At the fork, I go one way or another, barely knowing the reasons that impel my steps.

I speak prior to thought.

I flee even shadows, before I see what casts them.

Lord, grant me slow movements and mindful reflection. Awaken me to each moment, and let me move deliberately through them.

(Letter #3,352)

I have become a well watered garden, a fulsome alpine meadow, a clear spring. Day by day you have fed me with grace, Lord, and I reap now the benefits.

When snow falls on the meadow, when the spring freezes — life persists. The grasses are dormant and will reawaken come spring.

This time will pass. The time for strength will become the time for rest. Meagerness will become plenty.

Thank you, Lord, for the love that has nourished me.

(Letter #3,351)

Who can touch me, enfolded here in your arms? Even so I worry over outcomes and effort, calamity and the specter of failure.

Protected, let me see rightly the unfolding of the world. Even if I do nothing, grace comes in the form of peace.

Let me rest, assured, Lord.

(Letter #3,350)

You are answering my every prayer, Lord; I feel it. The foundations of the earth tremble under my gait. The dawn vibrates with a deep hum.

This swirling storm is invisible to my fellows.

New beginning, new power, new grace. May I do your will with it today, Lord.

(Letter #3,349)

This is the day you have made.

This meadow, you have made.

This rainstorm, you have made.

I am one you have made.

Let me rejoice at all of this.

(Letter #3,348)

They lock their doors and shut away their treasures against the night.

I walk the lanes and byways, in early hour, before they have risen and opened their windows.

Are the doors shut against me? Or do they keep in the warmth?

Let me look upon the closed gate with love, Lord. You knock, and wait for invitation. What inestimable grace, that we may all make our own choices. Can I do the same, with equal patience?

Let me knock, and wait.

(Letter #3,347)

Small works.

Even small works may be masterpieces.

In the gallery, found, hung, curated, so easy to recognize. They pull you in close.

On the way, in the field, under the crush, who can see?

Let even my small works show gratitude, Lord.

(Letter #3,346)

The foundation is already laid, was placed long before we were here.

The wind whips, grinds down the earth. As I walk, I lean forward and look down to the earth.

A bug on a plate.

The wind and its trials have left me alone with bedrock, Lord, all around me the aftermath. In a bubble of peace, resting on rock.

Bring on the next storm, I say, bring it. Your foundation, the grace of your strength, your infinite forgiveness — all here with me, rooting me to rock.

O the exhilarating calm! Let me do your will with what I have.

(Letter #3,345)

Turn out from my heart, Lord, all that is not love. Let the space left behind be filled — with yet greater Love.

Make me a soul of Love, Lord.

(Letter #3,344)

A candle on a mantle brings a peaceful glow. On a mountaintop the wind whips it away.

A blaze in a fire ring in open field comforts. Too close to home it brings calamity.

Let my flame be right for my circumstances, Lord.

(Letter #3,343)