The wrong turning that brought me into a box canyon. The willfully shirked chore that left the garden wilted. The betrayal that brought me ignominy.
All designed by you, Lord. You knew my choice all along. Therefore let me give thanks continually and in the face of all things. Even wounded and alone, seek I will for the treasure-gift.
In the canyon I learn to make a stand. Fasting, I learn the limits of the body. Under criticism and regret, I polish my character.
Thank you, Lord.