The soil is stony, yet still comes bounty.

A windswept ridge, yet still my bed is dry.

A drought, yet I thrive.

These hard days conspire, yet you have been the wind at my back. Daily you visit, a friend.

Lord, how possibly could I still stand? You steady me, a nurse to the aged.

O gratitude! I am insufficiency made flesh. Yet you stay with me.

Let me not forget.

(Letter #2,182)

This seat is where I try to hear you.

This path is the one I walk, to try to reach you.

This field is where I offer my labors to you.

This home, I give over to you.

All is solitary, Lord. The path leads away from the crowd and my rooms are shut tight. Never am I alone even while single.

I seek you, and you draw near to me. How could I deserve such grace?

(Letter #2,181)

What is joy, why do I feel it, how shall I spread it?

Daily diligence has brought my footsteps to this place. I stand on hallowed ground, let me remove my sandals.

Yet still I walk, barefoot through the thorns. Trouble visits the lives of the holy; why not me?

My heart swells, Lord, yet it is a murmur. I lean in to hear.

Joy is quiet effort.

(Letter #2,180)

What stops me from moving? Headwinds and struggle create action, while comfort imprisons me.

You watch while I try to play. If you step onto the field, what then do I learn?

I was never abandoned, let me see today as I see yesterday.

(Letter #2,179)