Wednesday, September 4, 2019

Of what substance are my troubles and woes? They are light, temporary, imaginary.

Sitting amidst plenty, I worry I will not have enough in the future. Among friends, I worry they may turn on me. With my tasks complete, I worry that the next may be beyond me.

Lord, correct my thinking. These false worries, these are what I call burdens. Let me drop them, and slip off their grip. Open my eyes that I may see: all is well.

(Letter #1,698)