Dear God, my day, even when alone, is filled with speech. Words flow through my thoughts as I consider what I may say or did say or should say or must not say. These are clouds that spread, dim, obscure.
O Lord, let my hands grasp and pull, let my feet step along my march. Let me not hide my works behind chatter. Let me not drown out your quiet whispers of guidance and leave myself rudderless.
At day’s end, will your will for me have been to talk, or will it have been to act in love? Let me, then, not rob the time I have for deeds.