You go before me, sweeping the path clear of rubble, lest I turn an ankle. You set my noon table. You soften my bed at night.
A dense hedge is no bother, for the way will open when I approach. All I need will come to me.
Where has my trust gone? I beat my fists against blank walls, when I need but wait for the door to appear.
Grant me patience, Lord.
(Letter #2,185)
Daily Letters to God 