Thursday, March 25, 2021

Drop by drop, belief crept upon me and the cistern filled.

In a parched, arid land I barely saw the morning dew for the gift it was. I dug a pit, hoping the rains might fill it.

I sought and I sought, but I never found you, Lord. Instead, you found me and pressed a cup to my lips.

O sweet nectar! There are all along yet unseen in my frantic digging and waiting.

Is all well?

All is well.

(Letter #2,266)