Day after day without fail, you paint the skies and order the lands. Beauty upon beauty upon beauty.

Today I wake, as yesterday and tomorrow, grumbling and weary.

Grant me eyes to see, Lord.

(Letter #2,912)

Guide my hands and feet toward right actions. Guide my words and deeds.

Dizzy, without direction. Grant me a road to walk.

The day beckons. Let me answer.

(Letter #2,911)

I rush into fire, into rapids, into cyclone. Is it truly industry, or distraction?

Breathe in, breathe out. Feet still, on ground. Belly rise, fall.

Slow me, Lord.

(Letter #2,910)

Let my people thrive, dear Lord: family, fellows, neighbors, townsfolk.

We follow you through mountain tracks and down onto the plains. A moving beacon, you beckon, we come.

My part, Lord, what is my part to play? Do I exhort my fellows? Blaze the way? Guard the rear?

Is my part to ask you for intercession?

Let us thrive, Lord.

(Letter #2,909)

You made me for this day.

You made this day for me.

I seek you; you are just what I need, Lord.

I will do your will.

(Letter #2,908)

You knock, I cower. You come to prosper me, Lord, why do I shy so?

Opportunity comes in disguise. Growth, abundance, peace — in disguise.

Let me recognize and welcome your knock, Lord.

(Letter #2,907)

You sing me a love song that did not begin and will not end. Your music is the bath of my life. It will play on, as moment after moment of this day tumble along before me.

How could my heart not burst with joy?

But instead I fear events and obligations. A busy day causes quaking. How will I manage?

Music will play, your music, Lord.

Let me listen for it.

(Letter #2,906)

What is the source of the wind, and where is its end? It is here now, a condition to be accepted.

A sapling grows into a bent oak, after years of this wind. Walkers will stop to marvel, some, even, to paint it. In the lee creatures will shelter.

If I seek calm, can I find it by the bent oak? Will the wind whip away your voice, Lord? What is the purpose of serenity?

In shelter and stillness, let me yet seek your will as intently as I listen for your voice in the storm. Thy will be done.

(Letter #2,905)

Storms whip, all around the oak.

The oak bends. Strong limbs.

Great winds, drenching rain. Still it stands.

Skies clear, sun warms, aftermath. Another storm lived through.

Let me become your oak, Lord.

(Letter #2,904)

War and battle rage around me; inside there is peace.

So many times before in tranquil times, trouble lodged in my heart. Now the times are unsettled and yet in me thrives an oasis.

When I leave here let me spread honey on the fields. Let me ease conflict.

Your peace inside, Lord, let it roam free.

(Letter #2,903)