Dear God, I fear and worry over what is to pass some days in the future. Tomorrow’s tomorrow creeps into this day and kicks over the chairs, chews at the foundations of my home, pours ground glass into my meal.
I ruin myself: today holds calm, yet I dwell upon potential storms.
Lord, turn my attention to your work. Grant me no idle time. Fill me, fill me with industry.
Set to use, I become the cheerful worker. I sing all the while under my load. Tomorrow is forgotten. I have purpose for this day.