I shout into the wind, and my voice is carried off into the woods.

Stepping through the crowd in the square, I murmur of your love for us, and one by one my fellows awake. Soon we are together, rapt at attention.

Is it the wind that has the power to silence, or your word which wakes?

(Letter #2,268)

I set out walking, to carry a needed message to my fellows in the village across the valley. I know that some miles hence I will need to cross the river, swollen with the spring rains.

With each step, I worry, and worry, and worry. How shall I cross? I must cross. What if I fail? What if my message is undelivered?

The path meets the river. A string of tall boulders juts from the water. Each an easy hop away from its neighbor, a simple continuation of this well-worn path. They were there all along. Why did I not trust that you had placed for me a means of crossing?

Lord, let me refuse tomorrow’s worry as I walk your road today.

(Letter #2,267)

Drop by drop, belief crept upon me and the cistern filled.

In a parched, arid land I barely saw the morning dew for the gift it was. I dug a pit, hoping the rains might fill it.

I sought and I sought, but I never found you, Lord. Instead, you found me and pressed a cup to my lips.

O sweet nectar! There are all along yet unseen in my frantic digging and waiting.

Is all well?

All is well.

(Letter #2,266)

Is the day to be filled with enemies to evade? Obstacles to avoid?

O what an impoverished outlook, to seek absence of woe as my highest aim!

Let me laugh, happy warrior, as each challenge presents. If I am to step around a bear pit, too weak to leap, let me do so nimbly and with a smile.

(Letter #2,265)