Prayer: "Let me not shrink before your scalpel"

O Goddess,
when i call out for You to burn away everything not of You,
let me not shrink before Your sword which divides me against myself,
suspension in dry air before a crowd of consequences,
scalpel of excision.  Code reaches perfection slowly,
one slice at a time.  Does the code fear losing a bug?
Yet i fear, in shame.  This, too, slice away.
A == A.

A prayer for forgiveness

How i've lost sight of You!
Slinging code, coffee-stained khakis,
gazing on the other's confused syntax
forces careless curses from my lips --
and minutes later, i sigh,
knowing i've forgotten
the human in the other,
their work, their care,
their devotion to You,
O Goddess,
Whose gaze only understands.
Hell harrowed itself and Cerberus sidled up to Your hand
begging for a scratch behind his charred ears
after you passed over that darkly glittering span
to bring the cast-out forgiveness.

Teach me to forgive the confused and incomplete,
to see my own work as yet confused and incomplete,
to illuminate the whole without separating the contributions,
to honor the intention, love the process, and adore the Endpoint.
We ask this in You, O Communication.
A == A.