Sunday, November 14, 2021

Carrying these stones, one by one, I build a grand structure. Four walls, a roof, a palace.

To reach it I have hewn a trail into the mountainside, loop upon loop, switchbacks, a forest highway.

I am already whom you made me to be, Lord, yet I labor daily to leave a mark. The forest will grow to reclaim my dwelling, the pathway will choke with brush. What traces will I have left then?

I should instead have wandered from hut to hut, bringing cheer and welcome to my fellows, making friends.

There is still time, let me go calling.

(Letter #2,500)