A wound spring, tight, until finally I am moved to ask: help me, Lord!
Is it virtue that caused my delay? Am I to be praised for finally seeking you?
Delayed relief. Free will. You leave the way to you open, Lord, but we must walk there of our own accord. How it must hurt to see the road so empty!
Let me, at long last, walk to you.
(Letter #2,973)
Daily Letters to God 
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