Saturday, December 7, 2019

There is a spring inside my chest, turned upon itself like an overwound watch. My belly and ribs held close in, my tongue pressed against the roof of my mouth. My teeth grind.

O! Relax my body, each part by each part. My tongue. My belly. My gaze.

Wound like a cord, day after day, I weep today at the uselessness of my tight grip.

Pry open my hands, dear Lord.

(Letter #1,792)

Friday, December 6, 2019

I have come to feel you are a friend, bit by bit through daily prayer. Now these times apart with you are routine. Have I lost you? The thrill of recognizing your presence has been covered over in rote habit.

This daily practice, let it become new. Let me become new.

Miracles unfold around me. What matter if they did so yesterday and will tomorrow? Snap me out of this trance, let me feel the tingling air on my skin.

(Letter #1,791)

Wednesday, December 4, 2019

I look for you under every rock and in every corner. I set out on long and rambling tracks to find you.

You are already everywhere I look, dear Lord. But yet I look past you.

I have here with me, and in me, all I have been seeking. What am I to do with this power?

Here where I sit, let me grow roots and invite others to hold fast. Let them see you in me.

(Letter #1,789)

Tuesday, December 3, 2019

This morning pathway I walk, it is at times broad, and at others twisted, overgrown. My path to you is choked with weeds and littered with windblown sticks.

How shall I draw near you, Lord? Shall I walk on through bramble? Shall I stop to remove the debris? In either case, my effort is required. I grip this hoe so tightly. I stamp my feet as I walk.

The weeds have grown out of my own self-obsession. Let my thoughts fix on others, Lord. Let me clear this path for those who come after.

(Letter #1,788)

Sunday, December 1, 2019

Wait, you say. Wait while the wind blows. Wait while the rains fall. It will all pass. Wait until all again is calm.

Wait while grasping and striving grips. Wait while bitterness grows. Wait until fever passes and again my eyes look on my neighbors with compassion.

Wait while elation visits. Wait while fear binds my chest. Wait until my movements can be made with slow deliberation.

Wait, you say. All will pass. All will come.

(Letter 1,786)