When I mean to rest, you deliver chores.

When I am consumed with industry, you strike me ill.

When I seek accolades, you hide me away out of sight.

Forced activity makes me strong. Forced rest gives me room to contemplate. Forced anonymity teaches me humility.

Your gifts are contrary; let me love them all the more that they are unexpected.

(Letter #2,323)

What is invisible to the distracted ones? Your love. Peace. Acceptance.

This spot on the edge of an Alpine lake is so easily missed. Walking slowly, I found a seat from which to observe.

This moment is a knife-edge and I keep falling: into planning for future moments, or reliving past.

Lord, save me from distraction.

(Letter #2,322)

You lifted me from the pit – you sent a rope.

You brought me through the storm – you were a lifeboat.

You moved me to safety – you built me a bridge.

So, too, is this new strength I feel a form of rescue?

Energy blows through me. Am I to be another’s lifeboat?

(Letter #2,321)

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)

The woods thicken and spread. Vines grow inexorably.

Life teems.

The sun rises without fail. Let not me despair at night, but expect the dawn.

Grant me quiet faith.

(Letter #2,319)

A world of trivia bustles in my hands, my thoughts spun out to the horizon while I remain seated in quiet darkness. I came to be with you and, perversely, I flee.

Breath in, breath out. Ground pressing up against my feet. Let me feel what is real, here where my body is.

The din fades. You have come! We sit together in stillness.

They will wait. My hand held mist and shadow. Here, now, is substance.

Thank you for visiting me.

(Letter #2,318)

Distracted by the world. Your treasure has become invisible. Woe to me; I exist among objects and shapes.

If I sit still, will the veil burn away? Or, idle, will the gloom grow?

If I come near to you, you will come near to me. Rise the sun, that I may see the way to walk. Abandon me the banners I chase, that I may make room for value.

Bright light, clear view. You never left. The objects were mist, burnt now away.

O joy of seeing plain!

(Letter #2,317)

I speak a tongue foreign from my fellows.

I value that which has been cast away.

War is waged, while I prepare a bed for sleeping.

O Lord, can I be a mistake? Could you have made me so alien out of carelessness? Are my trials an afterthought?

Sitting side-by-side, you whisper love in my ear. The revolution will need soldiers. The orchard must start with buried seeds.

I am ready, Lord.

(Letter #2,316)

Under me is foundation, what is under that? Am I the bedrock for another?

Someone has left a balanced pile of stones by the river bank. One upon the other. It looks precarious. Yet our grandfathers fished beside it.

Lord, let me keep balanced, for another stands on my shoulders.

(Letter #2,315)

Weary, wounded, I waited by the seaside for the healing sun.

My injury repaired, my strength restored. Then my hunger lifted. Then resentment left. Energy coursed through me. My heart glowed with supply and love.

O tragedy, to have settled for simple health. You have made a dynamo.

I set out from that place to share the good news.

(Letter #2,314)