Sunday, December 12, 2022

Fear speaks. Worry grows.

Poverty. Ignominy. Calamity. Even before my feet are on the floor.

Yet I walk upright through secure rooms. Above a roof. Food to eat. Eyes to see.

You came before all, preparing the way and drawing the crowds. We thrive under your loving gaze. Why worry we?

Through my dry roof, rain your love upon me, Lord, that this fear may be drowned out and washed away.

We have enough, are safe, and dry.

Providence. Love. Safety. Even before our feet are on the floor.

(Letter #2,528)