Friday, January 28, 2022

Ashamed at all I have done, already remorseful over all I will yet do, crushed by guilt over what remains.

What balm, you sit hip to hip with me in the morning, murmuring love into my ears. All will be well, you promise. All is well, you whisper.

Wretch I, am I to believe this is so?

You gave me the gift of hunger, Lord, that I may learn compassion. Penury, that I may learn stewardship. Guilt, that I may learn forgiveness.

You are the miracle of health and sunshine. All is well. All is well.

(Letter #2,575)