I am looking for rescue, hoping against hope that you will come to me, Lord.

You are already here.

I look around my rooms, peering into corners. If you are here, where are you?

The last place I dare look: inside me.

Help me know myself, Lord.

(Letter #2,953)

I am in a cave, and yet will the sun rise. I do not see it, but it warms the land.

When I emerge, there will have been growth.

Do I need proof to know the sun shines?

Must my prayers be answered for me to believe?

I do not need to see the gears move to know a clock is working.

I hide from the storm for now. Let me trust that grace will come, providence will come, peace will come.

You will come.

(Letter #2,952)

Are all the paths to you through desert? Is the stony way more deserving than the easy meadows and sunlit tracks?

Why is suffering applauded amidst grace and peace and ease?

It is my choice to endure rather than celebrate. Grant me a grateful heart, Lord.

(Letter #2,951)

If I sit in a forest glade, breathing deeply the morning air, I welcome the creatures who rustle around the edges with me.

Seated in my rooms, glad of my orderly surfaces, I easily miss the darkened corners.

Let my expectation match your reality, Lord. Let me humbly follow your will even as the path winds through stony places. There are no floors for me to polish out here.

(Letter #2,950)