Do I sow chaos and discord, even as I try to walk gently? How can I know the effects of my footsteps?

Lord, let me seek ever more to create harmony.

(Letter #3,786)

In the garden. The fence keeps me on my plot more than it keeps away intruders.

Can I love this fence, which circumscribes my day? Within it I have freedom to move, to dig, to grow.

You are Lord of limitation as much as you are Lord of power and freedom. Lord of grace, above all.

Let me give thanks for the edges of this garden plot.

(Letter #3,795)

Path after path, each winding in different ways. One to the woods; one to the meadow; one to the village square.

My path: to you, Lord.

Which way will you lead me?

(Letter #3,794)

The sea accepts the river in any state.

You accept me, as broken as I am.

Lead me through this day, Lord, building and rebuilding me. Let me let go to you.

Your will, thy will. Let it be done.

(Letter #3,793)

Take rest, weary one. Nothing will reach you.

Lord, let me know true rest under your grace.

(Letter #3,792)

Pressed down; lifted up.

Without the weight, I might fly away, the ground presses up so hard.

Lord, let me be thankful for push and pull.

(Letter #3,791)

Walking under a beautiful sun.

Passing by a beautiful tree.

This was my destination, unknown until now.

You grew so strong, you grow so beautifully. As I walk on, let me remember your towering strength.

(For Michael.)

(Letter #3,790)

Standing in this garden I remember:

What have I neglected?

Overnight the weeds grew, the wind upended arrangements.

Do I grumble at needed repairs, or can I enjoy their doing?

Let me feel each moment, Lord, and let worry drain away.

(Letter #3,789)

Walking the town before the day.

Sun on face. Breeze.

Skin, muscle, bone.

How can I express the gratitude I feel for the space my body occupies?

How can I stay here in it?

(Letter #3,788)

The day unfurls like a bloom.

Planted here, I reach for sky.

A field of us, following the sun from horizon to horizon. Lord, let our faces not stay hidden! Let our bodies stand true!

Breath is life; the whole field breathes.

(Letter #3,787)