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)