Have you already set gears in motion that will move away the obstacles and make for safe passage? Can none interfere with the clockwork of the world?

Forces are arrayed in my favor, and I am no more remarkable than any of my neighbors. We thus all have wind at our backs.

We will not be stymied; the blocks will crumble just when it must be so. The bridge will appear just when needed.

We glide on your cushion of miracles, Lord, insensible of how vast are your efforts. Is this not grace that apprehends us?

(Letter #2,496)

I wish to avoid shadows, so I shut the door on the world. The darkness thus looms even larger.

If I am to be free of this gloom, I must throw open the shades and expose my rooms to the light.

With a clear view, let me turn my face toward your warmth, Lord. I have sat too long in the shadows.

Thy will be done.

(Letter #2,495)

Stricken, they crawl along the floor from where they sleep to where they beg.

Do I have alms to spare, Lord? Do I have love?

Miserly, tight, immobile as a fist: am I the stricken one?

Let me open, Lord, and be the outstretched hand. Let me be your will.

(Letter #2,494)

O glorious morn, you shine upon me with chilly light.

I fret and labor over my ability to pass on your love. Why? Does not the sun shine on all, regardless of my effort? Not even my sloth can stop your providential love.

What, then, my duty? I work at the margins, and try to awaken my neighbors to all the power they already have. A simple gardener, it is not I who do the growing, but the plants. I clear away weeds and keep the soil moist.

O glorious morn, let me tell your story.

(Letter #2,493)

They beckon me. I will wait.

The mob jeers. I will wait.

Friends call to me. I will wait.

Chores sit undone. I will wait.

I will wait here with you, Lord, while you smooth my hair and whisper into my ear. O, I am your child, your warrior. I carry your banner and you clothe me.

Later, such feats you will have me perform.

Now, here, I will wait. Build me, teach me, Lord.

(Letter #2,492)

You glow, a source of energy hidden in the middle of the forest. The way into the center is long and winding. Even then you are concealed under stones, behind a rock, in a cave.

I found you accidentally, Lord, looking for a place to sleep. You allowed me to come so close. Who knew that my own heart would commence to glow after just a night?

Now you allow me to live without need of bravery, without need of hope. My glowing chest supplies all the power needed.

If I get close enough to my fellows, the embers may fly. Let others sleep near me, and come alight.

(Letter #2,491)

I cross the meadow in the same way that I cross the bridge strung high over a deep rivervalley. Footfall after footfall, balancing, a miracle of forward falling.

I am content in the meadow, anxious on the catwalk, yet are not my movements on each the same?

Lord, I kneel with head down in the maelstrom. The wind carries my voice away, my prayers make no sound. You hear nonetheless.

I know what I am to do, Lord. Let me do it, even high up, in the wind.

(Letter #2,490)

Looking out from my window, I see story upon story. The path is a story of journey. The storm, a story of trial. The dawn, a story of new beginnings.

These stories beckon me into the future, away from this moment, and lead me into judgment.

Can I live in this moment, Lord, without story? I stand on my feet in a garden, must I see only harvest time?

I walk towards tomorrow, yet will never reach it. Open my eyes, Lord, to what is here before me.

The dawn tells no story, yet lights my way nonetheless.

(Letter #2,489)

The wealth of the world is illusion; these bits of paper and metal are inert.

I am rich beyond imagining in all the ways you give me strength, how you power me through the day that I might help my fellows. Sturdy back, broad shoulders, pumping legs.

Wealth only exists in circulation; let me pass on this strength. Let me carry others’ weight.

(Letter #2,488)

I can touch this day; my feet are firm on steady ground.

I hear a drumbeat, is it the marching enemies of tomorrow? Is it the advancing steps of remorse? Is it my heart, beating today?

I reach to grab tomorrow and it is just a shadow. My fingers slip through it.

Let me stand still on this ground, and listen to my heart.

(Letter #2,487)