Standing on a flat rock, stepping stones across a stream. Paused between, while I consider which way next. Each shifts as I add weight. Where is the solid path?

You are with me, Lord, in this moment between steps. Do I move too fast to hear? If I hear, do I deny the voice?

I slow myself, ostensibly to listen. Then let me indeed listen!

The stream rushes on, whether my feet be wet or no.

(Letter #3,787)

Always on this plain, do I find myself. Windswept grass, trickling creek, distant forest. Some mornings it is a garden; some a battlefield. Some, an oasis.

Lord, let me unclench my jaw and breathe in the morning. Same place; different me.

Inhale. Pause. Exhale. Let go.

(Letter #3,786)

I am a Self walking through this meadow.

Self makes me peer into the distance for threats, to hesitate at every turning.

Self makes me fear fellow walkers: do they judge me?

Fear churns at me and makes me forget you, Lord.

You are with me.

Let me forget Self, Lord, that I may remember you.

(Letter #3,785)

Free my heart, let me have loving kindness for the beings around me.

Free my feet, that they may walk a new path.

Free my hands, to do fresh good works.

Let me not scan the horizon for clouds, but tend to the garden before me while the skies are clear.

Free me, away from tomorrow and into this moment, dear Lord.

(Letter #3,784)