I steel myself for burden after burden, labor upon labor. Will I be enough in the morning march? Will I be enough at noon? Can I persist through eventide?
Lord, take your child’s hand, and lead me into the day. Occupy me with just what is before me.
I fear what is to come an hour hence and already take my battle-stance. My weapons are ill-suited to this quiet garden, I have not even left my dwelling grounds.
Lord, let me love where I am. Labor will come anon.