O Work

A prayer of the Real, recorded while doing housework.

Laundry looks classier in black and white.

O work, you joy of living¹,
Good work, you giver of deliciously satisfying tiredness:

Defend us from treating
our bodies like machines,
our minds like computers,
our souls like persona non grata —

Or anyone else’s.

Defend us that we may savor the deep dignity of
being sidekicks to grace,
doing what we can, not what we can’t,
having wisdom to know the difference.

Oh good work:
defend us that we may savor the dignity of doing only what is ours to do.²

My favorite work partner and me, trying to do what is ours to do.

1. This is a phrase my mother often playfully pronounced while assigning Saturday chores to her children. We rolled our eyes at the time, but I think some of the joy snuck in anyway. We celebrate her 80th birthday this month. Thanks, Mom!

2. I cribbed this phrase from a recent post by Elizabeth Oldfield on her Substack, Fully Alive — which she picked up from Dougald Hine. Both of them are very worth reading.