Let me be kind, Lord.

To the frightened, to the pressed-down, to the children, to the beleaguered.

Let me bring your voice of hope.

(Letter #3,423)

Falling, or flying? The wind rushes by my ears.

Lord, you meet me here, where my need is most. Catch me, hold me, lift me.

It was not until you held me that I was brave enough to open my eyes. Look, my friends, the eagles!

How could I have even asked for this gift? My need became wealth.

Thank you, Lord.

(Letter #3,422)

I am awake. How can I know? Is not this day like a dream, spinning out from a wheel?

I am awake to the things the world has hidden: the glowing love you have for your children, Lord, the soul-riches you have heaped at our feet.

The world is not the world. Let me live closer to you, Lord.

(Letter #3,421)

If you speak to me through others’ mouths, then I must be ready to speak as well.

To speak for you, Lord, the obligation is staggering.

You call us not simply to keep our homes tidy and do our chores — but to tend to the public spaces and village greens, to watch over one another.

Let others see you through me.

(Letter #3,420)

Early dawn march, on the way to battle. Fear looms; victory or defeat await.

High cliffside path, exhilarating to the climber, perilous without attention.

There I sit, on a bench, in this meadow, peace all around. There is no battle, no cliff, no peril. It lives in my imagination.

Lord, thank you for this suddenly clear view.

(Letter #3,419)

A woodworker at their bench, building a simple stool.

Who will sit on it? A farmer at chores? A student, reading? Me, building another stool?

Let the legs be even, let the seat be sturdy. Let no delicate finery occlude its purpose.

Lord, let me build for you, as you build for me.

(Letter #3,418)

I am a stone, in a wall, in a field, outside of the village.

Did I mark the edge of a pasture? Hide a secret garden? Keep out the hordes?

Whatever my purpose then, Lord, let me today be the resting place for a weary walker.

(Letter #3,417)

Walking a path by the cliffs.

The drop is deep, the way winds along it. Fear grips: will I fall? Can I continue?

In truth this path is like through the neighbor’s meadow, simply with different scenery.

Grant me reliance on you, Lord, when the way brings fear.

Thy will be done.

(Letter #3,416)

Walking a path toward the horizon.

It gets no nearer. Is it my goal?

You walk with me, Lord, make the crooked ways straight, remove the stones lest I turn an ankle, and when the way leads into the mountains you create a way around.

With you, Lord, I glide.

I am already at my goal.

(Letter #3,415)