Sunday, April 26, 2020

When, Lord, do I labor for you, and when for myself? Are my energies misspent, and how might I know?

I am the bewildered one. How, then, ought I act?

Lord, grant me clear orders. Compel me. I live in ignorance of your plans. My own designs always place me at the center, a drunken spider in his web.

Let me follow you, let me not second-guess the path, let my hands work of their own accord, moved by you.

Let my selfish thoughts watch on, impotent and spinning. Thy will be done.

(Letter #1,933)