Atop this light house I live, tending the workings. I serve the light, the light guides the ships, the ships bring goods, the land and people prosper.
Such a weight on lonely shoulders! If I shirk, it all falls apart.
Or so I think. The ships know their own way, the light I tend is old, a museum, and commerce flows to other ports which feed us.
Grant me grace to let go, Lord.
(Letter #3,432)
Daily Letters to God 
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