In my heart, a twisting knot of worry is releasing. Lord, I breathe out, and out. Let my tongue fall from the roof of my mouth, let my belly expand.

This stack of chores is just the list that makes up a simple day. My small and unseen garden needs weeding, watering, tending. No foreman waits to direct me and at dusk there will be no inspection.

The dawn comes like a train. Let me sit patiently on the platform. I cannot will it faster nor slower.

(Letter #1,843)

I am so inconstant. I despair one moment, laugh the next. Anger besets me, then fear, then joy. All day, blown like a dry leaf.

I hope for rescue, but this itself is illusory. They who hope carry with them the seeds of doubt. When I hope, it is because I worry that what I hope for may not arrive. Hope leaves me unsatisfied.

Yet faith is confident. Faith strides through the garden, secure that the path has a destination. Faith brings me equanimity in this moment, no matter its characteristics.

Lord, grant me faith. Let me be willing to abandon hope.

(Letter #1,842)

Let me build this day as a gift for you, moment by small moment. No grand effort is asked of me. Let me bring my most meticulous care instead.

This gift, lovingly wrapped, I will present to you in a ceremony at day’s end. I am a child offering a small and inconsequential object to their parent. So proud am I of this work. So small and clumsy it is.

You will smile at me, and love me. I will think it has to do with something I have done, yet you loved me long before I even sensed you.

Who receives this gift? What is it? Is it the object, the effort, the intention, the love?

I am the bewildered one, Lord, building clocks and clipping bonsai bushes.

Open my eyes, dear Lord: the gift is for me. You are making it.

(Letter #1,841)

A child, I have no idea what I need. I want stimulation when I need rest. I want idle time when I need to learn labor.

I struggle against your lessons – the poor student shoving aside the tutor.

Let me learn today, Lord.

(Letter #1,840)