Dear God, this village is full of workers. Sisters and brothers turning their hands to all kinds of labor. Some sow, some build, some clean, some repair, some nourish.
As I roam among my fellows, in the quiet dawn mist, let me look for ways to be of help. If we all are to labor, then we all might aid one another.
When my hands are idle, Lord, let this be my discipline: to seek others I might help. Let the love I carry, your love, be tangible and no mere idea.