What is my station and stature? Do I creep at the margins, small and vulnerable? Do I roam, a free stag? Do I hunt? Do I lead?

O Lord, I misperceive. I flee when I should walk, stand when I should kneel.

Let me see clearly, dear friend.

(Letter #2,306)

What have I to offer you that shows my devotion? Simple labor and bitter sacrifice.

The day will end. Let me remember it as one filled with duties while, unfed, self withered.

This will be a day of polishing the fixtures in your mansion, Lord.

(Letter #2,305)

The wrong turning that brought me into a box canyon. The willfully shirked chore that left the garden wilted. The betrayal that brought me ignominy.

All designed by you, Lord. You knew my choice all along. Therefore let me give thanks continually and in the face of all things. Even wounded and alone, seek I will for the treasure-gift.

In the canyon I learn to make a stand. Fasting, I learn the limits of the body. Under criticism and regret, I polish my character.

Thank you, Lord.

(Letter #2,304)

All is well, all is well, all is well.

As we walk the grounds, creatures scatter and birds sing to warn them. We arrive as calamity, whip through thicket after thicket.

In our wake, the birds signal all clear, and the creatures return. Little do they know they were in no danger. We walk as friends.

Calamity blows through my life. Can I not reason beyond a frightened hare?

All is well, all is well, all is well.

(Letter #2,303)

I am powerless before you. The wind whips through, all is upended.

Tomorrow will never come, all these hopes for the future are mist.

I search and wait for you. Where are you?

You were here all along, not hiding in tomorrow nor over the ridge. Sitting next to me, walking with me as I attend to my chores.

Let me remain powerless, stuck in the now, for this is what is real. You, perfect supply, here with me.

(Letter #2,302)

Was I placed here merely to survive the day?

Lord, take away this constant focus on my own being.

Let me do your will until I am depleted, then give again.

Let me retire, spent, elated as an instrument used for the intended purpose.

(Letter #2,301)

I walk this path daily. Who new could I meet?

When you whisper, to take a new way, let me heed it.

Let me carry a new message to new fellows.

(Letter #2,300)

What feeds the river? It begins where it ends: the sea.

Along my banks, I will meet towns filled with labor, and families alone at rest under tree canopies. A slow trickle, sneaking through a meadow, may provide just enough for small creatures.

When small, am I weak? Is there only power in my current? Tell that to the groove I have worn along this flat stone.

Even my small acts, Lord, let them be mighty.

(Letter #2,299)

To be weary, does it distinguish me? Too many obligations, is it because I am so necessary?

You provide perfect supply, Lord. How, then, could I be tired? I must have fallen away from you.

Bring me back, Lord, guide my feet home before I grind myself to dust.

(Letter #2,298)

Make right effort.

Be in harmony.

Accept given conditions.

Why, Lord, do I upend such a simple life?

Let me love all today.

(Letter #2,297)