Suffering in lack, forgetting that you, the world, supply all. Every need met.

The waterfall of tasks and worry over the time left — miracle, you make even the clocks run slow!

Grant me awareness, Lord, even as I tremble: you are supply.

(Letter #4006)

The birds sing — what message do they carry?

The dawn in its glory — what triumph does it bring?

Ground underfoot, supporting me even in weakness — how could I show gratitude?

Lord, let me walk through this garden, your garden, with an awakened mind. Even in weakness, you give me sufficient strength for this one day.

(Letter #4005)

I am the keeper of this light, built generations before, its origins lost in time.

The light beckons into harbor from a distance; warns away from rocks on closer approach.

One light.

Let me be all you would have me be today, Lord.

(Letter #4004)

The air, the skies, the ground. Walking the lakeside, it is all so real, the view and the feeling of breeze on my skin.

Sitting inside, awakening still, before the walk: what will become real is still a future memory. A darkened room and a cushion are what I have.

Lord, let me notice what is true.

(Letter #4003)

Cloak after garment, let me shed, until I stand bare before the world, under the sun.

From this clear beginning foundation will emerge a mighty tower.

Today the work is clearing.

(Letter #4002)

On a bare plane, wind whipped and bright sun at noon: let me come face to face with myself, see myself with truth.

You have given me nowhere to hide, Lord, that I may see more clearly.

Thank you, Lord, for truth.

(Letter #4001)

What is beneath the foundations of the world, beneath even your everlasting arms?

Support, all the way down, never ending.

How, then, could the day’s pathway fail?

Let me walk without worry, Lord, even through the busiest storms.

(Letter #4000)

Are your plans my plans? Can I bring my thoughts into alignment with yours?

No matter how I struggle, the sun will rise and later set.

Let me walk the road you have laid for me.

(Letter #3999)

Am I huddled by a dwindling fire, or peering into embers for wisdom? Looking from afar, none could tell.

There is nothing unfolding in the day, Lord, upon which your light has not already shone.

Let my shivering be the anticipation of a racehorse.

(Letter #3998)

My troubles — light and momentary.

My feet — those of a deer.

You have made me for a time such as this.

Are you training me, or using me, Lord?

(Letter #3997)