Every morning I write myself a letter. I fill margins with wise words, encouragement and deploring of God submissions.
I’d like to believe and since faith is believing what I can’t see but, knowing it true somehow…
that God sees my journal and like the sound of the mailman’s truck pausing three houses down, stopping next door and
making its way out front; He hears and bends to gather my mail.
Oh, Lisa is praying, let me turn to open her letter. Let me read of her gratitude and consider her needs.
Let me pause to hear her heart and lead her to my reply as she opens my love letter, my word.