I am powerless before you. The wind whips through, all is upended.

Tomorrow will never come, all these hopes for the future are mist.

I search and wait for you. Where are you?

You were here all along, not hiding in tomorrow nor over the ridge. Sitting next to me, walking with me as I attend to my chores.

Let me remain powerless, stuck in the now, for this is what is real. You, perfect supply, here with me.

(Letter #2,302)

Was I placed here merely to survive the day?

Lord, take away this constant focus on my own being.

Let me do your will until I am depleted, then give again.

Let me retire, spent, elated as an instrument used for the intended purpose.

(Letter #2,301)

I walk this path daily. Who new could I meet?

When you whisper, to take a new way, let me heed it.

Let me carry a new message to new fellows.

(Letter #2,300)

What feeds the river? It begins where it ends: the sea.

Along my banks, I will meet towns filled with labor, and families alone at rest under tree canopies. A slow trickle, sneaking through a meadow, may provide just enough for small creatures.

When small, am I weak? Is there only power in my current? Tell that to the groove I have worn along this flat stone.

Even my small acts, Lord, let them be mighty.

(Letter #2,299)