I will remove my shoes, walk in bare feet, upon your hallowed ground. Wherever I stand it is thus, for you are with me, in me, upon me.

The mason knows where to set the foundation stone. The potter knows where to pinch. The cobbler, to build a last.

I used to give only dry crumbs when asked, I had nothing else to bestow. You have given me balm and nourishment to offer in friendship.

Standing in bare feet.

(Letter #2,486)

I have dug a hole and into it put dead ambitions and yesterday’s opportunities. This morning I stand beside it, holding your hand, Lord, with no regret nor remorse at these losses.

Shall I now cover over the grave of yesterday and walk on new ground? Can I bear for my old self to disappear?

What moved me before now moves me not. What miracle is this?

I’ll walk on.

(Letter #2,485)

As I pick my way through a gravelly track, an onlooker may marvel that my ankle does not turn, that the way is so rough yet my gait so smooth.

Let these fellows wonder more and more at the light you shine upon this path, Lord. They may walk in it too. Your way is open to all.

What was hidden you made visible to me, Lord. Let me share this vision and draw the curious.

(Letter #2,484)

A wooded Alpine track, overhung with trees. Forest creatures and bark my close companions. Round the bend, trees part, the valley vista stops my breath. Who knew distance and height could hold such beauty?

Morning, dawn, leaving my dwelling. The forest view from my stoop is narrow and close. The dew on an intricate spider’s web stops my breath. Who knew intimacy and detail could hold such beauty?

Wherever my feet land, Lord, let me be overtaken by joyful beauty.

(Letter #2,483)