Shall I hold back and pace myself, in case my strength is not sufficient to the day?

Or shall I exert all, knowing times of rest will come as they are needed?

Let me abandon myself to each moment, Lord, secure that you know my capacities.

(Letter #2,793)

From the banks, I look at the flowing river and marvel at its might. Dry, the current does not touch me.

Wading by the shore, I easily walk. There is only a weak tug at my ankles.

Let me move to the center of the river and there receive the full power of the current. I can scarce stand as I am pulled along. Here, my oar strokes are multiplied. My boat hurtles forward.

Let me do your will today, Lord, and feel you at my back.

(Letter #2,792)

Why fear the burdens this day delivers to me? A yoke on my shoulders, weary bones — but in the cart I pull is a heap of treasure, and I go through the village giving it away piece by piece.

Who could not love such a duty?

The treasure is good news. There is a plan. The word is this: All is well. All will be well. We are all well.

(Letter #2,791)

I have heard your secret voice, whispered in my ear at dawn. The wind howled outside the door, yet I heard you murmur to me.

What did you say? All is well.

A whisper overcoming thunder.

Let me open the door, walk into the wind, confident in faith.

All will be well.

(Letter #2,790)