This sack of woe and vexation that I drag through the day, of what is it filled?

Worry over unyet-happened calamity. Resentment over past, trivial conflict. Despair over the fear of unmet needs.

O Lord! O Friend! What an unnecessary burden to carry.

These things have accumulated that I may abandon them, not that I might keep and grow them.

Let me run with joy, Lord, empty-handed.

(Letter #2,325)

I plan, and act. I succeed, or fail. I look back in pride, or remorse.

All a fiction. Let me see the truth. My success was as grand as the knot in a child’s shoelaces, a trivial matter achieved with difficulty. My failure no more consequential than a spilled tumbler of water.

And yet, in the morning, here am I, planning my day as if it were a great battle.

Lord, visit me in this moment. Help me to inhabit it.

(Letter #2,324)

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)