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)