A keen blade, cutting with precision. Sharp chisel and a clean work bench.

Slowly, with care and economy, the cabinets I make will be marvels of craft. Fine bindings and rare volumes will rest behind the doors, kept for posterity.

I am the keen blade. Build with me, Lord, with economy and care.

(Letter #2,801)

Let my life be an invitation to others to draw near to you.

Let my life be an invitation to you, Lord, to enter.

Let my life, finally, be an invitation to you to do with me as thou wilt.

(Letter #2,800)

You care for me, direct me, give me all I need, and shelter me at night.

Like a willful mule, I escape from my pen and wander the fields. What do I think I will find? The way of the wilderness is hard, while your yoke is light.

Still you gently find me in distant meadows and draw me back to my place by your side. O providence, do I even deserve these second chances? Yet time and again, you are so tender with me.

Let me no longer stray from you, Lord.

(Letter #2,799)

Does darkness battle light? Where does it go when the sun rises, does it bide its time in a distant lair?

Or is it merely absence, dispelled dispassionately by dawn, gone nowhere for it never existed?

Lord, these worries, when you grant me faith and providence, are they then gone like shadows, never having been?

Darkness does not thicken nor deepen nor strengthen. Light dispels as easily from a candle as from a sun. Let me laugh at my despondency, for it is made of rice paper and dried leaves.

You shine on me, Lord, let me give thanks.

(Letter #2,798)