free from the recital of endless details – give me wings to get to the point.
I ask for grace enough to listen to the tales of others’ pains. They are increasing, and my love of rehearsing them is becoming sweeter as the years go by.
I dare not ask for improved memory, but for a growing humility and a lessening 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 so hard to live with – but a sour old woman (or man) is one of the crowning works of the devil.
Make me thoughtful, but not moody; helpful, but not bossy.
With my vast store of wisdom, it seems a pity not use it; but Thou knowest, LORD, I want a few friends at the end.
Give me the ability to see good things in unexpected places, and talents in unexpected people. And give me, LORD, the grace to tell them so.