In this hurried world we often neglect the people who matter the most to us: our spouse, children, parents, siblings or friends.
In the end, it doesn’t matter if we have a clean house, everything is in its place, we have new clothes, or the latest technology gadget. What matters most is the time we spend with those we love and are close to.
If we are too busy to share intimate moments with our spouse we may lose them, or lose the closeness we once shared. Or if we don’t spend time with our children they will find something or someone to replace the attention they are lacking.
Many years ago I was at a conference where the speaker read a poem. I went home found the poem and placed it on my refrigerator so that I wouldn’t forget those close to me. Over the years it became old and worn out and I put it away. Today I was reminded of that poem from the tweet so I would like to share it will you. I hope it blesses you as much as it blessed me so many years ago. Warning it will create a tear or two.
To My Grown-Up Son
By Alice E. Chase – 1975
My Hands were busy through the day;
I didn’t have much time to play
The little games you asked me to.
I didn’t have much time for you.
I’d Wash your clothes, I’d sew and cook,
But when you’d bring your picture book
And ask me please to share your fun
I’d say: "A little later, son."
I’d tuck you in all safe at night
and hear your prayers, turn out the lights,
Then tip toe softly to the door...
I wish I’d stayed a minute more.
For life is short, the years rush past...
A little boy grows up so fast.
No longer is he at your side
His precious secrets to confide.
The picture books are put away,
There are no longer games to play,
No good-night kiss,
No prayers to hear...
That all belongs to yesteryear
My hands, once busy, now are still,
The days are long and hard to fill,
I wish I could go back and do
The little things you asked me to.
By Alice E. Chase – 1975
My Hands were busy through the day;
I didn’t have much time to play
The little games you asked me to.
I didn’t have much time for you.
I’d Wash your clothes, I’d sew and cook,
But when you’d bring your picture book
And ask me please to share your fun
I’d say: "A little later, son."
I’d tuck you in all safe at night
and hear your prayers, turn out the lights,
Then tip toe softly to the door...
I wish I’d stayed a minute more.
For life is short, the years rush past...
A little boy grows up so fast.
No longer is he at your side
His precious secrets to confide.
The picture books are put away,
There are no longer games to play,
No good-night kiss,
No prayers to hear...
That all belongs to yesteryear
My hands, once busy, now are still,
The days are long and hard to fill,
I wish I could go back and do
The little things you asked me to.
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