What bud is growing within me? Hidden until it blooms, bringing beauty into the world.

Will it come today? Will I recognize it?

For now I tend the roots and soil.

(Letter #2,974)

A wound spring, tight, until finally I am moved to ask: help me, Lord!

Is it virtue that caused my delay? Am I to be praised for finally seeking you?

Delayed relief. Free will. You leave the way to you open, Lord, but we must walk there of our own accord. How it must hurt to see the road so empty!

Let me, at long last, walk to you.

(Letter #2,973)

Walking a razorback ridge, winds whipping up from both sides, loose rock on each slope.

There are no footprints along this way, though others may have trod it. The roads I know connect villages. This height, this barren stone — all unfamiliar.

It is you and me, Lord. You brought me here in exhilarating solitude, up into these hills. Apart. Aloft.

Let something new grow within me, to bring back to my fellows.

(Letter #2,972)

The rains gather; the winds grow. In my high aerie I watch, alone. My stores are low; I will need to go to market, a journey of half the day one way.

Comfort calls me back.

Thy will be done, Lord, I say in the morning. But do I make your will mine? Go where you say? Do what you would have me?

My simple needs, they open the way to you. It is my want of provisions that brought me to the place where gather the people whom I may later help.

Let me see need itself as a gift, Lord.

(Letter #2,971)

A child, I step outside not knowing your plans for me.

Take my hand, lead me here and there. Each stop a surprise.

The child trusts. Do I?

Let me trust, Lord.

(Letter #2,970)

Can I? Will you? How?

These questions and weakness dog me. Afraid of both movement and inertia, I stay still.

Move me, Lord. You rescued me yesterday, let me trust you will do so today if only I will walk.

Let me walk.

(Letter #2,969)

Is this day a trial or a gift? How can I know?

Even as I face judgment, and fear wraps close, you long to bring me joy. It is already here, I need but see it.

Let me see rightly, Lord.

(Letter #2,968)

Even through the space of one day, I walk varied lands. Cliff, crag, valley, meadow.

You, Lord, with me at every moment. Always the same, always with the right support for the moment.

Infinitely varied, infinitely steadfast.

Let me have faith today, Lord — faith in unseen grace and unlooked-for providence.

(Letter #2,967)

The road from where I am, to where you would have me be, runs through brambles and wasteland.

On the journey you are with me, my Providence, even as desolation crowds on all sides.

Fear grips and body trembles. Here is comfort. There is exaltation. Have I wherewithal for what lies between?

Through penury to plenty; through weakness to power.

Hold my hand, Lord, and be the wind at my back.

(Letter #2,966)

A traveler at dawn, setting out. The journey has been long, my limbs groan as I begin movement.

I walk and walk toward a horizon that never nears.

Is this destiny? To walk, walk.

O! An oasis greets me. Respite. A vista emerges. Beauty. A companion appears. Joy.

Respite, beauty, joy — gifts given daily. Let me awaken to them, yet again. Thank you, Lord.

(Letter #2,965)