I ache, for I know how far short of my potential I fall.
I could devote more of myself to you. I could give more. I could perform my labor with greater effort and industry. I could cast away yet more of my possessions.
There is a yawning gap between who I am and whom I could be—enter this space, O Lord. My hoard avails me nothing.
I stand at the threshold in the cold dawn, fearing the frozen ground under my feet. Yank me out of stillness and set me walking these lands, distributing all I have and more.