Dear God, I tend my little garden plot, tucked away behind an inauspicious dwelling, on a forgotten byway. Rows of growth, arranged neatly. None visit; my square of soil is a secret and unnoticed place. Lord, let me tend my inner life with all the greater care for its invisibility and forgottenness. Every plucked weed a simple prayer.

The weather visits the garden and the wasteland equally. Wind builds and gushing rain robs the soil. All my care, ruined.

O Lord, how can I better thank thee for this chance to rebuild? The skies reveal your warming sun. Let me with joy set about work with my trowel.

I will rearrange the pieces, and you, my Lord, you will sweep them aside. Over and over. Let me, my sweet guide, eagerly await each new repetition.

Let me laugh and dance in the rain rather than curse the flood.

(Letter #1113)

Dear God, shut away in my familiar closet, I whisper to you as to an inconstant friend. Come to me, I ask, fearful that you may not. Strengthen me, I ask, afraid you may leave me weak. Grant me humility, I ask, knowing my prideful nature will set up barriers to any progress.

Lord, O Lord, where then can I say is my faith? I pray so tentatively, begging for you to notice my needs. Grant me a confident faith. Let me trust all needed strength will come, that moral progress will come – that you in all your power will visit. That you are already here. That indeed I already have all that is necessary.

Let me, in the final tally, have faith instead of hope. Hope pines for rescue; faith is certain of protection and care.

Lord, let me relinquish these hopes. They comfort me yet hobble me. You created me to walk; let me stride through this day secure in the capacities with which you have endowed your children.

(Letter #1112)

Dear God, I go searching, inward and outward, for the labors you would have me do. How best may I toil for you? Only with difficulty do I realize that the greatest effort you ask of me is to slow my frantic pace of devotion.

I seek to grandly demonstrate my faith; you instead call me to meekly receive your love and slow droplets. Bit by bit, your gifts become noticeable, the change in me becomes apparent.

I am beginning to see the mountain lake you have set me by, the warm beauty all around. It snuck up upon me while I was distracted, searching for labors to perform.

You are the Lord of slow, healing streams. If I sit here, with you, in this Alpine mansion, I will arise with a fresh heart.

Lord! Let me be willing to tarry with you. Let me set aside my furtive industry and instead slowly, meticulously worship these meadows.

(Letter #1111)

Dear God, my pathway through the day is new each morning. I cannot see beyond the first, early turning. I delude myself that, if I could but see the whole of my way, my worries would silence. In truth, I could not bear to see the whole. My soul would churn with anticipation, fear, elation, despondency, pride, deflation. All just as the result of knowing what is around the corner.

Lord, you have constructed my circumstances so that they suit my character perfectly. This is my lesson from looking backwards, considering all the previous days’ journeys. You brought each lesson when I was able to learn it, you brought chaos when I was strong enough to weather it, you delivered placid times when I did not even realize I needed rest.

The path down which I walk today is the continuation of all of yesterday’s. Let me, O my Lord, walk today as if I had been an attentive student and learned all these previous lessons. Let me walk the day’s path as your child, marveling at the surroundings that are at once new and familiar. Each knew hour containing a discovery, even on the dullest marches.

Lord, my guide, let me be a grateful walker.

(Letter #1110)