O Lord, make me a humble man, for pride is the root of all sins, the worst of them all (it is said). If it could make the brightest angel believe that he could conquer the infinite, how much the more blind could it make me, who has not the intellect he must have possessed? When I stretch myself to the height of what I can reach, let me see how much greater there is in the world, how feeble the greatest claims of mine reach on such utterly grander scales. Make me understand: I, who cannot for the life of me will one atom into existence: how can I bow low enough to Him who made all that is out of nothing at all? Make me understand: how your plan ultimately cannot be comprehensible to such a small part of it that I may be, and that is the best I may hope for: a single cog such as I should instead understand its place in the machinery of this life. O Lord, make me a humble man, not that it is the greatest of all virtues, to oppose the worst, but that I may clear my eyes and see what greatness is around me. How miracles every day happen everywhere, if only we choose to look.