Who is last? Who is first? In the fields at labor, who can tell where the line begins? Our shovels turn the same ground.
Planting, plowing, let me be the servant of the very land I tend.
What power do I have, after all? Your providence and grace courses through even the heaviest wind.
Thy will be done, Lord, and let me stand by as custodian of it.
(Letter #2,835)
Daily Letters to God 