Lakeside in early morn, I seek quiet. Smooth glass water, bird call.

In the peace, I worry, I stomp, the waters churn. I came for calm, where can it be?

If I cease my frantic activity, the waters again go smooth and the birds return.

I brought my own disturbance, Lord, deliver me from myself.

(Letter #2,842)

Thank you, Lord, for this body, weak and tired as it is.

Thank you, Lord, for the fallow field where crops grow only with great difficulty.

Thank you, Lord, for these storms with their destructive winds.

Thank you for all these phantoms, trials appearing real yet dissipating after a moment. I am stronger than I think, my garden grows, and the skies are calm.

Thank you for the discipline of gratitude.

(Letter #2,841)

I inhabit a land of shifting ground and changeable winds. Every day new trials.

You were the same before even my ancestors walked here; could it be that I am the changeable one? The land is the land. When the wind howls, and you are distant from me, is it not I who is distant from you?

Kneeling, in a hut, let me cease crying for mercy. Let me stand and walk gently. The wind is simply wind. Let me see the land rightly. You were here all along.

(Letter #2,840)

The battlefield is chaos from where I stand, behind a shield wall. From your vantage point, Lord, is there beauty?

For there to be peace, one must surrender. Let it be me.

Is this my lesson, Lord? To live as love even under threat?

Let me walk into the chaos under your grace, and lay down my arms before them all.

(Letter #2,839)

You walk in the light; let me also walk in the light. You forgive me; let me also forgive. You shower upon me providence; let me also provide for my fellows.

Can I open my hand to grasp what you offer?

Can I, once in possession, pass it on?

Let me be your channel, Lord.

(Letter #2,838)

O what do I fear? Ignominy, penury, woe. But if what consequence is the judgement of my neighbor? And have you not always rained down providence upon me?

I am walking an old and rutted path. I know its ways through dark woods. Comes a fork, and a new one has begun. Fresh cuts, smooth ground, a meadow. Let me take it. Maybe it will lead upward.

(Letter #2,837)

Oxen, being led, do they see the beauty of the pasture or only the one who leads them?

Do I see the glory all around, or are my eyes cast solely on the road my feet follow as I march?

Invisible to me is the one who built the road. Am I a road others may travel, a channel to you?

Lord, let me follow you today.

(Letter #2,836)

Who is last? Who is first? In the fields at labor, who can tell where the line begins? Our shovels turn the same ground.

Planting, plowing, let me be the servant of the very land I tend.

What power do I have, after all? Your providence and grace courses through even the heaviest wind.

Thy will be done, Lord, and let me stand by as custodian of it.

(Letter #2,835)

My dwelling, each day I improve in slight ways. New roof planks, replaced floor, fixed door hinge.

My garden, daily I work upon. New planting, removed weeds, turned-over soil.

Lord, you revisit your work in me continually. You took away one defect, revealing another — and you came again to further polish my soul. I shed garment after garment, each finer. Glory to glory to glory.

The ship that returns is not the ship that set out.

Remake me, and remake me again, Lord.

(Letter #2,834)

My mind a hare, thoughts dart here and there. Furtive, sniffing the air for danger.

Higher self bridles the creature, contains it with chores and duties, plods out into the field. Obligations save me from distraction. Thus do the duties become an idol. Where would I be without?

Lord, let me accept my nature, love me as you love me.

First you saved me. Then you showed me I needed no rescue. Finally you taught me to share the news with my fellows.

Inconstant and imperfect, let me yet give thanks continually.

(Letter #2,833)