GROWING OLDER AND GROWING UP

The first day of school our professor introduced himself and challenged us to get to know someone we didn't already know. I stood up to look around when a gentle hand touched my shoulder.

I turned around to find a wrinkled, little old lady beaming up at me with a smile that lit up her entire being.

She said, 'Hi handsome. My name is Rose. I'm eighty-seven years old. Can I give you a hug?'

I laughed and enthusiastically responded, 'Of course you may!' and she gave me a giant squeeze..

'Why are you in college at such a young, innocent age?' I asked.

She jokingly replied, 'I'm here to meet a rich husband, get married, and have a couple of kids...'

'No seriously,' I asked. I was curious what may have motivated her to be taking on this challenge at her age.

'I always dreamed of having a college education and now I'm getting one!' she told me.

After class we walked to the student union building and shared a chocolate milkshake.

We became instant friends. Every day for the next three months we would leave class together and talk nonstop. I was always mesmerized listening to this 'time machine' as she shared her wisdom and experience with me.

Over the course of the year, Rose became a campus icon and she easily made friends wherever she went. She loved to dress up and she reveled in the attention bestowed upon her from the other students. She was living it up.

At the end of the semester we invited Rose to speak at our football banquet. I'll never forget what she taught us. She was introduced and stepped up t o the podium. As she began to deliver her prepared speech, she dropped her three by five cards on the floor.
Frustrated and a little embarrassed she leaned into the microphone and simply said, 'I'm sorry I'm so jittery. I gave up beer for Lent and this whiskey is killing me! I'll never get my speech back in order so let me just tell you what I know.'

As we laughed she cleared her throat and began, ' We do not stop playing because we are old; we grow old because we stop playing.

There are only four secrets to staying young, being happy, and achieving success. You have to laugh and find humor every day. You've got to have a dream. When you lose your dreams, you die.

We have so many people walking around who are dead and don't even know it!

There is a huge difference between growing older and growing up.

If you are nineteen years old and lie in bed for one full year and don't do one productive thing, you will turn twenty years old. If I am eighty-seven years old and stay in bed for a year and never do anything I will turn eighty-eight.

Anybody! Can grow older. That doesn't take any talent or ability. The idea is to grow up by always finding opportunity in change. Have no regrets.

The elderly usually don't have regrets for what we did, but rather for things we did not do. The only people who fear death are those with regrets..'

She concluded her speech by courageously singing 'The Rose.'

She challenged each of us to study the lyrics and live them out in our daily lives. At the year's end Rose finished the college degree she had begun all those months ago.

One week after graduation Rose died peacefully in her sleep.

Over two thousand college students attended her fu neral in tribute to the wonderful woman who taught by example that it's never too late to be all you can possibly be.

When you finish reading this, please send this peaceful word of advice to your friends and family, they'll really enjoy it!

These words have been passed along in loving memory of ROSE.

REMEMBER, GROWING OLDER IS MANDATORY. GROWING UP IS OPTIONAL. We make a Living by what we get. We make a Life by what we give.

God promises a safe landing, not a calm passage. If God brings you to it, He will bring you through it.

GRANDPA'S HANDS...

      I'll  never look at my hands the  same!

 

Grandpa,  some  ninety plus years, sat feebly on the patio bench. He   didn't move, just sat with his head down staring at his   hands. When I sat down beside him he didn't acknowledge my  presence  and  the longer I sat,  I wondered  if he was  OK.

Finally,  not really wanting to disturb  him but wanting to check on him at the same time, I asked  him if  he was OK.

He  raised his head  and looked at me and smiled.  "Yes, I'm  fine.  Thank you for  asking," he said in a clear strong  voice.

"I  didn't mean to  disturb you, Grandpa, but you were just  sitting here staring at your hands and I wanted to make  sure you were  OK," I explained to him.  

"Have  you ever  looked at your hands," he asked.  "I mean really  looked at  your hands?"  

I  slowly opened my  hands and stared down at them. I turned  them over, palms

up and then palms down. No, I guess I had  never really  looked at my hands  as I

tried to  figure out the point he was making. Grandpa  smiled and  related this story:

"Stop  and think  for a moment about the hands you have, how they  have  served you well throughout your years. These hands,  though  wrinkled, shriveled, and weak  have been the tools  I  have used all my life to reach out and grab and embrace  life.  They put food in my mouth and clothes on my  back.  

 

*  As a  child  my mother taught me to fold them in prayer.

*  They  tied my shoes and pulled on my boots.

*  They have been dirty, scraped and raw, swollen and   bent.

*  They were uneasy and clumsy when I tried to hold my newborn son.

*  Decorated with my wedding band they showed the world that I was married  and loved  someone special.

*  They  trembled and shook when I buried my parents and spouse and walked my daughter down the  aisle. 

*  They  have  covered my face, combed my hair, and washed and cleansed the rest of my body. 

*  They have been sticky and wet, bent and broken, dried and raw. 

*  And  to this  day, when not much of anything else of me works real  well, these hands hold me up, lay me down, and  again continue to fold in prayer.

*  These  hands  are the mark of where I've been and the ruggedness of my life.

*  But more importantly it will be these hands that God will reach out and take when he leads me home.

*  And  with my  hands He will lift me to His side and there I  will use  these hands to touch the face of  Christ."

 

I will  never look at my hands the same again. But I remember God reached out  and took my grandpa's hands and led him  home.

When  my hands are  hurt or sore I think of Grandpa.  I know he  has been stroked and caressed and held by the hands of  God.   I, too, want to touch the face of God and feel His  hands upon my face.

When  you receive  this, say a prayer for the person who sent it to you and  watch God's answer to prayer work in your life.  Let's continue praying for one another.

 

 

Healing power of music

Here are a couple of video's that shed some light on how music can influence Alzheimer's patients.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2XLdSdfuMz8

Henry's Story

Enjoy

The gift of music experienced!!

Try this link to see how aging can bless your life and the life of others around you. Share what you have. Click anywhere in this post to see the video.