Tuesday, December 3, 2019

This morning pathway I walk, it is at times broad, and at others twisted, overgrown. My path to you is choked with weeds and littered with windblown sticks.

How shall I draw near you, Lord? Shall I walk on through bramble? Shall I stop to remove the debris? In either case, my effort is required. I grip this hoe so tightly. I stamp my feet as I walk.

The weeds have grown out of my own self-obsession. Let my thoughts fix on others, Lord. Let me clear this path for those who come after.

(Letter #1,788)