Dear God, if I listen, I hear your song sung sweetly to me, as soft as a lullaby. There it is, a small thread underneath the world.

My fellows crowd around, they speak. Your song remains, quiet, below. It mixes with these voices. Who sings to me? Your song comes out of the mouths of the many, even as they speak their own words.

Lord, grant me ears to hear. Make me attentive what you are singing to me. All your messages, floating in the air and into my ears. I take note of so few, yet they are all here, balm for my worries.

O! What a day, when I am sung to moment by moment. Let your songs dispel my troubled daydreams.

(Letter #1494)

Dear God, guide my words.

I awaken anticipating conversation throughout the day. It strikes me with foreboding. I know not what I will say. Let me wait to be moved by you. Let me speak your will as you enter my heart.

Lord, this time before – this time of anticipation. Why do I fear so? I am at the mercy of time: I cannot change the duration of waiting. I must walk through it. Running will not speed my progress.

I can only live moment by moment. Let my thoughts stay here with me, now, and not race ahead.

(Letter #1493)

Dear God, faced with myriad choices, endless branching pathways, how shall I decide? My thinking is a tangle. Filled with so much, the day ahead is broad yet pitifully shallow.

Lord, grant me the gift of a simple mind. Let me dwell on just what is needed. Let it grow and crowd out the trivial, the busy.

I am listening to your song, O Lord. The world will wait with impatience while I slowly think your thoughts.

(Letter #1492)

Dear God, I awaken, I rise. I tend to the needs of my body. Lumbering into motion, I inspect the perimeter, I see what has become misplaced overnight. An item not in its usual spot. Who has been here?

The sun peeks upward and my heart quickens. I arm for battle. Time, now, to leave my dwelling and present myself to the world. Boots, girdle, gauntlets, helmet.

O! This is no way to live, ready always to defend.

Lord. Take me back to my dressing room. Sit me down. Let my belly relax, my breath go slow and deep.

Who called for a warrior? I bring a sword to a wedding feast and am rightly seen as an intruder.

Let me, relaxed and breathing slowly, peel off the armor, set down the weaponry. Sandaled feet, soft clothes, open hands, smiling face. This is how a friend arrives.

Let me be friend to this day.

(Letter #1491)