Here am I, O God, of little prayer and of mean estate, yet lifting up heart and voice to Thee before whom all created things are as dust and a vapor.
Thou art hidden behind the curtain of sense, incomprehensible in Thy greatness, mysterious in Thine almighty power: yet here I speak with Thee familiarity as child to parent, as friend to friend.
If I could not thus speak to Thee, then were I indeed without hope in the world. For it is little that I have power to do or to ordain. Not on my own will am I here, not of my own will shall I soon pass hence. Of all that shall come to me this day, very little will be such as I have chosen for myself.
It is Thou who hast put power in my hand to do one work and hast withheld the skill to do another.
It is Thou who dost keep in Thy grasp the threads of this day’s life and who alone knowest what lies before me to do or to suffer.
But because Thou art my Father, I am not afraid.
Because it is Thine own Spirit that stirs within my spirit’s inmost room, I know that all is well.
What I desire in me Thou canst attain for me. The good that I would I do not, but the good that Thou willest in me, that Thou canst give me power to do.
“A Diary of Private Prayer” by John Baillie