... For I Know I Shall Be

Perhaps If I Make Myself Write I Shall Find Out What Is Wrong With Me.

I Could Hear Rain Still Pouring From The Gutters And A Thin Branch Scraping Against One Of The Windows; But The Church Seemed Completely Cut Off From The Restless Day Outside--just As I Felt Cut Off From The Church. I Thought: I Am A Restlessness Inside A Stillness Inside A Restlessness.

Thinking Of Death--strange, Beautiful, Terrible And A Long Way Off--made Me Feel Happier Than Ever.

Just To Be In Love Seemed The Most Blissful Luxury I Had Ever Known. The Thought Came To Me That Perhaps It Is The Loving That Counts, Not The Being Loved In Return -- That Perhaps True Loving Can Never Know Anything But Happiness. For A Moment I Felt That I Had Discovered A Great Truth.

I Have Really Sinned. I Am Going To Pause Now, And Sit Here On The Mound Repenting In Deepest Shame.