Dear God, set me in the right direction. Make visible the path I am to tread, and let my actions move me along it. With regret, I recognize that so much of my activity is wasted, chaotic. I dart from point to point, energized by panic, elation, worry, enthusiasm. Even my moods are frantic. I alternate between energy and lethargy. I wish for a sense of accomplishment but even at my most industrious, the work goes off in all directions.

Lord, grant me the willingness to discern right effort. Let my footfalls slow, let my steps be straight. If I am to go bit by bit, this is a greater task when I am gripped by mania then when under the gray weight of sloth.

Let me shed trivia. Direct my thoughts, feelings, words, and deeds toward useful ends.

I distract myself, in truth, to keep my spirit asleep. Awaken me.

(Letter 1109)

Dear God, strip away, bit by bit, carefully and gently, the veneer I so wish to polish. My armor. The face I present to the world, my image, yea, even the face I present to myself. You remove it, piece by piece, and I stand naked in the sunlight on a bare plane.

My finery is in rags, a heap at my feet. My armor rusted in a pile. There is no tree behind which to step, no mound under which to duck. There I am, Lord, for all to see. For me to see myself clearly.

Make me ready to gaze upon all my weaknesses, faults, and transgressions. Let me see and accept my strengths and beauty.

Ignite the pile of costuming at my feet. Let it burn. The sun is shining and the climate warm. I will walk through it as a child of God.

(Letter #1108)

Dear God, when I cease struggling, I gain a brief awareness of how fundamentally you support me. If a challenge falls upon me, you are there without my even noticing – you deliver to me the proper words or deeds even without my seeking them.

I am like a child who has newly learned to walk. Your hands float inches away from my hips, ready to right me when I tip, to turn my path when I veer toward a ledge. All the while I think I am walking alone.

I sit here. The chair supports me, and the floor underneath holds the chair. The foundation below and, further, there is the ground. Your powerful arms underneath it all. Let me feel this support driving up from you through the worldly objects and manufactured surfaces, right into me. Buoyed and grounded all at once. Protected from toppling, directed away from disaster.

Try as I may to wreck the plans you have laid for me with my willfulness, my efforts to thwart you always amount to a puff of air against a mountain.

Let me, therefore, believe myself to be your protected, favored child. If I am so fundamentally loved, from the depths of the earth, what then shall I do with the energy otherwise spent in defending myself against imagined calamity? It never happens. So let me spend this effort in giving to others, pointing out to them the supports underneath that they may not have noticed, or have forgotten.

Let me spread the good news that we are all held aloft.

(Letter #1107)

Dear God: Light and air. Morning mist. Dawn shadows. I move through these early hours, like a meticulous ghost, tending to my duties quietly and carefully. You pad along next to me, whispering in my ear. Straighten these objects. Clean this surface. My small actions are my devotion to you. What soft satisfaction, to allow my chores to become prayer.

God, it is not the occasions and doings, the events, for which I am so grateful. It is the attitude you have instilled in day to day activities. What a task you set before us, your children! You call us – you call me – to allow your love to improve our inner life.

When fearful and small, I call out to you. On clearer mornings I know I ought better call inward. There you are, right next to me. I whisper to you, and you whisper to me, here in the quiet shadows.

O my dear friend. Let me do your bidding today.

(Letter #1106)