Monday, June 14, 2021

Self-pity drives me to seek rescue from the most trivial of days. What may befall me? A neighbor will visit. An errand must be run. These are the things from which I shrink.

You, Providence, will supply. Will it be in the form of relief, or of energy to meet conditions?

The sun rises, Lord. I will greet it.

(Letter #2,347)