Unclench. Soft focus. Breathe out. Slow pace.

The journey is to last from dawn to dusk; let no single step overtire me.

This dull chore, let me see a universe in each footfall.

O Lord, is this slow path discipline or unwound ecstasy?

Unclench. Breathe out.

(Letter #2,241)

What matter whether you are at my left, or my right?

In one case, you lead and I am well able to carry and work, with great dexterity.

In the other, when you grasp me by my right hand and lead, I am diminished in what I can do, able only to carry a light burden. I cannot tie a rope with my left hand.

Lord, you lead me and make me a child, that I may rely more and more upon you. Such trust you build, let me so trust.

(Letter #2,240)

A dark and gloomy dawn I have greeted for too many days.

A sack of woe I have dragged for too long.

What if I already have the ease for which I pine?

I plod along, in rags and carrying a bucket. Light the lamps, open my eyes to the heaps of treasure through which I have shuffled day upon day.

Peace and joy were on offer all along, Lord. Today, let me notice the ways in which all is well.

(Letter #2,239)

There is a world underneath the world. I see it dimly when I least expect.

Walking in the quiet dawn, the deer coalesce into a family, and I see how you have ordered the world. Bird calls become greetings while I walk by a neighbor and wave.

I am walking through a lesson book. Am I to remain student, or teach my fellows?

(Letter #2,238)

I fear a crowded day, worried that all obligations will come due at once. Grant me strength, I ask in the morning.

You show love for your child in so many ways. Today you might turn another’s heart and they may labor with me. You might delay an obligation to another time. You might strike me ill and let me rest.

Grant me willingness, Lord, to greet each demonstration of love with equal cheer.

(Letter #2,237)

You have dispatched a message to me. Will I recognize the carrier? Will I hear it when it is delivered?

Lord, so much crowds around me. I am distracted and distracted again. I step over the new growth without noticing. I discard treasure as I clean my rooms.

Open my eyes and slow my pace, Lord. You have left a message, let me discover it.

(Letter #2,236)

I was prideful in youth. Yet now in autumn, do I not seek laurel leaves for piety?

I gnash my teeth at restriction. Do I not now, like water, overflow and seep into cracks?

So far, Lord, have I come. So far, Lord, have I yet to go.

Let, therefore, this day be one of sunshine.

(Letter #2,235)

The sun rises; it is dawn here. In distant lands the day has already ended. Here the sun will slowly heat a frigid landscape. There, families have warmed on the beach.

Who am I to say that my dawn is my own?

I am in a kindergarten set aside for those who need special care. Let me grow slowly to feel your sunlight, Lord.

A mouse along the baseboards, what will I find that you have left?

(Letter #2,234)

Frightened of things I must do, I ask for strength. What if your will for me is to experience failure, and thus learn compassion?

Worried about lack, I ask for supply. What if your will for me is to experience charity, and thus learn humility?

Lord, let my faith in you be blind. I ask and ask – let me instead trust in your love.

Thy will be done.

(Letter #2,233)

The world hums with bright light. I see through the veils into the core of things.

It seems moments before, I shuffled through these days, asleep to their beauty and preoccupied with achy feet and a grumbling belly.

Will I again fall into sleep? How will I know, when my body feels so real?

Lord, let me see the glowing buzz all around me for just a few more moments. What caused me to awaken? Let me not squander this awareness.

(Letter #2,232)