A clearing, in dewy morn, alone. Readying for a long walk. I have done this before.

Lord, watch over my journey this day. I fear what I may find, as I have on so many other mornings. Those days you were with me; be so now.

Quiet this unruly mind as I stow gear and remove my traces. Let me not fear noon, hours away, but settle my attention on my preparations now.

Teach me presence, Lord.

(Letter #4046)

A walk in the forest.

See the woods, see a tree, see its bark, see a limb, see a twig, see a leaf. It rustles in gentle breeze.

Breathe in, breathe out, as focus goes from wide to narrow.

You live in each scale. The soft wind blows from forest to leaf.

Let me follow your will, Lord, in the weeks and days and in the moments equally.

(Letter #4045)

Stone wall, stone floor, sharp edge. Stopped in my path, I hide around a corner in shadow.

I shiver here, when a step away is warmth and sun. What am I waiting for? Surprise beckons around this very corner.

I was on the way, Lord, let me walk again.

(Letter #4044)

On a long walk, knowing I will become tired, can I be assured of rest? Always, Lord, have I found a place to sit.

The herd lacks a fence — you provide the wood. Even when the rains come, they answer a need.

I so deeply feel my lack. Let me more deeply trust your providence.

(Letter #4043)

I see them approaching slowly across the plain. What will they bring when they arrive?

It will take they day for them to arrive, will I fret and worry the whole time?

No time, now, to sit in sullen woe over what dusk may or may not bring.

There is wood to stack, a fence to mend, a new song to be written. Preparations to be made.

The work calls. Let me do your will, Lord, even as my hands tremble and my breath catches.

(Letter #4042)

Breathe in and breathe out the morn! The birds call and the dewy grass beckons.

In a world of pressure, can I take a moment of joy, before I become diamond?

Let me give rest to all those who come today. Breathe in. Breathe out.

(Letter #4041)

Surely your plans for me today are not the same as my own. You are the Lord of Surprises, outstripping my meager imagination.

I plan to paint the fence; you bring rains and instead I rediscover myself meditating in darkened rooms.

I plan travel to a distant town; on the way I meet needy neighbors, stop to comfort, and so avoid calamity that awaited.

Grant me willingness, Lord, to love your surprises.

(Letter #4040)

What is my offering? What have I?

A brightened soul. An awake mind. A friendly smile.

Let my small gifts be enough, Lord.

(Letter #4039)

Dawn orders:

Yield ever.

Encourage the sorrowful.

Protect the weak.

Welcome all.

Let this day not be measured by absence of harm, but increase of joy.

(Letter #4038)

Pressed, finally crying out: enough!

You are more ready to help than I am to ask.

Grant me grace, Lord, that I may turn to you earlier today than yesterday.

(Letter #4037)