Dear God, how, Lord, shall I carry your message? I want to proclaim it, to shout it. But I feel your calling, and you drive me to whisper. This quiet voice you give me, the one so few hear.

I misperceive this anonymity as a lesson for me – teaching humility. It is that, but it is more: the discovered voice is the one listened to by the few.

Lord, let me cast away thoughts of influence. Let my telling of your way be an unexpected discovery for a small few.

Let me speak more quietly.

(Letter #1156)

Dear God, Look! I have lit a small candle in the corner. An island of light in a dark sea. Here next to me, in the glow, is good feeling and human warmth. Joy.

Perhaps wanderers will see it and make their way to me. They may sit and even, in their entrance, disturb my solitude. Yet the candle burns and welcomes, yea, even trouble. This corner holds joy for all.

Lord, let me keep this space welcoming. Let all travelers find a spot to sit — let me not grumble nor sulk at the fellows whom your light, this candle, attracts.

I am the flame keeper, the steward of candles. The striker of matches. Let this small task be sufficient of itself, let me not embellish it with honoraria.

Let me, Lord, simply tend this candle and welcome those who are drawn to it.

(Letter #1155)

Dear God, let this life of moments be filled with devotion to your will. Let each moment, the one cascading upon the other, be guided. Let me move through these days in alignment with your will.

You call me not only to act as your loved child, but to think as him too. Let me, in each allotted moment, be aware of you underlying all. Let me repeat, over and over, returning to you, until my consciousness of you in each moment is second-nature.

I fail in this. I fail over and over. Each new moment is a chance to conquer this distracted mind. Let me take each one. Let me not float through this day, unaware. O what a tragedy to end my day, to retire, thinking I was my own motive force! I would therefore have slept through my waking hours. Today, let me awaken.

(Letter #1154)

Dear God, as within, so without. Let me, above all, draw near to you inwardly. Let me hear your close whisper in my ear, feel your arm around my shoulder. You are no distant power, but an intimate friend. You are the treasure at my center.

The events of the day come and go, my troubles and my successes all equally. These blowing storms cause barely a ripple in the smooth waters of your safe harbor. I am sheltered.

Let me recognize the safety you provide, even as I venture out where you direct. I take you with me, and so come with me your calm waters. Let me look upon trouble with the equanimity that only comes of assurance. All will be well. Let me align my steps with your guidance – you will move my hand to steer a safe path.

(Letter #1153)

Dear God, let me be a doer of your will, my Lord. I spend so much energy in seeking and trying to discern your guidance – let me give equal devotion to the doing. I am no simple hearer, nor speaker. I am the sum of my acts. Let my deeds today be ones that express your will.

I see myself as facing so many troubles, needing guidance. My prayers to you, Lord, consist in pleas for knowledge. I childishly imagine that, if only I knew more, knew the secret, my troubles would fall away. I fail to see, or ignore, the unwelcome nature of your guidance: it is a set of instructions.

Let me follow your orders, dear Lord. When you say, speak, let me open my mouth. When you say, give, let me act with charity. When you say, halt, let me bridle myself.

A doer of your work. Make me a doer.

(Letter #1152)

Dear God, you have placed everything gently where it rests. Me, on this seat. All the objects around me. The people whom I meet, now as well as later. You provide support to all the world, make all arrangements, and so I cannot know: Am I placed here to help that friend? Or is another placed here to help me? I carry your message, and equally your message is carried back to me.

Lord, let me thus give and receive. Let me be a link in a chain, neither self-important nor lowly. Just one among many, in a system of your devising.

Let me not think too deeply, trying to penetrate the veil of misunderstanding in which I am cloaked. Even this garment, you have delivered and tailored to my figure.

Let me set about seeking and doing your will, in even the smallest thing, without overcomplication. Let me more humbly ask your will, without demanding an answer.

(Letter #1151)

Dear God, it is just me and you. Whisper in my ear. Murmur the truth to me, that my heart may become glad.

As you take away my worries over troubles, may I be a balm for my fellows. Let me reduce the fear dripping through the lives of those around me.

You have told me this secret: all will be well, all is well. When I hear and remember it, my woes lift. These conditions that I judge to be trials, they are not.

Tomorrow will not be when relief comes; you have already made it. It is here. Let me deliver it to the worried. All is well.

(Letter #1150)

Dear God, bring me tribulation! Let me grow in my eagerness for difficulty. When I play a game, or recreate, my enjoyment consists in adding challenge to some easy task: I run, but on a twisted path. I lift, but a heavy weight. I throw and catch, but at a long distance. Games, all. The obstacles provide the enjoyment.

Lord, let me me view this day, these tasks, in similar fashion. Each difficulty a challenge to add to enjoyment.

Let me take infinite interest in the surmounting of these obstacles, in examining their nature, in appreciating the ingenuity and variety they reflect. O, where would be the joy in plodding through a series of dull days?

Let these hurdles come, let me leap with glee over each successive one, feeling the joy of running, jumping along a turning and stony trail, running through the alpine forest, across meadows and over streams.

Let me invite my fellows to join in this joyful foot race. What fun! Let me share it.

(Letter #1149)

Dear God, you impede me. You slow me down. You place obstacles in my path, you whip up a wind against me as I walk.

I see difficulties. Yet my slow movement causes me to look anew. What have you delivered me in the form of this resistance? You have bestowed on me the red for care — the opportunity to slow my pace and to make my footsteps meticulous.

Lord. I am blown back as I try to walk forward. Let me see clearly how futile it is to exert more effort. Your conditions overpower me. No: let me slow my pace yet more, pick my way through the fallen brush, let each small step build upon its brother.

Care. You give me the wherewithal to take care. O, let me recognize this gift.

Let me shred my list of goals for the day. Let it fall to pieces around me. You call me to step slowly, abandoning urgency. Let my efforts bend toward this.

Show me the universe of accomplishment hidden in stillness and slow movement.

(Letter #1148)

Dear God, I sit here and try to muster my attention, yet I become distracted by conditions. Every small event intrudes, draws my mind away and into the world. And O, Lord, my weakness is this: I let it happen.

I am so divided. I yearn to be close to you, and at the same time flee from you into distraction.

Lord, let my devotion grow and crowd out the worldly intrusions. Let them fade to dull noise. Let me fix my attention upon my search to draw nearer to you.

(Letter #1147)