The day emerges from the mist and disappears as easily. I labor in my small garden as the other side of the valley comes and goes.

Do they see me? Does it change my effort?

Lord, there is work to be done. A miracle will unfold here underfoot, growth and life. Let me not miss it. Let me not distract myself with the horizon.

(Letter #2,090)

When will the strength come?

In fear, I seek assurance that all will be well. But then there is no room for faith. What I need will arrive just in time, and in disguise.

Only when I retire will I see where I have been carried.

O Lord, create belief in me, I am so forgetful.

Thy will be done.

(Letter #2,089)

I walk a secret path with a hidden entrance. I can hear and see my fellows along the main track, laughing and talking together. My path is solitary and hugs the shadows.

When the drought enters its third month, and the food has dwindled, and there is no laughing, I will leave handfuls of grain to be found along the way.

When the earth opens and the beasts let loose, I will be one who joins in the battle and rescue.

How could it be that you trust me so, Lord?

Speak and act through me, dear friend.

(Letter #2,088)

Let me be unashamed at my weakness.

Let me face my ignorance with equanimity.

Let me gnash not my teeth at my many self-enslavements.

You shine upon me. You shelter me. Your arms underneath support me. Where can I go, where you are not already protecting and loving me?

Let me therefore recognize no woe. I am one of your children.

(Letter #2,087)