Dear God, your peace is no mere absence of trouble. In dark woods, when I come upon a meadow, it is teeming with life, the sun shines down, the ground is soft with green grass. Flowers burst from every crack. The meadow sings joy. It is no empty clearing.

So, too, Lord, does your peace bring with it gift upon gift. Yes, Lord, you rescue me from agitation, worry, and conflict. But you do so by delivering to me love, a feeling and desire for usefulness, healed and healthy relations.

My quiet, placid days churn with joy invisible to the eye.

Let me bring my fellows to your meadow, O Lord, those who wish to find it. We will sit still, living a solid joy.

(Letter #1478)

Dear God, your love, your peace, your power is a smoothly flowing river. You flow through me, my fellows, my community. Smooth power, available to all.

A small part of things, what then must I do with this smoothly coursing force?

Even the refreshing, calm pool of water moves unseen. It has an outflow, else it goes brackish.

So, too, are the rapids a trial. They are chaos, suitable only for those who crave distraction.

And the dam? It robs those downriver of their due.

I, Lord, a vessel of flowing water, your obedient river — let me take heed. Let me not be the stones and incline that cause the whitewater, nor let me be the stagnant pool of muck. Let me not dam your flow and act the miser.

If I am to flow, let me calmly give all away. Let idle rest and ecstasy be equally illusion.

My life, this day, let it be filled with the slow giving of gifts.

(Letter #1477)

Dear God, lo! I am already where you would have me be. I am already whole.

I glide amongst my fellows, a member of this herd, undamaged by the brambles through which we move. All equally well, even the infirm, for you rain sunshine down upon us.

Let me nudge the shoulders of my sisters and brothers who have not yet awakened. They toss in fitful dreams, worried and small. They will come to themselves and leave these shadows in the night where they belong. They will glide with me, beaming with realized joy.

Oh joyous herd!

(Letter #1476)

Dear God, the fence needs repair. Cows cry for milking. The floor needs to be swept.

Lord, if I am to be your instrument, set me to the proper use. Let me be the hammer where there are nails to be struck, the dressing where there are wounds, the cup where there is thirst.

Let me not seek to direct the action but instead to respond to the needs around me. Let me become the needed object.

Thy will be done.

(Letter #1475)