Let me devote this day to you. How shall I do so? Do you ask any more than that I try to live in your presence?

I have no knowledge of how or whether you will use me today. The master builder does not use every tool at every moment. The saw only cuts, the hammer joins.

Let me, then, remain ready today, in case you need an instrument such as me. In that case, let me present myself with a keen edge and without rust.

(Letter #1,761)

Thank you for the support you are sending my way.

I look out at the day and am filled with fear. You will bring me all I need. You will teach me to live without the need of courage.

This day that I fear will have passed like any other. What will you have had me do, O Lord? Let me do that with joy.

(Letter #1,760)

I am afraid of each new task, each new obligation. On learning of them, I respond with dread and woe, even when the chores are simple.

This is my companion, sloth, visiting. Idleness calls. I shun effort. I work grudgingly, under half steam.

And yet, each moment must be lived through.

Lord, grant me the willingness to inhabit my moments and to do what is before me.

(Letter #1,759)

These lands, at dawn, are so quiet, yet my heart thumps. Walking through mist and attending to chores, I tremble in my agitation and I am scarcely here.

Worry narrows my prayers: I seek relief from the most trivial of circumstances. Tired, I wish for a brief rest when instead you offer perpetual ease. Lonely, I pine for a moment of connection when instead you offer lifelong friendship.

Lord, I grip the railings, terrified I may stumble. You stand ready to rain abundance upon your children, my brothers and sisters. Let my hands open, that I may accept your gifts.

(Letter #1,758)

I ache, for I know how far short of my potential I fall.

I could devote more of myself to you. I could give more. I could perform my labor with greater effort and industry. I could cast away yet more of my possessions.

There is a yawning gap between who I am and whom I could be—enter this space, O Lord. My hoard avails me nothing.

I stand at the threshold in the cold dawn, fearing the frozen ground under my feet. Yank me out of stillness and set me walking these lands, distributing all I have and more.

(Letter #1,757)

You knock; will I open? Do I hear?

My hands cannot touch you, my eyes cannot see you. I am distracted by this wind, these noises and worries.

O Lord, do not stop knocking, I beg. I may yet hear you when I learn to be still.

Make me ready, sweet Lord, to open the door. Let me fling it wide.

(Letter #1,756)

Thank you for all that is to come my way.

Thank you for the forthcoming rescue, for the words that will come just when they are needed, for the support that will arrive when I am weak.

Thank you for the lessons I am to learn and the humility I am to be driven into.

Lord, I will praise you before I have reason to. Let others see and join.

(Letter #1,755)