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)