Dear God, deep inside me is a quiet space that you have built. I become distracted by all the competing tasks and demands unfolding all around me. Hurry. Perform.

My attention darts from object to object; I kick up a whirlwind of panic.

Lord, let me move slowly. You are speaking to me inside that quiet space, and my running footfalls drown your voice.

I perversely run from you, when your sweet voice would instead give ne peace. Let me act no more swiftly than will allow me to hear. Slow. Ease.

Let me slowly do your will.

(Letter #1133)

Dear God, let me not be distracted by events around me. I struggle to keep my mind single; my attention flits from place to place.

Lord: let me focus on aligning my actions with your calling. Even when distracted, in the midst of chaos, let me ask and discern how I might do your will.

You did not build me to be shut away from the world but to walk in it. If I am to so walk, let me have purpose.

(Letter #1132)

Dear God, it is morning. So many chores, as I tend my tiny garden plot. I planted these rows so neatly, yet overnight they became unruly. Weeds grow that were not there yesterday. Each day, it seems, I set about the same tasks to keep this patch of soil productive. I depend on the growth to nourish me. Indeed you – the sun and the rain – spur forth such a bounty that I may sometimes share with my fellows. It falls on me simply to be regular and persistent in these small chores.

Lord, let me take no pride in the neatness of my garden, nor self-satisfaction at my prodigious weeding and watering. No award nor notice is due me for such simple, daily tasks.

Let me attend this small soul in me because on it I depend for nourishment, not because I will present it later for accolades. This is a working garden, that you bestowed on me, unlooked-for, in return for simple and diligent stewardship.

Let my daily work be the thanks I give.

(Letter #1131)

Dear God, let me learn better to set aside judgment. The truth of my inner life is that I am always evaluating and judging: events, conditions, people. In all things, moments to moment, I assess and react based on how I am affected. My incessant judgment a prison made up of self-regard.

And O, Lord, my judgment becomes a weapon I turn on myself. Such small steps I take from seeking guidance, to self-examination, finally to judging myself. What a wrong path.

You love me, your creation, yet I am pigheaded enough to think that I can discern to what degree, to compare your love for me with what I perceive your love is for others. You say: judge not – and this is the instruction I most often defy.

Lord, let me be willing, instead, to be your steward. You have made this creation, quickened these souls, all around. You rose me to be among them. I clearly hear your quiet call to tend these things, all equal.

Let me foster the growth of all of your creation, without distinction. Let me block none from your warming light.

(Letter #1130)