This moment is such a fleeting thing, gone even as I notice it. Thoughts of later crowd out now.

Yet here, sitting quietly in silence, there is a riot. Let me notice, Lord: my feet against the floor. My breath. The ticking clock. A busy spider.

Let me be where I am, Lord.

(Letter #2,476)

I will abandon myself to you.

I will burn my boats; there will be no going back.

In the even the smallest things, I will depend upon you.

O sweet friend, let this be enough. Let me live a guided life.

(Letter #2,475)

When the rain falls and comes the storm, you speak to me: go inside.

When there is a knock at the door and my fellows have come to visit, you speak to me: you are part of community.

When the skies are sunny and flowers bloom in the warmth, you speak to me: stretch your limbs and soak up healing.

You speak to me without words. Let me hear.

(Letter #2,474)

Let me walk gently, picking my way between twigs and leaves, that I may disturb nothing by my footfalls.

O forgiveness, let me pardon the debris left by earlier mobs. They knew not. I was there. I knew not.

O humility, let me leave no wake as I now move with the current.

(Letter #2,473)

Drip by drip, you have worn away the edges of my fears. My worries are like smooth river rocks, tumbled in a heap at the end of a rapids.

Beyond, the water is deep and calm. On the river’s edge I skip stones. They hop, hop, sink. Oblong, smooth fears hidden in mud under calm water, dispatched in joyful play.

Lord, let these nagging morning worries be playthings, let me laugh as they skip and sink.

(Letter #2,472)

Even as I cry woe, let the relief I seek flow away from me to others. You soothe me, let me soothe them.

How could I keep you to myself, Lord? You are the sun and shine upon all the village.

There is one, forlorn, who has no shelter but the hillside. As I pass them my blanket, let me also share some of the warmth that has quickened my limbs.

(Letter #2,471)

I expected to be scorned, and yet was cheered.

I expected penury, and yet was showered with wealth.

I expected sorrow, yet met joy.

How, then, could I trust what I see before me? It has ever been better than I could have hoped.

O Lord, your providence overwhelms.

(Letter #2,470)

Sitting frozen in my room, I dare not even rise. If the day begins, so, I fear, will suffering.

Whence these fears? On its worst day, how deep ever was my woe? Have you ever truly abandoned me?

Let me begin to walk, Lord.

(Letter #2,469)

From the blue, came the rains. They flooded the lands, and we perceived calamity. Yet our village was refashioned stronger and upon higher ground when the skies cleared.

The story of your love for me is relentless, yet I see only episodes.

Let me see the hidden gifts of this day, Lord.

(Letter #2,468)

When I catalog all the acts of the day, I will find that almost all are speech. Few of my doings are wrought by hand, or back. When I retire at night, I will reflect on all that I said through the day.

Did I speak kindly? Did I cause harm through my words? How did I spread Love, what did I say, what should I have said?

Guide me in my discourse, Lord. Thy will be done.

(Letter #2,467)