I would walk upright, but something stops me from standing tall.

I would go slowly, but something makes me frantic.

I would spread love, but something makes me doubt there is enough to share.

Walk upright, go slowly, spread love — simple things you call me to do, Lord, and all that is stopping me is fear.

Thy will be done, Lord, and let my worry dissolve like mist.

(Letter 2,820)

O the power coursing through the land! Trees with buds, unfurling shoots. Barely there, yet already there.

Day upon day through winter limbs have I walked. Once-hidden meadows for all to see, dormant and brown grasses around the ankles of bare trees.

New life has arrived without my effort. What, then, has my winter of persistence brought?

Consecutive days of peace, stretching backwards and forwards. There is no past and the future never comes — and yet still it is persistence that grows today’s joy.

On this walk, Lord, today’s walk, let me breathe in the last winter air, and breathe out spring.

(Letter #2,819)

A small coin in my pocket, yet I wonder and dream of the mansions it will buy. Even so, I walk through the woods, will meager treasure buy me a meal?

What I would have thought were riches are of no use.

Lord, you have built life around me, this real life, where the currency is trust in you and love of fellow. These are infinitely renewable and can grow without limit.

Yet still I grip this useless coin in my fist. Let me let go, Lord.

(Letter #2,818)

Walking, this stony path requires care. An ankle may turn if I do not look out.

Yet it rises, and around curves I see vistas. The way up, while precise, is not hard.

Where the path has washed out, you have provided a fallen log to step over. Where it is steep, a dead limb makes a fine support.

If I watch myself with woeful heart, I might despair for the way is so hard. If I look at the same self on the same path with glad heart, I see clearly how easy you make my life — dear Lord and friend.

I need but walk with care.

(Letter #2,817)