I draw near to you, trying my best to be be worshipful and worthy.

So far from the mark, so unequal to the task.

I judge even my own prayer!

Come to me, comfort me, Lord. Never have you abandoned me, even when I abandoned you.

(Letter 3936)

In the early dark.

I already have a mood, how can this be? Nothing yet has happened.

My response is a cloud of mist, forming and then dissipating.

Grant me new awareness, Lord. A fresh outlook is always available.

The day is potential.

(Letter #3,935)

You have made me for this day. Will I be enough?

It was so yesterday, and the day before. Why not today?

As I accept myself, so do I accept you, Lord.

Soothe myb worries, Lord. You are sufficient unto the day, then so must I be.

(Letter #3,934)

I doubt; help me in my disbelief. These trials press in. Lift me up out of this box canyon.

Lord, point me toward the way of overcoming. Take away the doubt, and let me soar.

My fellows who cower in fear, the ones pressed down, the ones threatened by the mob: let them see my flight and have hope.

(Letter #3,933)

Hear me, in my silence. I need not even speak, and you know my needs.

Shadows encroach; can I block them out by barring the door? They come nonetheless.

Only light can fight away the shadows. Come, Lord, light a candle for me.

(Letter #3,932)

Yesterday is past, and so, too is the prior day.

What is left but the ground around me, here and now?

Let me walk forward from this spot.

(Letter #3,931)

Breathe in, breathe out. Let nothing block my circulating breath.

Seated in silence. Let no words disturb the growing quiet.

As I walk the world, Lord, let nothing stop your love and power flowing through me, from you, to all my fellows.

Let this who meet me, meet you.

(Letter #3,930)

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)