Dear God, I stand tall and still, an oak. You have made my back strong, my shoulders broad, my feet rooted.

All around me the forest burns. My own leaves shrivel, smaller branches are consumed, bark chars.

Still I stand, Lord. The flames dwindle, the rains come, the creatures return. Smaller growth is gone. But in me, life still flows and buds burst, small leaves unfurl.

I alone do not hold up the forest, but you have built me to be one of your pillars. As life returns, let me smile upon the deer who consume my new branches. They need the nourishment and I can afford to stand still and tall.

All your strength, Lord, all your love – you give it to me to pass on to others. Let me shelter them from the rains.

(Letter #1,521)

Dear God, this world is no blank page, asking me to write it. You have already filled the world to overflowing. The forest contains pathways that lead to meadows, streams, brambles. Some roads ascend mountains. Others lead to mire.

These forks where I choose, I imagine myself with such creative power. My choices, while consequential, are smaller than I think.

This path, that path: Lord, they are all your walkways.

My freedom rests in the manner in which I walk. Do I wear a smile? Do I cheer others? Do I share burdens, sing?

Let me show others my face as I walk, Lord.

(Letter #1,520)

Dear God, how shall I be your beacon in this world? How shall I shine forth?

Let your light, shining through me, be something discovered by others when least sought. A weary traveler finds the road smooth just when strength was lost. A hungry one finds extra bread tucked behind other items. A frightened one is granted an unsought and unexpected reprieve.

Dear Lord, let me be the one who repairs the road in secret, that others may walk without care. Let me be the baker who makes extra loaves, and leaves them for others to find. Let me be the one who whispers and softens the jailer’s heart.

Your light, Lord, shining through me. Let me call no attention to myself, but instead cast your light where others most need it.

Let not the lighthouse stand tall with pride, yet instead humbly guide others on their own way. Let me be forgotten.

(Letter #1,519)

Dear God, whisper to me.

As I walk these pathways, crossing and recrossing, urge me on in your direction. Place my feet safely in the stony areas, guide me toward cool meadows. Open my ears to listen for your voice.

Walking in the woods, I encounter a new road. Like a distracted child, I abandon my direction and run along this fresh byway. Where does it go? Who is to say this path leads to ease? It may turn back on itself soon enough.

Grant me pause to choose as you urge me to. Open my heart to you, sweet Lord.

(Letter #1,518)

Dear God, when faced with surprise, let me react with joy.

You have sent this gift of challenge – it allows me to stretch, to bend, to run. What child does not love to jump and sprint?

And yet I fear upset and change. I plan my days to be filled with quiet routine. I arrange my own drudgery.

Lord, let me sing and laugh as these gifts of chaos pour over me. You have built me to live through these times.

(Letter #1,517)

Dear God, even in the midst of great activity – I remain slothful. I master trivia while the needful thing remains undone and unexamined. I weed the pathways yet my garden plot is overgrown.

Lord, order my thinking and improve my actions. Let fall away the husks of useless motion. Grant me right diligence.

(Letter #1,516)

Dear God, what do I fear? So many inconsequential worries swirl through my thoughts. They are like the dust that accumulates, the weeds that keep growing. I sweep them away, yet their cousins return.

And how trivial are my most persistent fears: That I may have a difficult conversation. That another will not like me. That I will be judged.

I arrange my life to avoid these events as if they were monumental, hurricanes of terror. Yet when I look in the slow light of dawn – they are laughable. If I imagine my worst fear, and imagine if it were to become true – still I would be your child. Still you would love me without condition. Still I would be well.

Lord, let me see my worries in their proper perspective. None is as large as I fear. They are brief showers on a spring day – to be enjoyed briefly and then paid no mind.

Lord, let me stroll through this spring day, laughing.

(Letter #1,515)

Dear God, this part of the path is steep. I can feel my legs work, muscles deep in my hips, as my strides move me up and up. The breeze seems to come from below, and unaccustomed direction.

Rest would be welcome but it will come later. To stop now, I would slip and fall. For now I climb.

Lord, you have strengthened me through many days’ journey on the plains. The road was gentle and I found rest by streams. On the way to the next valley, I need the strength you have built me. And I have it!

What, Lord, is over the rise? I know only that you have set me on this path and bid me walk.

Let my steps be consistent today. I have practiced this. Let me walk today, as persistently as I did yesterday. Tomorrow I may be in new meadows; today let me pick my steps with care.

(Letter #1,514)

Dear God, surely you did not build me to toil day in and day out. You smile upon me with love, then why do I labor so? We wish ease for those we adore.

Sweet Lord, let me find ease in each moment today. Even in the midst of difficulty, let me find your love. These struggles, Lord, they strengthen me and I become more able to meet them. Indeed I come to welcome them.

A child can only walk a short distance before toppling. But I learned and grew strong. Now a daylong journey is a joy. I run! Let me see how you have already strengthened me today. What was difficult is easy. What I feared I welcome.

(Letter #1,513)

Dear God, may I bring joy to those around me. Let me be enthusiastic — that I may enthuse and thus encourage others.

I awaken early in my dwelling, before dawn, before my fellows. Outside my door is wildlife, completing their nighttime foraging. As they retire, as I rise, the day is a fresh page.

Lord, let me write poetry of joy, songs to lift spirits!

My back is sturdy today, and my legs strong. I can walk all day. Let my hands grasp others’ loads and sing them a marching song. We can all walk together, laughing like children sharing stories.

(Letter #1,512)