Friday, September 30, 2022

Does the color of my garment affect my capacity to labor? Does the crack in my plate diminish my supper?

Lord, you set me a task and instead of beginning immediately, I arrange my tools and await perfect weather.

You deliver my fate in one-day portions. Then let me not hesitate.

This is the day in which I will completely do your will, dear Lord.

(Letter #2,850)

Thursday, September 29, 2022

All is well; then let me be still in my heart.

All will be well; then let me share the news among the fearful and weary.

All is forgiven; then let me be a being of loving kindness.

Good news, good news. O my lord, you are the engine of good news. Make me able to pass it on.

(Letter #2,849)

Tuesday, September 27, 2022

My stamina flags, my strength withers. So tired am I, in the face of these duties. How can I face them?

Lord, you are the wind at my back, the sun on my upturned face, the cool water when I thirst. Let this momentary weakness and fatigue become your opportunity to buoy me and pull me forward into the world.

At my weakest, you are strongest. In depletion, you are providence. When I despair, you deliver unexpected joy.

Lord, my sweet friend, be with me today and carry me.

(Letter #2,847)

Monday, September 26, 2022

I wake, and here in my rooms you are with me.

I walk the grounds, you are with me.

I wander the forest, you are with me.

I retire, you are with me.

My constant companion, my most devoted friend, my Lord above all.

You are always with me.

(Letter #2,846)

Sunday, September 25, 2022

A walk in the woods. Who says that, along this lovely path, I will not find brambles, or a snare?

Is my flesh to be torn? Am I a caught hare?

Lord, walk with me. You guide my feet. You turn thorn to dewdrop, trap to cushion. Your sunshine pours down upon me, I am protected, I am loved.

I draw near to you, will you walk with me?

(Letter #2,845)

Saturday, September 24, 2022

The farmhouse standing alone, one window lit, a soul at dawn prayer.

A lone shadow, seated on a bench, watching the sunrise easterly over the grand river bank.

A dim study, a grand desk, volumes stacked and dog-eared, elbows on table, hands clasped, head bowed.

I know all these friends. Here in the dawn, away from the world yet in it, connected through you, Lord. We listen for you in the stillness.

Your voice whispers to us. Let us do your will.

(Letter #2,844)

Friday, September 23, 2022

Let no words pass between us, Lord, as I turn to you in my weakness. Let me make no demonstration nor ritual of my simple plea.

The words, the acts, the discipline — burn away the self-pride that infuses it all.

If I simply turn my face to you, Lord, will you shine upon it? Will you turn toward me as well?

The silence of love is thick and all around. Let me grasp it.

(Letter #2,843)

Thursday, September 22, 2022

Let me make my home in this moment.

Outside the door, the wolves of the future and the monsters of the past howl and scratch. They come and go; no need for me to greet them.

In my home, no sorrows nor troubles need abide. You are with me and the door is shut.

Let me hum gentle songs of praise while the fire crackles.

(Letter #2,842)

Wednesday, September 21, 2022

After calamity and storm, in the sudden silence of a land laid waste — your small voice whispers to me.

Come to me and all will be well, you say.

Seek me and you will see all is already well, you say.

O Lord! Let me discern the small miracle of your voice calling to me. The storm was just to make the world ready to hear.

I am ready to hear, Lord.

(Letter #2,481)