Dear Śrīla Prabhupāda, it is most unlikely that in this lifetime I will develop as an accomplished Sanskrit scholar, or devotional musician or singer, nor do I have much aptitude for pūjārī service or cooking. It is also very unlikely that I will emerge as an expert manager or great preacher. Here I am struggling to chant sixteen rounds. What might I hope to achieve? So let me just try to serve you as best I can, without being deluded by unrealistic desires. Please teach me to discriminate between what is possible and what is not, guide me on the right path, and engage me always in the service of your mission.
I cannot neglect my duty. There is so much to do in your service. I should be doing much more than I am now. I want to do more, but I am struggling with a weak body and sick mind. Having such limited capacity, how can I serve you properly, Śrīla Prabhupāda? I am not serving you as nicely as I could. I am ashamed, but not as much as I should be. As I grope on—dull, stupid, and punch-drunk by māyā—I pray, “Prabhupāda, you are a paramahaṁsa, one who can extract milk from a mixture of milk and water. So please extract that which is good from my mixed service and rectify my discrepancies.”