Sometimes I feel like praying this:

"Lord of all pots and pans and things,

since I've no time to be

a great saint by doing lovely things,

or watching late with Thee,

or dreaming in the dawnlight,

or storming heaven's gates,

make me a saint by getting meals,

and washing up the plates.

Warm all the kitchen with Thy Love,

and light it with Thy peace;

forgive me all my worrying,

and make my grumbling cease.
Thou who didst love to give men food,

in room, or by the sea,

accept the service that I do—

I do it unto Thee."