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)

The barn has fallen, the roof has opened, the wood is soft.

Still I will rejoice.

The harvest was meager, the seed corn eaten.

Still I will rejoice.

Plague hovers over the land.

Still I will rejoice.

Lord, give me ears to hear your song, which you sing even in the gloom. Dawn is always on the way; dark of night makes me ready for it.

Make me ready, Lord. I will rejoice.

(Letter #2,147)

Arms crossed, back turned – yet you await me. I need but open my door.

Yet instead I survey the contents of my shelves, wondering if the jars will last until spring.

What if I left the cellar and walked in sun?

O Providence, you await my approach!

(Letter #2,146)

No great deeds await; this day will be filled with quiet duties. These are great enough.

Will I see the small miracles all around me? Why wait I for a shower of treasure when, drip by drip, pools of gold have already accumulated at my ankles?

Lord, let me quietly attend to these chores.

(Letter #2,145)

Gifts received:

• Fear, that I may avoid wrong.

• Pain, that I may learn.

• Trial, that I may grow stronger.

• Ignominy, that I may appreciate your true love.

What treasures are these, dear Lord? I am wealthy thereby.

Thank you, Friend.

(Letter #2,144)

I will set off walking with no pack and no cloak. You will provide.

I will speak to the crowds with no notes. Your words will come.

I will jump into the river still clothed. You will give me buoyancy to rescue the drowning ones.

How dare I scratch for meager portions?

O! Let me marvel at all the ways you guide and protect me.

Thy will is being done already.

(Letter #2,143)

The wind blows away old ideas; I am stripped bare. What grows in the wind will be rooted and have permanence.

I feel awake. Let this be no illusion.

Let these new ideas be real, dear Lord.

(Letter #2,142)