A Liturgy for the Overwhelmed Workday

Meant to be read slowly, at a desk, in the middle of the swirl. Forty-five seconds. That's enough.

Before I fix anything,
let me remember I am not the Vine.

The list is real. The pressure is real.
The temptation to save it all by my own strength
is the oldest and tiredest lie I know.

I am a branch.
My job is not to make the sap.
My job is to stay attached.

So I stop.
I unclench the one thing I've been white-knuckling —
(name it) —
and I set it down where it belongs:
not on my shoulders,
above.

Let the work that comes now
come through me,
not from me.

I don't have to build the house.
I only have to remain.

First, I pray.