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)

I am hiding behind a corner as the one I owe passes by.

Is it courage I need, Lord? Faith? Guidance? Orderly habits?

Here in my hiding place, make me open to your lesson.

(Letter #2,141)

What is in the distance? What lies between here and there?

I have arisen, and at the end of the day I will rest. This day is clay, all I have.

Let me fashion objects of use that may awaken others. Let me give away all I make; none will last the night, and I will rise reborn each day with nothing.

What is in the distance? What lies between here and there?

(Letter #2,140)