For what did you make me?
Am I to carry the robe of royalty, work the fields that provide bread, make the shoes worn by a thief? If I am a cup, Lord, how might I know whose lips will drink from me? Who am I to judge?
I cower behind my ignorance of the future. Standing still, I cannot balance. Let me take the next indicated action, Lord.
Thy will be done.
(Letter #2,073)
