The day touches me and I am awake. I fear the rain, the sun, the cold, the heat. Crowds and solitude.

I cower behind my door. Of what am I afraid? Each new act will eventually come to the awareness of my fellows and they will evaluate me. I fear in all instances, that I will be judged wanting.

Alone behind my door, Lord, let me see these fears rightly. They are shadows born of self-regard. No spotlight shines on me, no assays will be performed.

Lord, grant me a humility to see myself, my ordinary self.

(Letter #1,828)

The worker must labor. The student must study. The disciple must accept discipline.

The lover must love — and accept love.

Lord, let me be fully who I am before you. The worker, the lover. Let my devotion be action.

The pathway leads away from my doorstep. You beckon me — let me rise and begin the march without grumbling.

There is a meadow, and a cool stream down the way. Simple treasures. The only way there is on foot.

Let me walk, Lord.

(Letter #1,827)

A small group knocks at my door. They call me to follow them.

Am I needed where they are going? Or do I need to be with them?

Lord, are you in their midst?

I keep my door shut against intruders. My work, alone in this room, thus narrows.

Surely it is you who knocks. And yet I cower, afraid of what I will find when I answer.

Soften me, Lord. Let me fear not my fellows nor my duties.

(Letter #1,826)

I steel myself for burden after burden, labor upon labor. Will I be enough in the morning march? Will I be enough at noon? Can I persist through eventide?

Lord, take your child’s hand, and lead me into the day. Occupy me with just what is before me.

I fear what is to come an hour hence and already take my battle-stance. My weapons are ill-suited to this quiet garden, I have not even left my dwelling grounds.

Lord, let me love where I am. Labor will come anon.

(Letter #1,825)

Filled with doubt, I open the front door to view the meadow. What has visited in the night?

With reluctance, I round the corner and encounter my fellows. How will they greet me?

Sullenly, I gather the tools needed for the day’s chores. What will be asked of me?

The questions I ask terrify me. Lord, here on my cushion, whisper courage to me.

(Letter #1,824)

Let me be still. I tremble to fill quiet spaces with noise and action. Let me rest and wait silently.

Let me be efficient. I twitch and lash in response to every task. Let me have direction and certainty when my hands move.

Let me walk with purpose today, O Lord.

(Letter #1,823)

The dawn comes and yet I try to push it away. I hide behind my closet door, in hopes that the day will not begin.

And what is it I fear? I cannot even name it, this worry. It wraps me in its mist, all the edges soften, my heart pounds.

Lord, let me see more clearly what is outside the door. It is a still day and a shining sun, with a path winding through it. All that is asked is that I start walking.

(Letter #1,822)