I don't really know how to feel. I'm not so pretty sometimes. I have lost sight in this past week. But brought back now to realize that when I lose sight, that's when I lose joy. And I don't ever want to lose my joy, and have a day when I can't smile and I couldn't sing.
After I wrote the last entry, I was wandering through one of my notebooks and found a folded up piece of paper in between the pages. I can't write out here what was on it, but it stopped me dead in my pitying myself. It was something I wrote. I don't remember when and I don't remember why. I guess you could call it a confession. A confession of submission... letting go. A willingness to give up trying to know why, and trying to carry a load I wasn't meant to. To just be held. And to simply, simply trust. There couldn't be any more than that peace when I am in that place, that blessed, blessed peace.
O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled
as to console;
to be understood as to understand;
to be loved as to love.
St Frances of Assisi