Monday, March 29, 2021

I sought you on windswept plains, on mountaintops, in extreme circumstances. I thought I would find you on the edge of the world.

Instead, you came to me in this small room, where I sit hidden. Dawn does not trouble me here, nor the rains.

You crept in while I sat dejected and broken.

Let me seek not the exhilaration of the mountain top, but your sweet whispering in my closet.

Come to me, Lord.

(Letter #2,270)