I hide from the day, frightened of obligation. Yet it is idleness that plagues me, the empty space in my thoughts filling with worry and frustration.

Let me pick up my garden tools and set to work. Let me be useful, Lord.

(Letter #2,151)

Behind this rock, we are in a small pool of calm. The wind blows on the other side.

I am pinned through my fear of the gale. Any move will take me out of the shadow.

Is it a storm or sunshine? Is the wind illusion? The rock?

Let me walk upright through the morning, Lord. Make me willing to be seen.

(Letter #2,150)

I erect a fence around my small plot, but why? What is there to take?

Storms come and uproot maple and oak. Will my fence keep out the wind?

I carry nothing and roam, like the other creatures, and we strike a balance. Provision appears and shelter is found.

So small, a bug on a plate, yet still you love me. Why do I not see?

O! Let me walk with the wind.

(Letter #2,149)

Early, dawn. Mist around my waist. Are these times your answer to my prayers?

In anguish, I called out, “Help me, Lord,” and fell to my knees.

Here is relief, in quiet mist. None trouble me and I have food in the storehouse.

You have made a gift to me of ease.

(Letter #2,148)