A barrier? A box canyon? You grant me power to walk through brambles and mire, Lord, what could you not allow me to overcome?

Your grace flows through me to fellows, through fellows to me, infinite exchange.

We overcome together, whether we are on the same lines or not.

We overcome.

(Letter #3,332)

A friend, a true friend, and so no words are needed. We sit quietly together at dawn, and you know my troubles. You celebrate my success. You share my joy. You soothe my worries.

What, then, can offer you, dear Lord? Groans and sighs are all I have.

Dear friend, let us sit quietly while I reflect on your infinite grace.

(Letter #3,331)

Road upon road, fork upon fork, choice upon choice.

Which leads to home? Do they all?

Which way would you have me trod, Lord? Does this choice bear great weight, or are all options already a part of your will for me?

Let me exhale, and relax is I choose the next fork, sweet Lord.

(Letter #3,330)

I am the lone tree.

Do I give shade? Do I mark the way?

Even in solitude can I be your channel, Lord.

(Letter #3,329)

Presence.

Distance.

Distant ghosts, distant regrets, gnawing worries.

Let presence reign, Lord. Let me inhabit where and when I stand, and the distant things recede.

(Letter #3,328)

To build a life, Lord, in which I do not need courage, let me take steps.

Let me rise in the morn, before dawn, and sit with you, feeling your nearness.

Let me act at noontide, in the village square, surrounded by neighbors and merchants, offering solace to the struggling, buoyed by your whispers in my ear.

Let me retire, close to thee, a balm of forgiveness dripping down my forehead and closing my eyes.

Gripped with fear, facing worry, living woe — these dayparts fade like mist under sun, if only I cleave to you, Lord.

A life in which courage is unnecessary, fear is fleeting and laughable.

Let me take steps, Lord.

(Letter #3,327)

You are here beside me, Lord. I feel you, even before the day has quickened me.

You are here beside me, Lord, at noon, even in the thrall of action.

You are here beside me, Lord, at eventide as I retire.

Let my strength equal the day’s length, Lord, as I depend on you moment to moment.

(Letter #3,326)

The day is a circle, my life is a circle. Dawn, dusk, night, day without beginning.

Let me glide through events today, Lord, in loose robes and with easy gait — all while hammers clang and shovels pitch about me.

This day began and will end. I began and will end. In between, Lord, grant me willingness to give over my life to you.

(Letter #3,325)

Empty cup, empty cupboard, empty pocket.

Let me give away the last penny, use my last shred of strength in labor for my fellows.

Ready for you to fill, Lord.

In emptiness lies my strength.

(Letter #3,324)

Can I touch yesterday? Does tomorrow feed me?

This day, this moment, contains all I need, all I have.

I venture out from here and now, imagining I visit future days, brooding over past ones. This is a shadow world, the not-now. Large in my mind, yet with no substance.

Lord, let me live today in this day.

(Letter #3,323)