Saturday, June 5, 2021

For too long I have seen myself as the architect of my own rescue. I have enough for the day’s march yet I fret over tomorrow’s meals. It is summer days, yet I am despondent that winter will come.

Today is filled with providence, most of which remains unseen. I never saw the robber whose heart you turned; the avalanche that never began.

Resting in your palms, let me walk buoyed through the day, this day.

(Letter #2,338)