It's late, and here we are again, you and I. The house is still, quiet. No one can see my tears but you.
I don't have to tell you that I'm unbearably sad about all this that's been going on. And I don't know what to do. I said I'd live in dignity, but some circumstances seemed determined to strip such any notion of dignity away from you. I've been here before. It is a wretched, terrible place. The hell hounds are at my heels, and a few have come close enough to get a few rabid bites in. I feel their paralyzing venom spreading through me, sickening me body and soul, and I can't help but think, "I shouldn't have let them come so near." Oh, Lord, teach me the fine art of holy detachment anew.
I don't ask where are you, because I know you're here. Nor do I ask where is your consolation. Such isn't always necessary on the journey, not when you're a grown up. One does what is right simply because it is the right thing to do. But that doesn't mean I don't need your help to do it, with or without a palpable feeling of your comforting presence. Beloved, I ask that that you would give me strength. I'm not strong, but you are. I'm not wise, but you know all things. I'm in the dark, and have no idea where I'm going, but you are the way. Keep my mind fixed on you. Help me to do what I must. Give me the grace to endure this trial. Forgive me for my failings, shortcomings, and sins, and help me to forgive those who know not what they do, and even more, to forgive those who know and do grievous wrongs anyway. Help them, Lord. They are especially in need of your mercy.
Way maker; Lover; Friend; my God; I need you. Help me, Beloved. Please.