I speak, and uncomprehending faces look back at me.

I fulfill duties, and worry I will be found shirking.

I describe the path to the river, and the wrong way is taken.

Lord, I thought I was doing your will. Why, then, am I so ineffective? The rain washes away my footsteps, the wind blows my voice into the empty valley, unheard.

To live and never to have been here, Lord, is that your lesson? Let me live love without the need to be in memory.

(Letter #2,252)

A blank field, covered in snow, ready for the trails I will blaze. Such pride as I stamp along my path, unmindful of what lies below the snow.

The meadow already teems with life and activity as I plow through, insensate.

I think the pages of the day blank, ready for my writing. But I hold in my hands an already-writ book.

What, then, do I write? If I am to read, let me also be the author of a loving response.

I am the dweller, not the builder.

(Letter #2,251)

What is your will for me? To withstand onslaught? To surrender and feel peace?

I struggle against the current, afraid I will be swept through rocks and over falls. My thrashing is futile; the water ever flows. I could more easily push a rope, than avoid the current.

The pool below the falls is deep and the river beyond is wide. I will reach this place, struggle or no.

Let me surrender to peace, Lord.

(Letter #2,250)

When I step out the door, I do not fear the debris that may crowded the walkway. If a branch has fallen, I will step over.

I need not cower at home for fear of rough patches.

Let me view the challenges of the day with assurance, Lord. You taught me to walk for just such a time.

(Letter #2,249)

How many treasures have you hidden for me to find today? How many have I missed in days past?

Surrounded by riches, I recognize none of it, searching high and low for worthless coins. I pick up pennies, leaving the rusted key to a palace on the ground.

Let me be awake to your gifts, Lord. Let me not misuse the day pawing through junk piles.

(Letter #2,248)

I am trying to draw near to you, slowly and meekly.

Let me ask to know your will, without expectation of answer.

Let me ask for intercession, without demand of rescue.

Let me be placed where I may help another, just a link in a chain, the same as the one on either side.

I sit in a drawer, ready for use. Let me grow not dull.

(Letter #2,247)

O! I see those around me employing fear to advance their cause. Stuck in my closet, I am powerless over the mounting threats.

The village is filled with frightened ones, who scheme and plot the downfall of enemies.

We are in trance, Lord, seeing illusions that threaten battle, but which dissolve in sunlight.

When I myself strike fear, let me stamp it out. Let me be love.

The ones who plan my downfall, too, let me love them, for they are frightened children.

Sun shines. All is well.

(Letter #2,246)

Am I at work or play? Is this difficult task a duty, or a game?

At play, the fun consists of making the easy into a challenge. Let me fear not the game.

(Letter #2,245)

Time was when I ran from spot to spot. Now I walk, headwinds at every step. I must place my feet with care lest I slip.

Moving so slowly, Lord, I can see so much. What a gift born of struggle.

A gust may topple the shed, yet a constant slow wind carves mountains.

My steps, you make them inexorable.

Movement and sight, Lord, you bestow such subtle gifts.

(Letter #2,244)

How does one see your power in another’s life? They do not often become mighty, yet instead others’ hearts are turned in their favor. Calamity misses them.

I face my own hills of trial, and fields of battle, and I wish for strength. I had better seek intercession and rescue. Let the rain miss me, the assailant turn their ankle.

Grant me peace in my heart, to know that the hill will become easy, and the battle unjoined.

Let me trust and hope that thy will be done.

(Letter #2,243)