Sometimes I wonder, Lord, just what you plan
For me. It isn't power, or great success,
Or tranquil and domestic happiness
That flows from motherhood; and though I can
Do several things a little better than
One might expect, I really must confess
To no outstanding gift. Yet, nonetheless
I have a sense that since my life began
It has been planned by you. What might appear
An accident, or Fate's perversity,
Is seen, when my objections disappear,
To be your act of generosity.
I wonder, Lord, perhaps you put me here
To learn the simple art of being me.
