A box canyon.
A blank wall.
The seed eaten, just five grains of rye remain.
Hungry rabbits eye the granary.
Lord, miracles will descend. Where there was no way, there will be a way. Bounty will overflow.
These trials, this hunger, will fade. Let me be grateful already, this morning, for the afternoon’s gifts.
(Letter #2,550)
Daily Letters to God 