Dear God, let me open myself to your unsparing gaze. Let me seek your bright sunlight, throwing open the secret cupboards, overturning the pieces of clutter, peeling back the carpets. You have removed the largest and most obvious obstacles. I have welcomed this.
At a glance my rooms appear in order. But rot remains. Dim corners that have escaped notice. Disordered objects. Termites chew the flooring. I have scarcely noticed some of these shortcomings; others I have known of yet ignored for another day.
These defects melt away under your gaze, leaving fresh, pink skin, bright woodwork, orderly stacks.
Why, Lord, do I hide my weaknesses under gilding? The quickened life that grows under your fond look stiffens my spine and gives my body structure. Yet I resist wellness, hiding the softest parts from you.
Today, Lord, let me turn all my surfaces to the sun. Warm my limbs. You shine on the strong and the weak. Shine on me too, O Lord.
(Letter #1295)
Daily Letters to God 
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