O how I seek the trappings of pride, even in feigned humility. Perversely, I wish to be recognized for meekness. My lower self thus twists even good aims.
Yet you fashioned me, dear Lord. Did you make me a miscreation? My heart holds golden, light intentions as well as base.
Lord, let me grow in my acceptance of the parts inside me. You equipped me with them all, even what I would slice away.
Let me be fully whom you have made.
(Letter #1,741)
