Monday, November 22, 2021

I rise and set about trying to become holy. Constant prayer, works, denial of comfort. I am shut up in a devotion-closet.

Could it be that instead you call us into the world? While I hide on bent knees, the needs of the people around me grow. My hurting neighbor, my despairing enemy – all in need. The river rushes on; I remain on shore.

You said: love, love – and I wrongly heard a call to retreat. You were calling me forth.

You made me sturdy, Lord. Let me cease this resting and hiding.

Grant me wherewithal that I may wet my ankles, carrying friend and foe alike across the stream on my steady back.

(Letter #2,508)