to surrender what we do not possess

Lord, so often I have given you what I possessed in abundance; let me now offer you everything that I do not have, that has always been denied me, that I have sought half-suspecting it was unattainable: peace, rest, shelter.

And if I know now that all this belongs to you, that it remains in your safekeeping and is your possession, I will no longer clamor for it. The constant, vain running of my restlessness no longer troubles me: rest is in you, you have taken possession of it, even from me; you can dispense it again without loss; in you is shelter-- who else would have it?-- you can deal out this gift.

Be praised: what we seek is found in you, and what we fancied we were giving you generously was in you from the beginning. And yet we thank you that in spite of this you accept it from us as well.

Lord, do not just take what we do not have: keep it.

Planting is the Lord's alone, to us he might leave the gathering of a few ears of his sprouting seed; that which was already his is what we bring before him.

A living fire does not cease to burn until all is consumed and reduced to ash; no one regards the ash; strewn lifeless on the ground, it cannot fructify, hidden as it is, but it can be trampled completely into the earth, serving a task of which it knows nothing.

Lord, burn us to ash, and scatter us according to your will. If I should ever say again what I will, do not grant that prayer: believe, even against every appearance, that from now on I am yours alone and know no other will than yours. Amen.

  • Adrienne von Speyr, With God and With Men: Prayers, 57-58