Dear God, shut away in my familiar closet, I whisper to you as to an inconstant friend. Come to me, I ask, fearful that you may not. Strengthen me, I ask, afraid you may leave me weak. Grant me humility, I ask, knowing my prideful nature will set up barriers to any progress.
Lord, O Lord, where then can I say is my faith? I pray so tentatively, begging for you to notice my needs. Grant me a confident faith. Let me trust all needed strength will come, that moral progress will come – that you in all your power will visit. That you are already here. That indeed I already have all that is necessary.
Let me, in the final tally, have faith instead of hope. Hope pines for rescue; faith is certain of protection and care.
Lord, let me relinquish these hopes. They comfort me yet hobble me. You created me to walk; let me stride through this day secure in the capacities with which you have endowed your children.
Dear God, I go searching, inward and outward, for the labors you would have me do. How best may I toil for you? Only with difficulty do I realize that the greatest effort you ask of me is to slow my frantic pace of devotion.
I seek to grandly demonstrate my faith; you instead call me to meekly receive your love and slow droplets. Bit by bit, your gifts become noticeable, the change in me becomes apparent.
I am beginning to see the mountain lake you have set me by, the warm beauty all around. It snuck up upon me while I was distracted, searching for labors to perform.
You are the Lord of slow, healing streams. If I sit here, with you, in this Alpine mansion, I will arise with a fresh heart.
Lord! Let me be willing to tarry with you. Let me set aside my furtive industry and instead slowly, meticulously worship these meadows.
Dear God, my pathway through the day is new each morning. I cannot see beyond the first, early turning. I delude myself that, if I could but see the whole of my way, my worries would silence. In truth, I could not bear to see the whole. My soul would churn with anticipation, fear, elation, despondency, pride, deflation. All just as the result of knowing what is around the corner.
Lord, you have constructed my circumstances so that they suit my character perfectly. This is my lesson from looking backwards, considering all the previous days’ journeys. You brought each lesson when I was able to learn it, you brought chaos when I was strong enough to weather it, you delivered placid times when I did not even realize I needed rest.
The path down which I walk today is the continuation of all of yesterday’s. Let me, O my Lord, walk today as if I had been an attentive student and learned all these previous lessons. Let me walk the day’s path as your child, marveling at the surroundings that are at once new and familiar. Each knew hour containing a discovery, even on the dullest marches.
Lord, my guide, let me be a grateful walker.
Dear God, set me in the right direction. Make visible the path I am to tread, and let my actions move me along it. With regret, I recognize that so much of my activity is wasted, chaotic. I dart from point to point, energized by panic, elation, worry, enthusiasm. Even my moods are frantic. I alternate between energy and lethargy. I wish for a sense of accomplishment but even at my most industrious, the work goes off in all directions.
Lord, grant me the willingness to discern right effort. Let my footfalls slow, let my steps be straight. If I am to go bit by bit, this is a greater task when I am gripped by mania then when under the gray weight of sloth.
Let me shed trivia. Direct my thoughts, feelings, words, and deeds toward useful ends.
I distract myself, in truth, to keep my spirit asleep. Awaken me.
Dear God, strip away, bit by bit, carefully and gently, the veneer I so wish to polish. My armor. The face I present to the world, my image, yea, even the face I present to myself. You remove it, piece by piece, and I stand naked in the sunlight on a bare plane.
My finery is in rags, a heap at my feet. My armor rusted in a pile. There is no tree behind which to step, no mound under which to duck. There I am, Lord, for all to see. For me to see myself clearly.
Make me ready to gaze upon all my weaknesses, faults, and transgressions. Let me see and accept my strengths and beauty.
Ignite the pile of costuming at my feet. Let it burn. The sun is shining and the climate warm. I will walk through it as a child of God.
Dear God, when I cease struggling, I gain a brief awareness of how fundamentally you support me. If a challenge falls upon me, you are there without my even noticing – you deliver to me the proper words or deeds even without my seeking them.
I am like a child who has newly learned to walk. Your hands float inches away from my hips, ready to right me when I tip, to turn my path when I veer toward a ledge. All the while I think I am walking alone.
I sit here. The chair supports me, and the floor underneath holds the chair. The foundation below and, further, there is the ground. Your powerful arms underneath it all. Let me feel this support driving up from you through the worldly objects and manufactured surfaces, right into me. Buoyed and grounded all at once. Protected from toppling, directed away from disaster.
Try as I may to wreck the plans you have laid for me with my willfulness, my efforts to thwart you always amount to a puff of air against a mountain.
Let me, therefore, believe myself to be your protected, favored child. If I am so fundamentally loved, from the depths of the earth, what then shall I do with the energy otherwise spent in defending myself against imagined calamity? It never happens. So let me spend this effort in giving to others, pointing out to them the supports underneath that they may not have noticed, or have forgotten.
Let me spread the good news that we are all held aloft.
Dear God: Light and air. Morning mist. Dawn shadows. I move through these early hours, like a meticulous ghost, tending to my duties quietly and carefully. You pad along next to me, whispering in my ear. Straighten these objects. Clean this surface. My small actions are my devotion to you. What soft satisfaction, to allow my chores to become prayer.
God, it is not the occasions and doings, the events, for which I am so grateful. It is the attitude you have instilled in day to day activities. What a task you set before us, your children! You call us – you call me – to allow your love to improve our inner life.
When fearful and small, I call out to you. On clearer mornings I know I ought better call inward. There you are, right next to me. I whisper to you, and you whisper to me, here in the quiet shadows.
O my dear friend. Let me do your bidding today.