I see them approaching slowly across the plain. What will they bring when they arrive?
It will take they day for them to arrive, will I fret and worry the whole time?
No time, now, to sit in sullen woe over what dusk may or may not bring.
There is wood to stack, a fence to mend, a new song to be written. Preparations to be made.
The work calls. Let me do your will, Lord, even as my hands tremble and my breath catches.
(Letter #4042)
Daily Letters to God 