You brought me, taken by the hand, through thick undergrowth and twisting tracks. The trees were close and the way was faint.

And then we emerge, you pulling me, into a bright meadow with a stream running through it. You knew this was here; I doubted and fussed.

In this meadow my needs are met. There is no need of grasping nor straining. What is left for me to do, Lord?

You have gone to draw in others. Let me prepare dwelling places for new arrivals.

(Letter #2,543)

Your mighty hands lift me. The strong back you made for me, meanwhile, carries my fellows.

When I weaken, and need support, another whom you have sent will grasp my hand and lift me. They, too, are held aloft by you.

Strength to weakness to strength. The world you made is firm under all our feet. Your grace, Lord, it rains down upon the foundation you made.

We exist between. Grace from above, love underfoot.

Let me therefore help my neighbor to stand.

(Letter #2,542)

All gone, I stand alone. Am I to weep over the loss, Lord? To fear solitude?

Like a mist you have crept across the floor and into my life, o’erspreading all. I now fear not solitude nor obligation. I can wait with you, as do you with me.

When my fellows return, I will have stood steady, and I will be able to look them in the face and to be seen in return.

Thank you, Lord, for this peace inside.

(Letter #2,541)

I overcame difficulty just to arise from my bed.

I underwent trial after trial as the winter descended and spread.

Dawn brings battle, dusk becomes the time for digging graves.

A blink, and these stories reverse themselves. Today I get to awaken. Winter is a pause for beauty. There are no enemies to fight nor holes to dig.

Quicken my heart, sweet Lord! You sent me here to share compassion with the weary, not to become exhausted myself.

Let these labors become joy, and let the others draw to me. Let them gain strength for their own journeys.

(Letter #2,540)