Dear God, you are in me. Why, then, do I seek and journey for you?

It is its own form of arrogance, that I imagine by great effort I may come upon you. You were here all along!

Lord, if you are in me, then I must be a steward and pass along your love.

Let me learn humility today. Let me not seek displays of piety and virtue. Let me be the source of warmth no one knew was present.

(Letter #1,502)

Dear God, impatient, I look daily at my garden for evidence of growth. Where are the sweet fruits I hoped for? In frustration, convinced the seeds did not take, I plow it all up, I overturn the soil, I try again.

And what chance did I give the seeds to sprout? I knock down the house before it is built, convinced that it will never stand.

Lord, I act too soon. Impatient, panicked, faithless, I make desperate moves that wipe away the bounty that was poised to appear.

Let me learn to trust your love for me, Lord. You test me by asking me to wait while you prepare to shower me with gifts.

Such a small thing: to wait. Let me make my faith in you real. Let me learn to wait.

(Letter #1,501)

Dear God, I wonder, in times of trial, how you will ever save me. The pit is too deep, the calamity to great. But lo! A door appears, and behind it, a stairway. Other times, Lord, you shift the very ground. The hole in which I cower becomes a flat and easy plain under sunny skies.

I live in a world of everyday miracles. You save me daily, in ways large and small. Yet each comes as a surprise.

But, Lord, if I have true faith in you then I will have quiet equanimity. You will sustain me, your child. I ought not wonder whether, but instead marvel at how.

Let me trust you as a child, dear Lord.

(Letter #1500)

Dear God, handfuls of us group together to seek you here or there. We worship, or we chant, or we give ease to one another. We work our bodies, or we study in companionship.

Tiny groupings, assembled. Each one I enter thinks it is for a separate purpose. The rooms all look different, some bright with mirrors, some dim. Some with chairs, some benches, some cushions on the floor.

Lord, where a group is that seeks for you – there you are. Even as we cry out for answers to prayers, you already deliver the greatest gift. Here with this small band of seekers, you invade our space and quicken each individual heart.

My chest glows, I can feel it warming. The edges of the room fall away, a husk blown in the wind. What remains? The truth: you, with me, with us, together.

Do my fellows see? Am I to share this vision? Shall I nudge my neighbor awake?

You have made me an ember, Lord. Let me warm others, whether they see the source or not.

(Letter #1499)