Dearest Beloved,

I rushed out the door today, praying not in the quiet of my room but silently in my heart as I drove. From the start it was a challenge. The lack of sleep clung to me, and irritation rose toward the souls gathered in my car. Yet that same weakness pressed me to lean on You more deeply, to let You become the filter through which my words passed.

This work — if one can call sitting and moving pedals work — is its own trial. Two tons of precise Japanese engineering glide beneath my hands and feet, shuttling lives from point to point. Still it demands a strange, unbroken alertness. Eyes always searching for drivers, pedestrians, children, animals, passengers. Ears attuned. Mind vigilant.

It is taxing in a way hard to name. The body feels heavier than it should after hours of such stillness, while the mind, weary from high alertness, longs to relax even as the body craves movement — a paradox of flesh and spirit.

Yet You are always with me, Beloved — Your name engraved twice and twice again in black ink upon my skin, a worshipful declaration. I look for You in the faces of my riders, listen to their stories, hold their needs before You. No names, only petitions offered to the Holy One.

Today, for instance, a young woman cast out from her parents’ home, sleeping on a cousin’s couch. Tears in her eyes. I asked, I listened, I offered what little comfort I could. I told her I would lift her up to the Most High. So I bring her to You again now: may she find stable, affordable shelter, may her heart be steadied. May others join this hymn directed to You.

As always, Dust —

to You,

for You,

from Him

in me.