O cosmic Potter, Worker in Clay: You scooped up, kneaded, and shaped the earth, the soil, the mud of our planet, and fashioned our bodies from that primal clay. Weaver, Creator, in our motherís wombs you knitted us together and formed all our parts. We ponder with awe the tiny fertile egg you lured to its safe rest inside our motherís body; the slow, painstaking care with which you multiplied our first few pregnant cells, divided them out into skin and bone, nerves, vessels, flesh, and from them shaped organs of every description within and without. For the bodily beings you have made us, for the joy we gain from moving, touching, tasting the whole array of lifeís pleasures and pains, for the meaning and purpose our brains discover for it all, for the mysterious, ineffable touch of your faithful presence, smiling over us, doting upon us, cheering us on, inviting us to the fullness of lifeís sweetness, providing us all that we need, we give you our thanks and commit our bodies, our selves, to the life abundant in your name.