REBELLIOUS TEENAGERS


Have you got problems with your teenage children? Do you wonder what you have done wrong or what you can do to bring your children back to the path of goodness? There must be many of us who at some time feel like this and ask ourselves these questions. One mother, called  Monica, was deeply upset by her son's behaviour. He had  abandoned  his faith, taken up gambling  and  casual  sex  and  seemed  a completely lost cause. His mother never stopped praying for him, despite the heartache. Her tears shed for her son watered the ground wherever she prayed. Seventeen years she prayed constantly for him and not  long  before  her  death  she  had  the  great  joy  of  seeing  him  return  to  his  faith, a much wiser man. Her son was  St. Augustine, who has been a great leader in the church for sixteen hundred years. His famous prayer is : You have made us for yourself, O Lord, and our hearts shall find no rest until they rest in Thee. We have just celebrated the feasts of this great mother and son on August 27th & 28th. In distress, St.Monica is the patron saint of mothers.

Kate Heywood

I'M ALRIGHT THANK YOU

There's nothing the matter with me
I'm as healthy as can be
I've arthritis in both knees
And when I talk, I talk with a wheeze
My pulse is weak
My blood is thin
But I'm awfully well for the shape I'm in.

Arch supports for my feet
Or I wouldn't be able to be on the street
Sleep is denied me night after night
But every morning I'm alright
My memory is fading, my heads in a spin
But I'm awfully well for the shape I'm in.

The moral is, as my tale I unfold
That for you and me we're growing old
Tis better to say I'm fine with a grin
Than to let folk know the shape we're in
How do I know my youth is all spent
My up and go has up and went
But I really don't mind when I think
of the places my get up has bin

Old age is golden so they say
But sometimes I wonder when I get into bed
With ears in the drawer
My teeth in a cup
My eyes on the table
Until I wake up sleep is denied me
And I say to myself
Is there anything else I can lay on the shelf

When I was young my slippers were red
I could kick my heels right over my head
When I was older my slippers were blue
But I could dance the whole night through
Now I am old my slippers are black
I walk to the stores and puff my way back

I get up each morning and dust off my bits
And pick up the paper and read the Obits
If my name's not mentioned I know I'm not dead
So I have a good breakfast and go back to bed

By an Unknown Author


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