Friday, April 30, 2021

I am powerless before you. The wind whips through, all is upended.

Tomorrow will never come, all these hopes for the future are mist.

I search and wait for you. Where are you?

You were here all along, not hiding in tomorrow nor over the ridge. Sitting next to me, walking with me as I attend to my chores.

Let me remain powerless, stuck in the now, for this is what is real. You, perfect supply, here with me.

(Letter #2,302)

Thursday, April 29, 2021

Was I placed here merely to survive the day?

Lord, take away this constant focus on my own being.

Let me do your will until I am depleted, then give again.

Let me retire, spent, elated as an instrument used for the intended purpose.

(Letter #2,301)

Tuesday, April 27, 2021

What feeds the river? It begins where it ends: the sea.

Along my banks, I will meet towns filled with labor, and families alone at rest under tree canopies. A slow trickle, sneaking through a meadow, may provide just enough for small creatures.

When small, am I weak? Is there only power in my current? Tell that to the groove I have worn along this flat stone.

Even my small acts, Lord, let them be mighty.

(Letter #2,299)

Monday, April 26, 2021

To be weary, does it distinguish me? Too many obligations, is it because I am so necessary?

You provide perfect supply, Lord. How, then, could I be tired? I must have fallen away from you.

Bring me back, Lord, guide my feet home before I grind myself to dust.

(Letter #2,298)

Saturday, April 24, 2021

I rise by effort. Let me then expend it rightly.

Is this well-worn path one that leads to you? Or have so many of my fellows gone astray along it?

Is your way the unmarked gap in hedgerow?

I am ready to labor. Direct, Lord, my hands.

(Letter #2,296)

Friday, April 23, 2021

I wish for my deeds to speak as loudly as my unceasing words, the talk with which I fill the empty spaces of the day.

Yet, Lord, is not to speak an act in itself? Let my words carry the weight of deeds.

Your wind may blow away the noise of tinkling cymbals, yet let me speak your message so that it remains with my fellows.

Let me not divide part from part, hand from mouth. They are all your instruments. Let me wield them under your guidance.

(Letter #2,295)

Wednesday, April 21, 2021

Morning camp, all quiet. The fire has burned out. Forest creatures sneak at the edges. I move and all is tense, braced for calamity.

Who else holds their breath as I walk by? Will I ever know?

Let me spread ease, Lord. Let them breathe. Let my wake be peace.

(Letter #2,293)