Dear God, let me abandon this grasping. Always, there is something that I pursue. My constant companion is worry over whether I will attain the security or status I seek.
Lord, have you long since already answered my cries? Let me see how, around me, all I ask has already come about. Your gentle hand, dear God, let it reach within me and rip out my grasping heart. Let the scales fall from my eyes that I may see the world brightly.
I, your child, am safe. I, your servant, an loved.
You have fashioned me from clay to perform your will. I was made for this time, these circumstances. Let me, your tool, be used.
And yet I crumple myself in woe and glance away and distraction. I make myself useless, a rusted saw.
Let me polish my work surfaces, Lord, and set myself to use. Let not the saw wish it were a fine garment.