At the threshold, leaving my rooms, I tarry.

What is beyond? Who, what, awaits?

O Friend, you beckon, and when that does not move me you press me from behind.

There is a world that waits for me, while I build my resolve.

Your hand between my shoulder blades, Lord, let me welcome the gift.

(Letter #2,547)

By the river bank, my brothers and sisters are building a pier. None ask, but I will help move rocks into place.

In the alleys, a hungry family. I will leave food where they might find it.

Lord, hide my name from memory, make me anonymous, that they may see your hand in the world.

Grant me contentment, Lord, that I do your will even in secret.

(Letter #2,546)

For me, through me, in me, with me — do you work.

You create miracles of grace for me, that I may flourish.

You speak and act into the world through my voice and my hands, creating gifts of love that others may see as Providence.

You teach me and soften my heart heart, and in me transform selfishness into a desire to learn of humility.

You are the wind at my back, along with me you push, as I try to help my fellows.

The cycle of our bond is the cycle of the world. May I do your will, Lord.

(Letter #2,545)

Sitting still, in tranquil air, storms rage through me. Fear, elation, despondency, joy, frustration, eagerness. Not a leaf has stirred to cause it.

I wrack myself with disorder. Lord, grant me equanimity in the face of this tumult.

The storm will pass, and my neighbor will have seen nothing.

Here, while we sit: soothe me, dear Lord.

(Letter #2,544)