That pile of wood that needs stacking, why do I fear it? The garden that needs planting, why do I hesitate? These things will not do themselves, nor will they attack me.
And yet I wait, fearful, at my threshold.
The sun rises and warms the meadow, it will warm my limbs and light my path.
Simple tasks become their own victory, all to your glory.
Let me go forth, Lord, as you prepare the way.
(Letter #4032)
Daily Letters to God 