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)