The idols of the world crumble.
In the clearing, the aftermath, your child stands, alone and upright. Light shines down, fresh wind whips. The child’s heart quickens. Energy surge.
Looking down on the valley, what better vista could I desire? You stand with me, Lord, rooting my feet and strengthening my back.
What I fear holds no power. Let my will be yours.
(Letter #2,852)
Daily Letters to God 
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