I awaken to trouble, of what does it consist? Worry, fear — are these things real?

Look with care at this dwelling: its roof and walls hold. There is food to break fast.

Look at the village: there are fellows who know me and I them. There is help available to dig the well.

My troubles are fiction, I confuse reality with mood.

Grant me vision of reality today, Lord.

(Letter #2,743)

Assured by faith of great gifts to come tomorrow, I thereby squander the grace you have already granted. The day will expire at dusk.

The sun rises — it is today’s gift.

The tide is in — the boats high.

The winds blow — we sail now.

You smile upon me, repeatedly, until I accept this treasure. So many days I have waited, unseeing of what is already here.

Enough. Let me set sail today, Lord.

(Letter #2,742)

I sit before you, expectant.

I pray to you, you guide me.

I seek you, you seek me.

Lord, are you not with me even when I feel alone and bereft? Are you not with me even when I am filled with false sufficiency?

Let the dawn wait, while I wait here with you in our hut. Fill my heart with your presence.

Let me seek and do your will today.

(Letter #2,741)

Seek we, all.

Some do not know why the disquiet. Some have not yet learned the shape of the gap inside to fill.

Windswept plain, we huddle together. The storm plucks away our voices. How can we share under such conditions?

Face, smiling, hand, beckoning, arm, embracing.

There is no special virtue in having learned to find. And this is not the same as having found. We all seek.

Let me encourage desperate fellows.

(Letter #2,740)

Shadows come and go, they gather and murmur.

I am in a crowd of ghosts.

You are here with me, Lord, yea, you sent them to me. I try to see through these phantoms into the world of substance, yet this world of illusion also has reality. They are each a soul to help, a soul to ease. They are each a form of you.

Let me be a friend, to them, to you.

Let the solid world wait.

(Letter #2,739)

Stones in the way — do I step gingerly around, do I stop to await their removal? Do I walk on?

At day’s end I will have been rescued like all the times before. Let me already have faith, already feel relief from my worry.

I awaken and retire giving thanks, how might I give thanks at noon, too, under harsh skies?

All is well, these stones are here to teach me to walk under all conditions.

All is already well. Let me feel it.

(Letter #2,738)

If I am awake, Lord, I first must have slept. When did I fall into slumber? When precisely did I awaken?

I was one way, now I am another. Can I be satisfied with this passing of time, of states?

Impossible to say when night fell, when dawn became full. Let me walk now under sunshine, awake enough, glad enough to know I had been in slumber.

Now awake, let this day be the one I am in.

(Letter #2,737)

Yesterday, you delivered me from fire into a peaceful meadow. Bounty at my fingertips.

Today, why yet do I gnash my teeth? Surely you are in this place, and I simply have not yet become aware.

Awaken me to the already indwelling peace, sweet friend. Let calm settle over the land.

(Letter #2,736)

The river rushes. In it, a rock splits the current.

I stand, roots deep into earth and rock, while wind whips my head and shoulders.

You placed me here, Lord, lo these months and years. Eventually they will tie their boats to me.

Let me rejoice at the stillness you have taught me.

(Letter #2,735)

I was ground down, bereft. Your sweet voice quietly called me.

I was erased away, hollow. You breathed strength and substance into my empty parts.

Now bitter distraction face I. How might I keep my thoughts upon your grace?

Let me be a cliff light, that travelers may come to this, your house, and have life breathed into them.

Let the beacon I tend quietly call across dark seas. Let my simple table be a place of revival.

Let the world heal.

(Letter #2,734)