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)