When, Lord, do I labor for you, and when for myself? Are my energies misspent, and how might I know?
I am the bewildered one. How, then, ought I act?
Lord, grant me clear orders. Compel me. I live in ignorance of your plans. My own designs always place me at the center, a drunken spider in his web.
Let me follow you, let me not second-guess the path, let my hands work of their own accord, moved by you.
Let my selfish thoughts watch on, impotent and spinning. Thy will be done.