Monday, September 20, 2021

Who hides the future, who creates this forgetting of the dim past? Who blurs my vision of today, that I know not even where I sit?

It is you, Lord. My mistakes, questions, and troubles are all brought and authored by you.

How shall I see even calamity as a gift? Shine into my thought life, Lord, and be with me.

Thy will be done.

(Letter #2,445)

Sunday, September 19, 2021

My heart is an ember in my chest, joy the wind that causes it to glow and glow and burst into flame.

The most important decision I make daily, to turn my chest toward the wind.

Joy, blow through me and sweep up the dust in the corners.

Lord, I am yours today.

(Letter #2,444)

Saturday, September 18, 2021

I came to myself, having lost the straight way. Dark woods all around. You pointed me in the right direction.

I met fellows, unsure of their intent, in secret rooms throughout the village. You sent them to me, the ones who would treat me with care, the ones who had come to know you.

I sit still and quiet under your gaze, your sunshine, protected and warm. Your light, reflected, become a beacon. They visit me in ones and twos , and I share how you came to me, how I came to know you.

This was always your will. Grace. Let me shine it upon others, Lord.

(Letter #2,443)

Thursday, September 16, 2021

I row.

Whether I live in a world of acclaim or derision, you have placed me in this boat and I hold these oars.

Let me pull smoothly and strong, let my movements be not frantic, nor create churning water. A tighter grip will not improve our progress.

Who else could steer this vessel? I know these waters.

I was made for a time such as this. Let me row.

(Letter #2,441)

Wednesday, September 15, 2021

You ask nothing of me; you love me under all conditions.

I call out to you, I barely hear my own voice above the noise, yet you appear.

This is grace, undeserved bounty. How am I to pass it on?

Show me your will for me, Lord. Grant me willingness.

(Letter #2,440)

Tuesday, September 14, 2021

I believe, Lord. Yet, attached as I am to the world, I worry over my fate and that of those I love. We are children in a sandbox, digging castles.

While I fret over the state of my body, my spirit walks with you among high mountain passes. The view exhilarates. I am a stag.

These high peaks are a new reality. Make me ready to roam, Lord.

(Letter #2,439)

Monday, September 13, 2021

A pile of wood, fashioned into a chair. Was it made to be a throne? A seat for nursing? For waiting on a train?

For what purpose, Lord, did you arrange me into this form?

Let me work equally hard to fulfill your intent, whether I serve royalty or the poor.

Your will, Lord, is my beating heart.

(Letter #2,438)