Sunday, February 16, 2020

The wind blows over my shelter; chaos spreads among the folk.

Before I can cry out, you show me the direction to walk. How to repair the damage. I know my duties before I ask.

Lord, thank you for what you tell me. Let me listen.

(Letter #1,863)

Saturday, February 15, 2020

Surely these things that trouble me are gifts.

This rain, that washes me clean. This wind, that will blow me to shore. This hunger, that will keep me alert.

Need I know what lies on the next chart? There is plenty to occupy me now. Let me therfore heave to.

Lord, I am your obedient servant. Let me also become your grateful one.

(Letter #1,862)

Friday, February 14, 2020

My heart is a small garden. It provides nourishment if I tend it. Each day, the tasks are the same, yet the results change. Some days there are new weeds. Others, a great harvest for my meal.

I will kneel, and set about removing weeds. Thank you, Lord, for the simplicity of this task.

My heart, a small garden.

(Letter #1,861)

Thursday, February 13, 2020

Do I run a race? Is the finish near, if only I persist?

Am I to spread good news? Will others here, if only I will speak?

Am I to be a steward of your creation? Do I quietly polish the floors, equally all days?

Do I live and play as your child? Will your loving hand save me from calamity?

Let me discern who I am to be today, and act as you would have me.

Guide me in my ignorance, O Lord. So many paths appear before me.

(Letter #1,860)

Wednesday, February 12, 2020

I wandered from you, fearful of shadows. Now I have returned, Lord, even though my cupboard shelves are empty. You send me out into the world nonetheless, and bid me trust that I will meet with supply as it is needed.

Let me cross the threshold of this day with praise in my heart. You will carry me, and tomorrow will take care of itself.

You are a small fire in my heart, Lord. Let me tend to you today.

(Letter #1,859)

Monday, February 10, 2020

The door flies open and there I stand at the threshold. Wind across the plain. Crisp air.

Stiffen my spine, dear Lord, and let my feet have courage to start walking.

Let not this wind trouble me. There is still solid ground on which to run.

(Letter #1,857)