Wednesday, February 5, 2020

Where are you? I face what is beyond my doorstep alone, trembling at the vast plain. How will I survive this harsh place, with its beating sun and dry springs?

Remembered voices drift through my thinking: I am loved. I am well able. There is a plan. Now these are faint echoes.

Lord, I have been here before, felt the fear, the worry, the deflation. It passed. You returned.

O let this happen again. Return to me, dear Lord.

(Letter #1,852)