Dear God, so many old things have fallen away from me. I began walking a pathway to you, and parts of me set about withering: pride, fear, wrath, sloth. But, too, they return. Rats in the walls, I banish them, and they surprise me from new hiding places that I myself build.
On I walk, Lord. My part of the pathway narrows as my steps become more sure. Perversely, I find pride in my very gait. Watch me march, O brethren!
But I falter and slow. I tire. I have confined myself to a slim track.
Let me see how wide this road is, how easily it may be walked. How futile it is that I compare my steps to others’.
A child among your children, Lord, let me walk this broad highway toward you.