These sorrows, a they your will for me, Lord? Then they must be working for my benefit.

You place upon me no more burden than I can bear, yet even now I feel my back giving way.

Let me once again be happy, joyous, free, Lord.

(Letter #2,670)

Sorrow rains down upon me, upon the land. Can I yet laugh, sing, smile?

Tragedy creeps in upon me, will you withhold your peace?

Lord, take this cup from me, if it be your will.

(Letter #2,699)

How will love spread through this stony land, Lord? How can I carry it along with these other burdens?

I wait, I wait for signs of which way to go, what to say, how to be. Hear me, Lord, let me hear your answers.

Have you already been speaking to me, have I not heard? Grant me ears to listen, and willingness to do.

(Letter #2,698)

O brothers, sisters, who face trial, I ache in compassion. Let my own woes be a practice-ground to learn let more care.

Grant me eyes to see, Lord, in even the hardest moment, your gift to me.

Can I fully accept your will? Let thy will be done.

(Letter #2,697)

Those who need me, let me have strength for them.

Those who need me to step aside, let me have grace to do so.

Those who would help me, let me finally grasp their offered hand.

They are all you, Lord. Let me do your will today.

(Letter #2,696)

Is your will for me today to succeed at all I try? Is it, instead, to be taught a lesson of humility?

Let me live within this day only. There is no success or failure in the moment.

Grant me the equanimity of now, Lord.

(Letter #2,695)

Lord, let me do these small things as if they were big things with all eyes upon me.

Let me do your will today.

(Letter #2,694)

Do I sow chaos, or bring your healing?

Do I pass along your love, or am I a source of judgment?

Am I complacent in my imperfection?

Let me approach you, Lord, and get straightened the bent parts of me.

Thy will be done.

(Letter #2,693)

I rise to the chores already set; I need no instructions to come with the dawn. I tends to my dwelling, my person, the grounds. These are things I do daily.

Where, then, do I learn of your will? In the small voice that corrects my attitude? In the upended cart that now needs repair and will alter my pattern?

Lord, even those things I do by rote, let me become awake to them.

(Letter #2,692)

Suspended, safe for now. Calamity below.

Do I dangle from a fraying thread? A chain with a weak link?

Do I rest in a net, with holes and gaps?

Or, Lord, have you woven a tapestry upon which I lie – threads crossing and supporting one another, safe, soft, shot through with beauty?

Open my eyes, Lord, to how safe I am and the beauty you surround me with.

(Letter #2,691)