Tuesday, May 18, 2021

There are myriad ways through these woods, most not even marked.

The day begins and ends, what lies between? I only know when I retire, what will have been your will.

In the morning, I blink at all the choices. Do they all lead to the same end? How could I know?

You do not ask that I succeed in doing your will, only that I try to discern it. Grant me sight, Lord. Let me draw near to you and look where you point.

(Letter #2,320)