Saturday, September 25, 2021

What if all is as I fear? What if all is calamity? What if there is rot behind the veneer?

O Lord, you have me in your arms, you are my ground upon which to stand. Here I rest with you, while the world may crumble.

These fever dreams, Lord, my gnawing fears. Reality is solid. It is me with you.

Let us amble through the fire, Lord, the cool flames cannot harm. Me with you.

(Letter #2,450)

Thursday, September 23, 2021

Silence. No words, no sound, no touch.

I try to draw nearer to you, and you are here. What happens when we are together?

Worry melts. The sun shines and burns away the gloom.

Power flows. If I rise from here with straight back, none can place a burden upon me.

It will all start in silence.

(Letter #2,448)

Monday, September 20, 2021

Who hides the future, who creates this forgetting of the dim past? Who blurs my vision of today, that I know not even where I sit?

It is you, Lord. My mistakes, questions, and troubles are all brought and authored by you.

How shall I see even calamity as a gift? Shine into my thought life, Lord, and be with me.

Thy will be done.

(Letter #2,445)

Sunday, September 19, 2021

My heart is an ember in my chest, joy the wind that causes it to glow and glow and burst into flame.

The most important decision I make daily, to turn my chest toward the wind.

Joy, blow through me and sweep up the dust in the corners.

Lord, I am yours today.

(Letter #2,444)

Saturday, September 18, 2021

I came to myself, having lost the straight way. Dark woods all around. You pointed me in the right direction.

I met fellows, unsure of their intent, in secret rooms throughout the village. You sent them to me, the ones who would treat me with care, the ones who had come to know you.

I sit still and quiet under your gaze, your sunshine, protected and warm. Your light, reflected, become a beacon. They visit me in ones and twos , and I share how you came to me, how I came to know you.

This was always your will. Grace. Let me shine it upon others, Lord.

(Letter #2,443)

Thursday, September 16, 2021

I row.

Whether I live in a world of acclaim or derision, you have placed me in this boat and I hold these oars.

Let me pull smoothly and strong, let my movements be not frantic, nor create churning water. A tighter grip will not improve our progress.

Who else could steer this vessel? I know these waters.

I was made for a time such as this. Let me row.

(Letter #2,441)