Frightened of things I must do, I ask for strength. What if your will for me is to experience failure, and thus learn compassion?

Worried about lack, I ask for supply. What if your will for me is to experience charity, and thus learn humility?

Lord, let my faith in you be blind. I ask and ask – let me instead trust in your love.

Thy will be done.

(Letter #2,233)

The world hums with bright light. I see through the veils into the core of things.

It seems moments before, I shuffled through these days, asleep to their beauty and preoccupied with achy feet and a grumbling belly.

Will I again fall into sleep? How will I know, when my body feels so real?

Lord, let me see the glowing buzz all around me for just a few more moments. What caused me to awaken? Let me not squander this awareness.

(Letter #2,232)

Look! Someone has planted a garden. It is dry; let me water it.

Look! Someone has placed a free library. Let me add to its stock.

Look! A new trail has been built. I will clear debris from it after the storm.

Let me assist the work of my fellows, Lord, anonymously. Let me be a steward.

(Letter #2,231)

Nourishment comes to me in a husk that is discarded. Is it thus without use?

No, what I discard is needed, the wrapper within which substance is delivered.

As I burn away husk after husk, Lord, let me be grateful. You wasted nothing, and likewise I dare not.

(Letter #2,230)