Two walkers along a winding path, rubble strewn through the plains.
One with eyes down, stiff gait. On a march.
One looks around with wonder at the valley, loose feet and steps. An amble.
Do I march, Lord, or do I amble? Is effort the better way?
The road goes to the same place whether I enjoy or toil. Let me appreciate the way.
(Letter #3,368)
Daily Letters to God 
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