Leftovers are such humble things,
We would not serve to a guest,
And yet we serve them to our Lord
Who deserves the very best.
We give to Him leftover time,
Stray minutes here and there.
Leftover cash we give to Him,
Such few coins as we can spare.
We give our youth unto the world,
To hatred, lust and strife;
Then in declining years we give
To him the remnant of our life.
According to an old fable, a man made an unusual agreement with Death. He told the Grim Reaper that he would willingly accompany him when it came time to die, but only on one conditionthat Death would send a messenger well in advance to warn him. Weeks winged away into months, and months into years. Then one bitter winter evening, as the man sat thinking about all his possessions, Death suddenly entered the room and tapped him on the shoulder. Startled, the man cried out, “Youre here so soon and without warning! I thought we had an agreement.” Death replied, “Ive more than kept my part. Ive sent you many messengers. Look in the mirror and youll see some of them.”
As the man complied, Death whispered, “Notice your hair! Once it was full and black, now it is thin and white. Look at the way you cock your head to listen to me because you cant hear very well. Observe how close to the mirror you must stand to see yourself clearly. Yes, Ive sent many messengers through the years. Im sorry youre not ready, but the time has come to leave.”