In a burnt forest buds emerge. In wasteland, a flower.

Am I to find and share the beautiful, Lord, or am I to repair the broken?

Guide me.

(Letter #1,887)

Let my dwelling be welcoming to travelers and neighbors. Let it be warm.

They are weary; let me offer comfort. It rains; let me offer a roof.

Let me smile, even as they occupy my favored spots.

(Letter #1,886)

What shall I stop today?

What shall I leave undone?

What would you have me forgo?

Root out the weeds in my garden, dear Lord.

(Letter #1,885)

You placed these desires and thoughts in my heart. This dream that I pursue, that I await, itself a gift.

Let me, Lord, consider even the ordinary strivings of the day to be holy, gifts given by you, my most intimate friend.

As I march, Lord, let me to see the gulf between what I seek, and what I attain, to be your great gift. You make me wait for all I want.

Delay and yearning are your gifts.

(Letter #1,884)

Why do I approach each moment with such fear, as if a hammer will fall?

I am your child, Lord. What parent does not take joy in delighting their little one? Yet I fret, worry, mope.

Today I shall walk these lands, looking out for delight. A lovely cloud, a moment of comfort, a smile, a treasure.

Let my heart not be dismal. Let me laugh! It is in my power.

(Letter #1,883)

If I have joy, Lord, it is because this is your design.

If I am vexed, Lord, it is because you want me to be so.

If I help another, Lord, I carry your message as your servant.

Why, then, do I wonder what, where, how? Guide instead my mind, let me see you even in the forgotten chores of the day.

(Letter #1,882)

My fears have nicknames: Lack. Ignominy. Loneliness. Old friends, they accompany me so often, everywhere.

They are known, Lord. Let me hand them over to you. Escort them away from me.

Take away these false friends.

(Letter #1,881)

Children on the playground, we invent games of skill. We hobble ourselves and see how fast we can run. We blind ourselves and try to balance.

Let me step outside my door smiling and wondering what game the day will bring.

These difficulties are not trials but obstacles in a foot race. Let me not plod.

(Letter #1,880)

I am excited and face the day with an urge to run. Wind whips and grows stronger.

Let me walk slowly, dear Lord. If I am to proceed, my steps must be made with care.

Your gift to me is this very wind, for it slows me. It teaches me deliberate ways. Each hard-won step a prayer to you.

(Letter #1,879)

Like a faithful hound, I am ready to run into the field if you will loose me.

I am so easily distracted, yet I will return. My heart beats wild in my chest, I tremble. Let me run.

What will I discover?

(Letter #1.878)