Am I the hammer or the nail?

Do I hold fast, or cause change?

One of many instruments at the ready, let me find my highest use, Lord.

(Letter #2,887)

The trails crisscross and there is no clear direction. One leads to another and folds back again.

One foot in front of the other, Lord. Breathe in, breathe out. These are your directions in a land of no direction.

Lo, in the midst of the barest life, comes another traveler. More hungry than me, I can offer food. Injured, I can sit with them.

No wonder, Lord, that you slowed me down, for I might have stepped over this one lying by the road.

Let me give thanks even for my halting pace.

(Letter #2,886)

Sit next to me as I look out upon the valley, Lord, and show me which roads to walk. How do I get from here to there? When I arrive, where shall I set myself down and how deliver the news?

And what news? That all will be well, there is enough, that you have called us to live in peace. Abundance is the message.

All of that is to come. For now, Lord, sit with me.

(Letter #2,886)

You reside in the flower, the tree, the hill, the river. Power flowing through the land, there to see as I walk from place to place.

Am I sensible of all that is around me? Its importance too often escapes me. Only moments at a time do I see the power, hear the music — when I am doing your bidding, awake yet occupied.

Let me live precisely, Lord, with care and devotion to doing your will. Each day a new chance.

(Letter #2,885)

You visit me at dawn and soothe me. Will you come at noon, in the heat of the day, when there is battle to wage? At night, when chaos reigns?

Are you distant, or is my seeking inconstant? Let me call to you even when I forget myself.

Grant me a mind for peace, Lord, even when the world is at war.

(Letter 2,884)

My limbs move as I direct. I walk upright in the sun, stretch and move. My sight is clear.

Do I thank you for these miracles, Lord? Even in gratitude, do I use my strength to follow your ways in all things?

Let me ask and ask again, waiting for your answers. Let me do your will.

(Letter #2,883)

Standing on the edge of a farm that has become a battlefield.

Is the victory over myself, over others, over the world? Who conquers whom?

When we celebrate, let our gratitude be directed rightly. Let our battles teach us lessons, not cover us in glory.

(Letter #2882)

A meadow with no track. How can I know the way across?

I am my own source of chaos, let me walk in the direction the wind, your wind, blows. Let me not turn and struggle but keep the wind at my back.

Lord, let me walk, attentive to your ways.

Let my will align with yours.

(Letter #2,881)

Warm rains, dissolving walls between fields.

The walking paths fade, new ones emerge as we run from spot to spot.

This time of flood, what will I learn? Is my task to trust the waters will recede? Or to build boats for the people? Am I steward or lifeguard?

Grant me willingness to hear you in the rains, Lord.

(Letter #2,880)

I awaken; is this not proof enough of your love and power? How have I made myself ready for this day? How, too, shall I use this day to prepare for tomorrow?

The river holds many currents, some through rocky places, but they all move in one direction and will meet the sea. Therefore let me unclench my fist and jaw, and ride with the flowing waters.

(Letter #2,879)