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)