Teach me to wear every scar of trials as the medal of my chastisement, given by the sacred hands of Thy just law. Let every teardrop of sorrow, caused to flow in me through the actions of others, wash away some hidden taint of my mind.
Let every stroke of the pickaxe of my sharp experiences dig deeper and deeper into the soil of my life. Let every hurtful dig of circumstance into the soil of comfort, bring me nearer to the bubbling fountain of Thy solace, in me. Let every wound of life utter a cry for Thy love. Let all trials be antidotes for bitterness, and bring healing to my soul. Let every ugly unkindness of others urge me to be more beautifully kind. Let the blinding darkness stimulate me to rush for Thy light. Let harsh words scold me into using sweet words always. Let every bruise from the stones of evil thrown at me, intensify my fortitude and blessings of goodness.
Just as a jasmine vine fails not to shed its flowers on the hands administering axe-blows at its roots, so do Thou teach me not to deny the showering blossoms of forgiveness and help over those who cut me with their wickedness.