I am alive inside, so let it be outside.

My fellows, who onlook, wondering at the calm gaze and slow movement. How can one be at such peace?

It is the peace borne of strong foundation and orderly days.

Thank you, Lord, for peace.

(Letter #3,322)

My garden plot, I go out to tend it. I clear the way for plants to grow, removing weeds and debris, tidying the rows.

I do not grow the garden.

The farmer does not grow the crops.

Let me step back and allow you to work your grace, Lord.

(Letter #3,321)

They visit me, they come to me, gathering about my dwelling. Curious about what there is inside. This quiet time, before dawn, a beating heart.

You strengthen me, Lord: my legs, my back, my shoulders, all sturdy. Aligned with your will.

Let them see.

(Letter #3,320)

Finery and delicate work, a garment of intricate beauty.

Worn for a simple journey through woods, to tend sheep in an alpine meadow.

Do you shower overflow of grace upon me, Lord? For what purpose is this display?

Let me wear what you give me, go where you point me, say what you direct, do what you move me to do. All to demonstrate your love and way of life.

(Letter #3,319)

My challenges, so small compared to those of others. Yet, Lord, over my victories you rejoice. I, your child, with small hands and frame.

Strengthen me, Lord, for tomorrow’s larger work.

(Letter #3,318)

In the morn, I cling to you from my quiet seat.

At noon I have forgotten, overcome by events and motion.

In the eve, worry cascades as I reflect on all that remains undone.

A cycle of forgetting you, Lord.

Let me remember you at noon, just as at dawn.

(Letter #3,317)

From without, my dwelling place is quiet, with gentle smoke rising from the chimney.

Within, am I frantically stoking the fire and cleaning baseboards, preparing for guests? Am I slothful in recline, doing the bare minimum?

A bucolic view hides many realities.

Lord, let my inner self match the outer. Let me be whole.

(Letter #3,316)

Chosen, not from notability or strength — but for weakness and need. You lent me grace, Lord, when I needed it most.

You fill my lack, perfect and whole. Let me cleave to you, Lord, with so many shortcomings to overcome. Who else could buoy me like you?

Grant me knowledge of your will for me, and the power to carry it out.

(Letter #3,315)

The day: a river flowing by. But what of me? Am I merely to watch?

Let me be a river, flowing through brackish land, parched fields, fertile valleys. When I find the sea, will you accept me, Lord?

Let me be a river.

(Letter #3,314)

This day dawns as no accident. The false turns, the coincidental meetings, the surprise elations — all planned.

You made this day, and its contents, for me, Lord. What have I made, in return, for you?

Do I fashion an altar for worship in my rooms? Do I write song or sonnet in praise? Do I build a home, where you may dwell with me, and I with you?

Instead I walk through the day, filled with surprise and turmoil.

Let me build a home, Lord, of the pieces of my life.

(Letter #3,313)