Grey daybreak. The sun above the clouds.

Even if I do not see, joy is showered upon the land.

Grant me faith, Lord.

(Letter #3,940)

All this, Lord, for my benefit?

This winding path, this confusion of voices?

After the storm passes, and I have been blown to shore, let me then give thanks for the maelstrom.

Can I thank you, even now?

(Letter #3,939)

The riverbanks overflow. The weeds choke the garden. Wind snuffs out the fire.

I am no match for the world, Lord. Let me reach for your power, grace on offer.

Aligned, my will with yours, the waters recede, the flame ignites, the garden heals.

Let me abandon my will to yours.

(Letter #3,938)

Morning mist.

Yesterday the storm swept through. Today there is no memory.

Must I recall my woes to appreciate the day?

An unclenched fist, an unclenched jaw, an unclenched heart.

Clear sky.

Thank you, Lord.

(Letter #3,937)

You are with me, Lord, and you give me rest.

Like the wanderers in the desert, Lord, yes, you are with me.

To whom do I give rest? To whom do I offer grace?

Let me pass on what I receive, Lord.

(Letter #3,936)

On what do I depend?

The air I breathe? The rains that wash the day clean?

The solid ground on which I sit?

All of it, Lord, is of you, from you, by you.

You, Lord.

On you will I depend.

(Letter #3,935)

Hidden, my tender heart beats. Uncover it and see — how fragile and exposed. A baby bird in the morning light.

How could this weak and tiny creature fly? Who could see the eagle under the wet feathers?

Lord, nurture my tender heart. Let me have grace, while it is yet so small.

(Letter #3,934)

What use these wings, Lord, if I do not spread them into the updraft? What use these legs, if I do not walk?

Let me press on, as those who came before did. Let me live my purpose.

(Letter #3,933)

The dawn breaks, the bright sun beams.

Is this what I was waiting for? How contingent, then, is my joy.

Can my joy be independent of events, laughing even in the rain?

Inhabit me, Lord.

(Letter #3,932)

When the rains come and I grumble, when the garden is overgrown with weeds that I must pull, and I am frustrated, when my neighbor speaks ill and sparks my ire — unclench my jaw, dear Lord.

The day may contain trial, yet even the harshest trouble lasts but moments. While I walk on this path, let my gate be relaxed.

Breathe in, breathe out. Let me walk gently today, and battle nothing.

(Letter #3,931)