I am chasing after banners, a dog that will never catch the hare.

Why run? I could stop. The world would continue on.

Let me become willing to grow roots, Lord.

(Letter #2,329)

I have tried to learn. I have tried to make myself ready for you. I have tried to draw near to you.

And yet, some days in the dawn, I sit here alone, pining for you.

Where is yesterday’s secret friendship? Return, sweet dove.

I am trying to be ready.

(Letter #2,328)

Am I the dropped seed, gowing a shoot up through the sidewalk crack?

Am my part of the orchard, planned and thriving?

Am I the sower of these things?

Lord, let me grow.

(Letter #2,327)

Around me I see walls, hemmed in. Dim shapes in the gloom. Which are sleeping beasts? I cannot say.

The light grows bright and my eyes blink. These shapes are heaps of treasure, the room no prison but a library of wonder. The chains I felt before were but the embrace of my love.

Did the light transform this scene? I was never captive; what changed was my sight.

Unblind me, Lord.

(Letter #2,326)