Exquisite dawn — you made it. Gentle forest creatures — you made them.

Consuming fire, destructive storms — these, too, you made.

Let me see the beauty in the comely and the misshapen, all made by you. Let my sight become its own form of devotion.

Penury, woe — are these, after all, also made by you? If I bring sorrow upon myself, is it a divine act?

I have stumbled; let me rise from the mud and walk on, surrounded by the lovely. Grant me eyes to see it.

(Letter #2,727)

My heart will not rest until I have arrived home with you, Lord. The stream loses itself in a mighty river, and then, too, the river is lost into the sea.

When I am home, will I lose myself? Will this bring peace?

Am I already home, part of the flowing current?

Let me grasp the hands of my fellows and be one of a people, your children.

(Letter #2,726)

Heaps of treasure in an empty room. How did they grow so big?

The cistern is full of cool water. How did it fill so?

The oak, towering and strong. Not so long ago, a shoot.

Lord of small miracles, let this day contain some of them. Let me do small things. Drop by drop, coin by coin, let your treasures grow.

(Letter #2,725)

The foundation has been already laid. I stand on solid ground, I build on rock. You arranged this place.

Who lived here before? What dwellings did they make? Was the ground solid then, too?

Generations of blessing, from a people to a people, from ancestor to child. I am in this stream, let me build what you would have me build.

(Letter #2,724)