I’m trying.

Trying to walk out into the world.

Trying to reach you, Lord.

The rains, the wind, the resistance, all buffet me back.

Walking against the wind, I am trying to reach you.

What illusion that has befallen me! You are here with me inside, have been all morning.

Let me exhale, relax my tightened belly, lean back slightly, and breathe. Settle over me like gentle snow.

This is trying. Trying to accept the day as it is.

(Letter #4066)

Great work will be done; great work is needed — and so, first, let me remain still.

The roof leaks in the spring rains, the garden needs planting. This work awaits.

Inside, closeted rooms, dim morning candles, the day shut away while I seek you: this is the mainspring being wound. Soon I will be ready to leap forth to my labors.

Let me sit still, Lord, winding, winding, as I lean towards you to hear your whispers.

Great work will be done.

(Letter #4065)

Yesterday I gnashed my teeth at the winds that blew over the shed.

Today I rebuild. The breeze may blow gently, and the sun shine. Ease has settled upon me.

How many hours had I lost over brooding?

Lord, grant me acceptance.

(Letter #4064)

What footsteps shall I leave?

The heavy soles of labor, treaded and mud caked?

Hobnail boots, aggressive with battle?

The sandals of the shepherd?

Let me go gently, Lord, and if I am to leave a trace let it be just a memory.

Let me live harmony.

(Letter #4063)

Shall I drift, or pull with effort to reach the shore?

In dry days when the river is slow, crossing is easy. In the days after rains, I strain against the current to reach the shore. Is one more your will simply because it is easier, Lord?

Let me be ready to work, that I may enact your will. Direct my energies, that I may be your oarsman.

Let the river rush.

(Letter #4062)

Grey dawn breaks over a sodden field. Overnight storms. Repairs will be needed. The crew grumbles at the wet and the effort.

Am I to grumble at the inexorable work of the day? Or sing at chance to be outside? My voice may be lone, but they who hear in the distance may find the hours pass more swiftly.

Is there a better way to live, than with you, Lord? Then let me sing the news.

(Letter #4061)

Am I a wounded animal, curled self upon self, licking my wounds? A timid explorer, tentatively crossing the threshold out my door? A weary laborer? A bold adventurer?

No matter, Lord: let me set aside my many selves and invite you in. You have stood next to me all this time, let me follow your lead without thought nor hesitation.

Shine your grace upon me, let me be ready for it.

(Letter #4060)

For what are you preparing me, Lord?

Or have you already prepared me for this moment?

Was I made for this, or am I being made for that?

Could it be both?

Let me live fully and trust fully, Lord. This moment matters. Yet also shall it pass.

(Letter #4059)

I set out to walk to town.

Who knew the fork would appear, and that I would take another road, and where it would go?

Let today be the first day of a new journey.

(Letter #4058)

Walking the lakeside. Small waves lap, a moose on the opposite shore grazes, Alpine meadow behind.

Just days ago I was at a seashore, crashing waves and drama.

Does storm come before peace, or peace before storm?

The moment will pass; let me inhabit it, Lord.

(Letter #4057)