Tuesday, March 29, 2022

I have held on so tightly. Unclench my jaw, ungrip my hands. Slow my breath.

Lord, you were here even when I was consumed with worry.

Let me now listen as you sing to me, softly in my ear, and bring me comfort.

You were always here.

(Letter #2,605)

Sunday, March 27, 2022

There is a line to draw water from the well. I will allow others to dip before me; there will be enough when I have my turn.

O quencher of thirst! We will all be taken care of.

What shall I do, knowing I cannot fail?

(Letter #2,603)

Saturday, March 26, 2022

I walk a path from one village to another. I will have to cross a river.

There are ferries, fords, and bridges all along that gentle stream, yet I worry over how wet might get my feet.

All paths lead to safety. When I return home, I will proclaim the news.

Hold my hand, Lord, while I cross this sturdy bridge.

Thy will be done.

(Letter #2,602)

Friday, March 25, 2022

You were always with me, even when I did not see.

How could I have missed so much? Where am I still blind?

Let your revelations be gentle, Lord. I am a weak foal, unsteady and wet.

Let all be well.

All will be well.

All is well.

(Letter #2,601)

Thursday, March 24, 2022

Do I sit with you, or you with me?

When we walk, who leads whom? Do I take you from place to place, a child showing their parent all their favorite hiding spots?

O sweet mercy, you allow me to feel freedom and control over my destiny. Yet you are there to catch me at every stumble.

Draw near to me, Lord, while we sit together.

(Letter #2,600)

Wednesday, March 23, 2022

My cries and petitions are so meager. Pennies and crumbs I seek, worried how I might survive the day.

Seeing in secret, Lord, you make ready to reward with abundant overflow.

How could I possibly prepare?

Let me be ready, Lord, to give thanks and to shine your light onto my fellows.

(Letter #2,599)

Tuesday, March 22, 2022

What are my needs? Are they my own?

You fill the reservoirs from which your children drink, Lord.

Let me see where I lack wherewithal to help my fellows, and pour my prayers into that hole.

I will hold the dipper, and quench the thirst of my neighbor.

(Letter #2,598)