Your power flows like a current through my limbs, my belly, my hands. I vibrate with light and love, on fire.

Lord! I walk is a giant among tiny playthings, these objects that used to trouble me so.

My fellows, I have found the switch. We all may turn on the lights ourselves.

(Letter #1,765)

Morning looms around me. The growing light of dawn will take its place.

The darkness holds no power; the smallest hint of light will send it fleeing.

Let me be a candle today.

(Letter #1,764)

What troubled me yesterday? I cannot recall. Today’s worries, too, will burn away like fog soon enough.

Let me, then, walk steady along this familiar path. Let the things I encounter have depth and weight. Let those I meet speak truth, and let me hear it. Let me speak plain to them.

Lord, let me stand apart from and above my sentiments.

(Letter #1763)

Am I a reservoir, that must be filled before quenching the land? Must the world wait for your power to pass through me?

I am the ditch, Lord, through which water flows. You are the mighty river. I do not wait to receive power, I simply need to remove the stones and debris that block it.

Let me not hold back anything. I never lacked, and more will come. I am a canal, a water pipe, a power line. Let power, your current, flow through me.

(Letter #1,762)

Let me devote this day to you. How shall I do so? Do you ask any more than that I try to live in your presence?

I have no knowledge of how or whether you will use me today. The master builder does not use every tool at every moment. The saw only cuts, the hammer joins.

Let me, then, remain ready today, in case you need an instrument such as me. In that case, let me present myself with a keen edge and without rust.

(Letter #1,761)

Thank you for the support you are sending my way.

I look out at the day and am filled with fear. You will bring me all I need. You will teach me to live without the need of courage.

This day that I fear will have passed like any other. What will you have had me do, O Lord? Let me do that with joy.

(Letter #1,760)

I am afraid of each new task, each new obligation. On learning of them, I respond with dread and woe, even when the chores are simple.

This is my companion, sloth, visiting. Idleness calls. I shun effort. I work grudgingly, under half steam.

And yet, each moment must be lived through.

Lord, grant me the willingness to inhabit my moments and to do what is before me.

(Letter #1,759)

These lands, at dawn, are so quiet, yet my heart thumps. Walking through mist and attending to chores, I tremble in my agitation and I am scarcely here.

Worry narrows my prayers: I seek relief from the most trivial of circumstances. Tired, I wish for a brief rest when instead you offer perpetual ease. Lonely, I pine for a moment of connection when instead you offer lifelong friendship.

Lord, I grip the railings, terrified I may stumble. You stand ready to rain abundance upon your children, my brothers and sisters. Let my hands open, that I may accept your gifts.

(Letter #1,758)

I ache, for I know how far short of my potential I fall.

I could devote more of myself to you. I could give more. I could perform my labor with greater effort and industry. I could cast away yet more of my possessions.

There is a yawning gap between who I am and whom I could be—enter this space, O Lord. My hoard avails me nothing.

I stand at the threshold in the cold dawn, fearing the frozen ground under my feet. Yank me out of stillness and set me walking these lands, distributing all I have and more.

(Letter #1,757)

You knock; will I open? Do I hear?

My hands cannot touch you, my eyes cannot see you. I am distracted by this wind, these noises and worries.

O Lord, do not stop knocking, I beg. I may yet hear you when I learn to be still.

Make me ready, sweet Lord, to open the door. Let me fling it wide.

(Letter #1,756)