Faith is something you have

It’s not easy being a person of faith. You’re responsible for so much: Your church, your congregation, your religion, and maintaining
your own connection to the divine. To be a good priest, you need to deal with
all of these every day.
For a priest in the “good” end of the alignment grid, the
first step was to rise just before dawn, and pray for spells. For some lawful
gods this might be writing a list of spells, what you plan to use them for, and
forming a reasonable argument to their utility. Even a powerful god still might
not want to give up a fraction of their power for no real point. Chaotic gods
might want something else, sacrifices, poems, or just for the priest to brag
about all they could do, if only the god would loan them a sliver of their
power.
For the neutral priest currently in their study, this meant writing a
neat list on a scrap of fresh parchment, along with a small prayer. The list
was then buried in the earth, and another prayer said on top of it. Then an
hour of quiet meditation over a cup of tea, conjuring up thoughts of nature and
one’s place in the world.
Next was to deal with any pressing problems. A quick check
showed that no members of the congregation had turned up unexpectedly. Then to
check in on the town and the surrounds. A dead priest was of no use to any god
besides Pharasma, so the first step was to fetch an old spear from behind their
bedroom door, and to pull an ill-fitting jerkin over their robes and to head on
out.
The town was quiet today, no foot traffic and little in the
way of sound. Dusty prints hinted at a nightlife much more vibrant and
energetic than the lethargic hours of the early morning. Still, no news was
good news, and it was time to head back inside. 
Then, chores. No one told you being a priest meant a lot of
chores, unless you were applying to be a priest of Mitra, in which case the
chores are probably part of the appeal. Sweeping, dusting, polishing, the list
went on. A priest could spend nearly 30 minutes doing chores before getting
bored and saying “Good enough”.
Finally, the real meat of the day: Study. This could be slow
and tedious, especially if the only notes you had were faint rubbings and
carvings that look like they were done by a drunkard trying desperately to
fling spiders from their hands. Still, the feeling of slowly wrapping your mind
around texts that hadn’t been read by anyone for hundreds of years was damn
exciting. Some was scripture. Others were personal diaries and records of
events. Still others were myths and fables, and these were the best. Some spoke
of a legendary spear that pierced “the heart of the nation”, whatever that was
meant to mean. Still, the story sounded so cool that the priest had spent a
considerable amount of their money on a spear of their own. It was a pretty
versatile weapon, good for stabbing, poking, scratching one’s back, and
knocking things off of high shelves, among others.
Right then, the priest heard footsteps outside. Grabbing
their spear and yelling “come get some you little blue bastards!” wasn’t
strictly speaking, canon, but it was always good to project a firm demeanour.
The sound of chitin on stone and the sight of long, sharp limbs put the priest
at ease. It was their two most faithful, a traveller and her insectoid companion
here to trade stories and goods. 
They would not stay long, and soon the priest was back to
chores. Some light gardening and cleaning up after their guests before some
afternoon leisure time. A priest must always seek to broaden their mind, and to
this end the priest had acquired a number of books. Some were history, many
were fiction, few were what one might call “high concept” or “not utter trash”
but they were what the priest liked, and their god hadn’t told them to stop. They
were halfway through a worn copy of “Exile of the dragon prince”, and the
priest suspected it would end on a cliffhanger, forcing them to try and track
down a copy of the next book in the series “The Crystal Shard of Truth”, which
would take some time.
Reading done and mind expanded, the priest had to use the
last of the daylight to quickly do one last round of chores, before bedding
down for the night. In summer the days were long and darkness short, so if you
wanted a really solid sleep you had to get started early. 
Peggy blew out her candle and pulled her door closed so it
was completely dark. It was time for the most important ritual of the day. She
bent her knees, keeping her weight even and balanced between front and back
foot. Hands out in front, fingers slightly curved and separated, her holy
symbol gently held in her left hand. Finally, the words in celestial, clearly
and loudly “Vallyr, grant me light to see your glory!”
Nothing this time, just like nearly a hundred times before
it. Still, maybe it would be different tomorrow. She lay down, and tried not to
feel sad. There would always be tomorrow. A good priest, after all, had to have
hope.