Is the day to be one of sorrow, punctuated by relief?
Or is my life better seen as a condition of joy, with occasional trials?
Are my trials, Lord, even so hard? Are they instead challenges, puzzles, even games?
Even as the season may be a hard one, nonetheless the sun rises daily.
Let me wipe clean the window through which I look out on the world. It is no dark landscape but a bright noontide I see.
(Letter #1,943)
