My life, is it made up of the things I do, or the stew of thoughts that persist all across my waking hours? I retire at night having harmed none by deeds, yet judgment and wrath live in my heart.
Can I thus deem myself holy, that I acted not? Is the bar so low?
Lord, slow my pace and allow room for the holy to creep into these hours. Heal my thoughts, let me not be satisfied with simply the external world.
It is in my secret heart that I must be judged. Make me more worthy.