Saturday, November 23, 2019

Failure will come; it comes already. You love me none the less.

Shortcomings drive my actions and thoughts; and yet you love me as a favored son.

Dark and selfish thoughts course through me; how am I then worthy even of your notice?

As I roam these fields, walk these cobbles, let me encounter my fellows with some small part of your love. It is pure grace, given me as an undeserved and even unlooked-for gift.

I am a steward of your love — let me onpass it.

(Letter #1,778)