What is neglected? What is pushed to the edge of the road, swept into the gutter, left behind?

What, indeed, remains despised?

Let me seek treasure there, dear Lord. The wealth of what is forgotten.

(Letter #1,781)

Let me love those who do not love me.

Let me give thanks for difficulties.

Let me promote others before myself.

Let me give away my resources.

I will become an empty pitcher. Thank you, Lord, for my ability to hold the water that will quench my parched fellows.

(Letter #1,780)

Alone, in a boat, at sea, attached by a fraying line, a desultory knot. Are you at the other end, Lord?

How long and how far have I been drifting?

Will you make your way out to me if I pull?

Let me set aside my oars and come home.

(Letter #1,779)

Failure will come; it comes already. You love me none the less.

Shortcomings drive my actions and thoughts; and yet you love me as a favored son.

Dark and selfish thoughts course through me; how am I then worthy even of your notice?

As I roam these fields, walk these cobbles, let me encounter my fellows with some small part of your love. It is pure grace, given me as an undeserved and even unlooked-for gift.

I am a steward of your love — let me onpass it.

(Letter #1,778)