Living in tomorrow and yesterday. My body is in this room yet I reflect on the past and worry over the future.

Lord, let today crowd out all else; let the feeling of my body seated on the ground occupy the whole of my thoughts.

Let me be here.

(Letter #3,929)

The voice speaks, but where is the fruit of its echo?

Do I hear? Do?

The soil lies open, waiting for more than sound, more than fleeting breath. Faith without movement fades like mist at dawn.

In the quiet, there is a stirring, a gentle command: “Go, and let the work be the prayer.”

Too, let the prayer be work.

(Letter #3,928)

Cliff edge: what buoys me?

Wind, up from the valley on my face. What heights! All this way up, my slow pace brought me here.

Walking with you, Lord.

Thank you for these heights.

(Letter #3,927)

What do you look like, Lord?

In the dawn the day’s events loom. Be with me, I pray, in fear I will not know the way. I cannot know how you will arrive — will I see it? What will aid and intercession look like?

Grant me eyes to see, Lord, and a steady heart to reach out to you. 

(Letter #3,926)

If I am to conquer — where will the battle be? Do I face the world, or myself?

The greatest victory will be the one over my own will, as I let go of grasping and breathe in your peace.

Even in my sunrise rooms does this battle loom.

Come find me, Lord, and help me let go.

(Letter #3,925)

Awaken, rise. Look within.

Look again.

What do I see? Can I see myself honestly?

Can I walk a true path? Is this morning any different from yesterday?

Lord, help my feet.

(Letter #3,924)