Saturday, December 12, 2020

Where are those weeds I had intended to pull? Where that fence line I was to mend? I look, but cannot find yesterday’s troubles.

Today was to be a day of woe. Instead I have clear skies. What shall I do beneath the bright and unsparing sunshine?

Lord, I give thanks for the winds that blew over my pile of duties. Order my steps, and let me live the day gratefully.

(Letter #2,163)