Is it enough that I avoid wrongdoing?

Is it enough that I try to root out selfish intent?

Is it enough that I draw near to you, Lord?

Is it enough that I act rightly with others?

Is it enough that I carry news of the peace you bring?

How wide, Lord, must the ripples spread?

Am I doing enough?

(Letter #1,968)

I walk out into a smoking wood. Charred branches, blackened ground. The grass has burnt away. Aftermath.

The fires were hot, and quick, and all-consuming. Last night was a fever.

Walking in silence along familiar paths. Heavy heart. How to repair? Where to start?

O Lord, where have you gone?

A bud, emerging from a dry branch already. Another farther on. Another still.

Life returns, Lord. You are in the new growth. But were you not also in the blasted ground? Will I find treasure there, if only I look?

Help me to see you, in tragedy and birth alike.

(Letter #1,967)

I shall end the day with nothing left, for you will replenish me in rest. I will give away all I have.

I am new this morning and will be so tomorrow. Let my steps therefore be quick.

(Letter #1,966)

I am here to help others find you. Let me not direct them wrongly.

Approach, and you will draw near to us. This is all we need know.

(Letter #1,965)

Where are you, Lord?

If I seek you on the mountain, you meet me on the pathway in the foothills. If I seek you in the forest, you are there at the trailhead. If I seek you in a teacher, you are in my school books.

You meet me always before my destination, before I have begun to look.

Open me to meeting you, Lord, earlier and earlier, in less and less expected places.

(Letter #1,964)

Days of work and discipline have left me empty. I have feared to ask for ought but strength to do your will.

If I am your child, shall I not also seek rest, comfort, love?

Lord, love me today.

(Letter #1,963)

You test me. Why?

I grow and grow, my limbs ache and I am awkward. I learned to crawl, then to walk. To speak, then to sing. I have barely learned to grasp a stick, and you call me to tie ribbons in the hair of children.

Lord, I am afraid of these new tasks you set, afraid I will be unable. Afraid my insufficiency will be seen and judged.

The test is not the test. You call me to trust you even in lack.

Let me live as your child.

(Letter #1,962)

What you give to me, I squander on myself. The energy, the time, the supply – all spent on sustaining my own aims.

Let me give it all away. Let me give unto exhaustion, unto day’s end, unto emptiness.

Lord, you will fill this vessel only when empty. Let me pour nourishment on this land.

(Letter #1,961)

Let me shun the spotlight.

Let me take no credit.

Let me build up others.

If my way be stony, let me clear the path, let those behind me find smooth walking.

Let me be a custodian of the world for my fellows.

O Lord, thy will be done through me today.

(Letter #1,960)

At dawn, in the dark, I worry over the coming day and I beg for solace. You soothe me, and I cling to it as a life raft.

Yet now is not when I need you. No winds buffet, no arrows land. It is just me and my worry.

It is in the heat of the day that I will need your aid. When the battle mounts, the flood invades, the buildings collapse. Lord, send me strength to do your will when all is chaos.

But now, in my quiet worry, let me learn acceptance. It is all I need now.

(Letter #1,959)