Dear God, make me diligent. Make me accepting. Make me generous. Direct me towards humility.

Let me listen for your guidance. Moment by moment, in all the small things, direct me.

(Letter #1,612)

Dear God, where I see troubles, let me see instead lessons.

Where I am frightened, let me instead look for ways to be helpful.

When I am become fearful, let me see the evidence of your love for me.

Let me smell the growing things around me, when I might instead sit sullen and selfish.

Your love, O Lord, an ember in my heart. Let it cover the land like rolling fields of grass.

(Letter #1,611)

Dear God, thank you for my feet, rooted in the ground. For my hands, dexterous and nimble to grasp. For my legs, sturdy. My arms, my neck, my back — strong. My eyes to see, ears that hear, voice to speak.

I walk with such satisfied power, a prideful balloon. This gratitude, let it be more than glad feeling. Let it train me.

Brimming with ability, Lord, let me direct my capacities toward your will. Let the self in me wither, let my abilities direct themselves toward others.

You gave me strength, Lord. Let me not squander it on myself.

(Letter #1,610)

Dear God, when trouble comes, let me not respond with worry. You have told me that the world I encounter will contain challenge and vexation.

Yet, too, you shine upon me.

The sun warming me reminds that all will be well. All is well. The termites of worry are my own additions. They are reflections of how limited my reliance upon you truly is.

Let me stretch out in the warmth. Let the sunshine drive away these termites. Let me recall, at depth, that all is well.

(Letter #1,609)

Dear God, I face the day and fear what it may bring. My first impulse is to ask you to arrange events for my comfort.

Let me instead, Lord, seek what I lack that will allow me to meet conditions. Let me seek strength, equanimity, compassion.

Let me walk as your child, encountering the world.

I, your child, am enough.

(Letter #1,608)

Dear God, will you speak to me today?

My surroundings are filled with objects; I am too much alone and numb in a mechanical world. Whisper into my heart, Lord, and quicken me. Grow love in me.

Let the tasks of this day be not survival and advancement, but love and succor. Let me ask at each moment: how can I add love to this?

Let me see, Lord, the world filled with souls.

(Letter #1,607)

Dear God, if I wander, will you direct me? Where is my rudder?

Wind blows my thoughts from spot to spot. Each successive moment brings a new intention.

Make me steadfast. Bring consistency to my thoughts and actions.

Weigh me down, dear Lord, that I do not fly away.

(Letter #1,606)

Dear God, I blink my eyes and stretch. Where will you point me today?

I am fearful of all that may happen. I am afraid that I will not know what to do or say. Above all, I am in terror that I will be judged wanting.

Lord, let me be enough. Hold my hand.

(Letter #1,605)

Dear God, so many old things have fallen away from me. I began walking a pathway to you, and parts of me set about withering: pride, fear, wrath, sloth. But, too, they return. Rats in the walls, I banish them, and they surprise me from new hiding places that I myself build.

On I walk, Lord. My part of the pathway narrows as my steps become more sure. Perversely, I find pride in my very gait. Watch me march, O brethren!

But I falter and slow. I tire. I have confined myself to a slim track.

Let me see how wide this road is, how easily it may be walked. How futile it is that I compare my steps to others’.

A child among your children, Lord, let me walk this broad highway toward you.

(Letter #1,604)

Dear God, walking these grounds, the smell of growing things reaches me. The air is still. I can feel the skin in my belly stretch as I breathe deeply.

I move without exertion. I walk without destination. O Lord, I am alive in this body and that is enough!

Free me from exhilaration, which spins my thoughts; from despair which falsely weighs me down.

Let me walk and breathe today without greater goal than to grow nearer to you.

(Letter #1,603)