When I face woe, you comfort me.

Is this all I can expect? All I dare ask? I may be soothed, but the troubles remain.

Or are you true supply, Lord? Where I stand against deprivation, or arrayed warriors, you not only strengthen my spine but move events.

O! I long to watch as you heap treasure in the storehouse. You do more than simply place a smile on my face.

Thy will be done, Lord.

(Letter #2,793)

A room. One by one, fellows trickle in, until a crowd murmurs together.

We hide here, from the forces that rage through the countryside. Was this what you called us to do, when you set in motion these events? Are we not warriors, why then do we lock ourselves away?

What if we walked the streets, and the hills, and the meadows, carrying nothing, but greeting all with love? Would our words and open hands turn hearts? How could they not?

Teach me, Lord, what it means to enter into battle for peace.

(Letter #2,792)

Am I captain of a vessel beset on all sides by wind and wave? How possibly could I be responsible for this crew and the ship’s direction, when the wind overpowers and the sea swallows?

The drama of mastery is pleasing yet false. I am the deck hand cleaning the rails and pulling in the sheets.

The storm will pass, and the ship will again have calm seas. Let me fulfill my role in storm and in peace.

Thy will be done.

(Letter #2,791)

There will come a day when, walking through storms along windswept crags, I have an inward calm. Your peace I will have, grown like an oak inside me.

Until then, I seek you in these quiet times of dawn, I rely on silence and space to allow me room to find you. Solitude my crutch.

The winds blow now. Is it time for me to learn to stand in peace even on the battle plain?

Touch my core, Lord.

(Letter #2,790)