I am a lit candle; the dark of my closet is no match.

I am a rung bell; silence cannot shut me down.

Wherefore, then, this fear?

Who, could judge a flame, or a peal? Your light shines from my chest; your music from my mouth.

There is no race to run nor target to hit. Let me speak your words after you, Lord.

(Letter #2,504)

Of a life of woe, which parts are trial and which pleasure? Of a day of challenge, which parts vex?

On a string of pearls, must one affect its neighbor?

I persist through a day-cascade of joy with episodes of pause. Each trial is but a moment.

Lord, let me awaken anew over and over.

(Letter #2,503)

What of my speech? Do I preen and burnish my reputation?

How, Lord, shall I better speak humility?

Make me transparent that, through me, they might see your message.

There is love to be shared, good news, encouragement.

(Letter #2,502)

Will today’s miracle be a dramatic rescue, unfolding at the last possible moment? Will it be the eleventh-hour blanket of peace that settles into the last valleys of conflict?

Will today’s miracle, Lord, be our recognition that you were here with us all along?

I stand and walk to a neighbor, bringing a bucket and a stool. Will they see the delivery of needed implements as miraculous? What of the miracle that, in walking, I fall forward and catch myself, step after step, over and over?

Or, even, that I bestirred myself at all? I went to them for reasons unknown to me.

Let me live yet among everyday miracles, Lord.

(Letter #2,501)