My frame was not hidden from you,
when I was being made in secret,
intricately woven in the depths of the earth.
Your eyes beheld my unformed substance.
In your book were written
all the days that were formed for me,
when none of them as yet existed.
The one who beheld my unformed substance
Is the one who, still today,
calls me into being
The one whose love enables me to grow
and to embrace
the fullness of life
which consists of abundance
step by step
into new restlessness
This growth is not passive
It asks for more than acceptance
Rather, wholehearted submission
with abandonment and joy.
Such is the vulnerability
of saying yes
of the story book
that never ends.