Dear God, onpassing, ongiving, forward-looking, spreading love – let this day be a diamond that I polish through gifts to others. Let it be a river.

You have released me from despair and dissolution and granted me this day.

Let your gifts not stop with me. Let me be no stagnant pond.

(Letter #1,632)

Dear God, early will I seek you. Before the others stir, before the day creatures roam, before awareness of my needs crushes me. The dawn announces a full day of your sunshine, and I will have already sought you.

Why must I surrender so early to your will, dear Lord? It is my way of devotion. Let my duties to you come before all else today.

The sun will already be shining upon my shoulders as I go out from here. Let me walk erect under your gaze.

(Letter #1,631)

Dear God, I cannot recall what troubled me just a few days ago. Today’s worries occlude it. And tomorrow will dispel today’s.

Lord, let me release these cares, a sacrifice to you. While they are with me, they loom so large. Phantoms.

Open my eyes to the ease you have granted me, if only I will grasp it. You have placed gifts here before me. Let me gather them up.

Shine upon me, sunshine, and burn away the mist.

(Letter #1,630)

Dear God, every moment is the same, always now, with its own yesterday and tomorrow – and yet I approach one differently then another. What changes is what I bring into each. The load I carry one day is heavier than that of another.

Today, Lord, my dreary burden weighs. Let me find you nonetheless in this gray dawn. You are hiding behind the bushes I will later trim, underneath the carpet I am to sweep.

Let me see you here with me, let my heart quicken.

(Letter #1,629)

Dear God, my mind reels with thought after thought, plan after plan. These active thoughts, projecting into future days, leave me slothful and indolent in the present.

Lord, let me turn my hands to today’s labor. Tomorrow will arrive anon, and I may then address it.

Today, root me in today.

(Letter #1,628)

Dear God, I sit in stillness, preparing to go out and meet the day. These solitary moments are themselves part of this journey. You are here with me. You already were before even I arose.

Lord, let me recognize you. I seek and seek, and my efforts feel for naught.

What power you grant us, your creatures! Our nearness to you is entirely in our own control.

Open my eyes to see where I already am, dear Lord.

(Letter #1,627)

Dear God, if I do not hear you, are you gone away from me? Or must I listen more closely for your whispers?

This day dawns like that before. The chores of this homestead, the same. You do not tell me to go about my daily duties, Lord: I awaken knowing.

Will you stay with me, Lord, and speak encouraging words into my ear? I am weary of the day.

(Letter #1,626)

Dear God, the morning presents me with a question. Shall I walk toward you, or away? Shall I stay in my dwelling place, or go out to greet your dawn?

Lord, these cushions on which I rest enfold me and loom as walls. Let me stand and go out from here.

Put in my heart an active love for others, be they in groups or single, far or near.

Your message, Lord, it spreads through contact. Make me ready to touch others.

(Letter 1,625)

Dear God, at the quiet shore in the gray dawn, I arrange the rocks and branches. I brush away debris, and make all ready for those who may come later.

Who will happen by this place? What will they do? Will they recognize the care it received?

By then, Lord, let me have walked farther on, long gone. Let me leave no identifying mark. Let me seek no credit. Nor let me hide and peer from the bushes. Yea, let me forego, even, the smug satisfaction of seeing others’ enjoyment.

You moved me to make the way for them. Let me give thanks to you for the possibility that they may walk with more ease. Let me with gratitude move on to the next task.

(Letter #1,624)

Dear God, let me see others as you do. Let me look upon them with love and compassion.

Where I am vexed, grant me a wider perspective. Let me offer comfort and safety to all.

Grant me knowledge of your will for me and the power to carry it out.

(Letter #1,623)