Quiet, quiet room. Soft cushion, low light. Time of devotion.

Will these surroundings cause you to visit me all the more?

Yesterday, you were with me in the fray. Had I even cried out for you?

You grace comes not due to mood or feeling but is a living thing, entering where it will. Let my devotion be alive, Lord.

(Letter #3,414)

Fearful, an animal darting across open field, eager to find again cover — you stop me in my tracks, you show me there is nothing to fear, even exposed. The sun beams down.

I am visible for all to see, and you are next to me, holding my hand.

Let this relief and peace follow me from spot to spot. Let it enter this quiet morning place — looking ahead to the day, is that not when I need the most courage?

Let me not fear but embrace your will today, Lord.

(Letter #3413)

The same sun rises each day, whether upon sweet harmony or cold chaos.

I sit, mulish, fearing the coming burdens. What if you are to lade me with treasure upon treasure, due to my love ones? It is so heavy, yet the duty so light.

Let my thoughts go always towards you, Lord. My mind darts here and there. Yet the day can be simple: seek and do your will.

And this might the treasures unfold.

(Letter #3412)

I carry a box of yesterday’s woe.

Would you have me set it down, Lord? But within it lies hope for my fellows: you can set down your box, too.

Even the bitter root and tears have use. Let me share, Lord, the path away from remorse.

Light the morning candle, let the dawn beam in. There is the door.

We walk.

(Letter #3411)

I tend my garden; the rains come and undo my careful arrangements. I go again.

I sweep my walkways; the leaves drop every night and need morning clearing.

Lord, let me thank you for each chance to rebuild.

(Letter #3410)

Thick darkness before dawn. Does the candle work even harder? Light cuts through dark without regard to how deep the shadow.

I hope for strength and ease. The hope itself hobbles and makes me timid, for what if they do not come? Grant me faith, Lord.

Let faith drive my stride, knowledge that you have granted us, your children, the capacities we need to greet darkness and dawn equally.

(Letter #3409)

I sit by a high lakeside, scanning the distance for feats to perform. I seek a quest.

Yet your words to me: sit still, and receive.

Let me prepare myself, Lord, for your grace. Let me let you come to me.

(Letter #3408)

This path, today’s path — a continuation of yesterday’s and yesterday’s. I walk and walk.

Yet each day, new. Tomorrow’s path invisible.

Let me set out to enjoy this new road, Lord.

(Letter #3407)

You have provided all I ever asked for, if I look rightly at the world. Why, then, does such worry weigh me down?

The truth is, I seek it. Even a full coffer raises the specter of its one day being empty.

Lighten my heart, Lord, and let me enjoy the ecstatic grace with which you shower me.

(Letter #3406)

I have discarded armor and dress; they lay in a heap at my feet.

Alone on a plain, standing under sunshine, warm air drifting.

I saw this place as a battlefield, or a stage. It is simply a field through which we walk, Lord, you with me.

Let me keep my gait simple.

(Letter #3405)