Lord of moments, each arranged with care and precision.

I run through the field leaving a trail of bent grass. Each blade is known to you, though I scarcely see my own path when I look back.

Grant me stillness to notice the things in this moment, Lord.

(Letter #3,373)

Chill in the air, what could warm me on this open plain?

Your sweet words whispered, your guiding hand in mind.

Protected, warmed by grace and love.

Let me be worthy of the day, Lord.

(Letter #3,372)

I chase after the birds, only never to catch them.

Sitting still as a bush, some may alight on my limbs.

Let me be still; that what I strive for may come to me.

Thank you, Lord.

(Letter #3,371)

Thought becomes intention becomes deed.

Steps become a path become a track become a road.

Cause becomes effect.

Let me have correct motives, Lord.

(Letter #3,370)

This is the day for the vessel to become perfect.

This is the moment of the exhale.

This is the day, the moment, of empty.

Bowl on table, yet unfilled.

Open hand, awaiting gift.

Breathe in, pause. Here is grace.

And again the exhale.

(Letter #3,369)

Two walkers along a winding path, rubble strewn through the plains.

One with eyes down, stiff gait. On a march.

One looks around with wonder at the valley, loose feet and steps. An amble.

Do I march, Lord, or do I amble? Is effort the better way?

The road goes to the same place whether I enjoy or toil. Let me appreciate the way.

(Letter #3,368)

I draw near to you. Your nearness will return.

I knock. You will answer again.

Hope. Repetition, entreaty, again.

I come to you, Lord, over and over, and never am I turned away. You refuse none.

Hope.

(Letter #3,367)

Today it is my turn to give. Today is the day of service.

Lord, let me give, serve. Let me try to do your will.

(Letter #3,366)

Set apart, for sacred use.

This time, set apart.

This cushion, set apart.

This life, set apart.

Let me revere these times, this place, Lord. They are nothing ordinary.

Set apart.

(Letter #3,365)

Clouds and chill descend, and yet I set out walking. Feet crunch frozen leaves.

The dawn spreads slowly as I go from garden plot to barn. Are all the creatures well? I worry over what I might see.

And yet — no trouble here. My worries unfounded. Slipping away as the sun mounts.

Thank you, Lord, for this simple morning.

(Letter #3,364)