Dear God, let me abandon myself. Instead, I build ramparts and walls against the arrayed forces of the world. I protect myself, both from actual and imagined foes.

Such energy I spend in maintaining these arrangements. Decision after decision floats my way, and in each I wonder, “what ought I to do?” Yet my aim is always to improve or defend my position, and so the question is mis-phrased. I am really asking, “how can I gain?” Such selfish aims, wrapped in pious language.

Lord, let me throw open my gates, scatter my defenses. Let me ask, not about oughts and shoulds, but instead: “O Lord, what would you have me do?” And once asked, let me listen and heed. Let me act as you command.

The world may find an empty ruin where my fortress once stood. Lord, you have called me out to walk among the meadows and leave my supplies to nourish all who chance upon my refuge.

Lord, let me have the courage to abandon myself to you.

(Letter #1129)

Dear God, I ask and ask for what I already have.

I seek a sign – they are all around if I but read them. I seek knowledge of the right action – my heart verily knows which way my foot should next fall. I seek nearness to you – and I keep relearning that you were with me all along.

Lord, I know these things. You have taught and re-taught me. Why, then, do I feel so lacking in what I seek?

O my dear friend, it is willingness I am missing. Willingness to see and read your guidance. Willingness to walk hard paths. Willingness to shed self-reliance and hold your hand like a child.

O Lord, let me cultivate willingness within me. Let the seed of willingness grow, let it break upward from the dirt, let it flower under the beaming love that makes its way into my walled garden. Your love.

Let me set aside this misguided search for knowledge. I know all I need. Let willingness guide me today.

(Letter #1128)

Dear God, I alternate between panic and confidence. Do I dangle on a thread, or are my feet on a sturdy hilltop? Lord, perhaps both are true. Perhaps you are teaching me they are the same thing — that the taught thread is stronger than I fear; that the solid ground can wash away beneath my feet.

Let me seek you more energetically, my dear Lord. I open myself to you and await your visit. A passive child expecting gifts. But you say, “Knock, and it will open.” I therefore must knock. Instead I stand unmoving by your doorway.

God, let this wind across the landscape not trouble me. Let it awaken me, quicken my heart and set my spine straight. Let me not rest idle, awaiting rescue, but set forth on my way. Let me enjoy the brief showers, and have sense to build shelter when storms descend.

You built me with feet, hands, mouth, legs, heart, mind. Let me use all these gifts, taking joy in performing as intended.

If I am your hammer, Lord, let me not cower in fear of the nail.

(Letter #1127)

Dear God, my mind is distracted by all I see around me. I husband my resources, I tend to the walls of my fortress, I maintain my physical body. These occupations consume my time and energy. All the while, you shower me with gifts which are invisible and insensible.

Beguiled by the tangible world and by my imagined battles, I would not even recognize your treasure were I to see it.

Your gifts, Lord, appear so ordinary. Let me see what you hold out to me with such love.

How could such dull offerings bring such wealth? Yet this is the truth of it. That insurmountable obstacle cloaks a gently-taught lesson. That crushing setback enfolds a chance to rebuild what was shaky. These attacks from the wider world drive me to cling ever more strongly to you.

Let me, O Lord, look past what is before my eyes, reach beyond what I can grasp. These things are here to make what is beyond all the more valuable when sought. Let me look through the tissue of this world and see the love, the reality, you hold out to me.

(Letter #1126)