The harvest truly is plenteous, but the laborers are few… despite frequent representations of laborers filling chapels and classrooms, scarce among their neighbors as seekers of truth. God is not a corrupt tree that brings forth a scarcity of truth-seeking children. A dearth of work cannot console my idleness: instead, white fields magnify the tragedy of my slothfulness.
Help me perceive the plenteous field-ripened grain in the humanity surrounding me!
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