What need, Lord, of strength when you are present? When I have sought to draw near to you?

Close to you, cool water flows sweetly, refreshing breeze lifts, friendly sun beams. The field to plow, the garden plot to tend, the porch to sweep — all fade into minutiae.

Close to you, Lord, I have infinite energy.

Let me seek to be close to you.

(Letter #3,929)

In the morning, I sit still to be with you.

At noon, I seek you in the sunshine.

In the eve, I retire and look for you in the corners.

All the day, Lord, I seek you. Will you reveal yourself?

Could it be you are already here?

(Letter #3,928)

We stand before one another, Lord. You so immense; me so finite.

This forest, anon you will shed the leaves like a garment. Is the same true of the mountains, the stars?

The chill leaves the morning air, and I remove my cloak. Such a small gesture, echoing such a vast love.

All is well already as a stand before you.

(Letter #3,927)

Look how the ground stretches out around me in all directions.

Look how the sky is a dome filled with building light, dawn creeping from the edges up.

Look how the trees sway.

Could I be more alive than here, seated and rooted, feeling the ground, the breeze, the sun?

Could you be more near than in this moment?

Grace has arrived.

(Letter #3,926)

Today is not the end of this story. My regrets, my shortcomings, are about to be righted.

Thank you, Lord, for this grace.

Let me now face what is real.

(Letter #3,925)

Unclenched, sighed out, relaxed.

This is how you come to me, Lord, when I have released my tight struggles.

Let me give up.

(Letter #3,924)

O peace! O trial!

O rest! O effort!

This life of night followed by day, tension followed by ease, work followed by leisure.

Let me love dusk and dawn equally, Lord. For I know not which brings true grace.

(Letter #3,923)

I awaken.

I am awake!

The world awakes.

Bees, grass, trees, all sing.

Underfoot, Lord, let me feel the steady ground. Even as wind whips, the ground remains.

Let me be awake to it.

(Letter #3,922)

I walk through a crowded square.

Story after story after story, brushing silently by.

Is my own drama any different? What makes it notable, other than its familiarity?

Lord, let me listen to the murmurs.

(Letter #3,921)

The nearby cave, the towering oak and its shade, the fallen log on which to rest, the overhang along the mountain path. All shelter, safety, respite, provided on the way.

And yet I feel exposed. Is not the error mine? Safety is all around, shelter is all around.

Rescue, even, all around.

Let me crawl into your welcoming arms, Lord, and cease wondering from whence my saving will come. You have always been here for me, I needed but see.

All is well.

(Letter #3,920)