Dear God, I meet you in these early hours, daily for years. Pace by pace, morning by morning, I dwell with you. The one who came to you in pain, crying out to find you, so long ago — he was me and now is not me.

I was alone in a pit. You crept in upon me, raised me day by day, and now I sit in a meadow beside a cool stream. Yet I had to call to you for you to come.

How could I have known that your gift to me was despair? And that it would flower so long hence? Ground down, I became willing to consistently seek you — and you reward me today with presence.

Lord, you have regenerated this broken spirit. I am new, and was made so through steady, slow trial.

Today, dear God, let me see present trials as equally a gift. When under pressure, I am moved to seek you yet more urgently. One more gift-day.

In my meadow, Lord, I am glad for the wildflowers, the green valley walls, the stream. Glad, too, am I for the thieving fox who visited overnight.

From a lonely pit, you have moved me to this place, living now among other creatures.

Fellows come to visit. How ever shall I tell them of the days upon days that brought me here? The gift is not this meadow, it was in the days before.

(Letter #1498)

Dear God, outside my door, along the pathways, what is already growing?

This forest, this land, is abundant. I look at a bare patch and wonder how I will fill it in. I worry for the winter, yet under my feet grass grows.

Yea, even were I to plant, I misperceive my strength. It is the seed that does the growing; I merely place it.

Lord, let me see your gifts, your love, already emerging.

(Letter #1497)

Dear God, my tiny dwelling has a dirt floor. Packed hard, worn down by years of feet, daily I sweep it. Just outside, I tend to the pathway that leads to my home. Clean, tidy, inviting.

Lord, I may directly affect only a very few. Let me make a small and friendly space of love for them. Let those who come away feel refreshed as from an oasis so that they, too, may turn their attention to bringing friendship to still others.

(Letter #1486)

Dear God, let me listen for your voice today. You speak to me softly. I therefore must pay attention.

In the silence, let me strain my ears. In the clamor, let me hear every clang and crash – discerning your message. When someone speaks, let me listen to each word, for I know not which one will be from you.

Today will be filled with an uncoiling string of moments. Let me inhabit each one. Let me hear each sound.

(Letter #1495)