Tuesday, July 9, 2019

O my fellows, my brothers and sisters! All around me, so many burdens carried.

So many woes. The one with fresh sorrow, the one with fear for the future, the other alone in a strange place, speaking little of the language.

By what right do I carry and proclaim my own worry? The stones I carry are of nothing, when I compare them to those dragged about by my neighbors.

Grant me, Lord, the wherewithal to drop even these light bits of gravel, and open my palms to help others.

Let me be you instrument of mercy.

(Letter #1,641)