"In my Father's house"

A Blustering wind whipped sleet and rain against the windows of the house. Standing high on a hill, where gusts from all directions could buffet it, the house seemed the center of a whirling violence; yet it stood fast, unshaken by the storm, its foundation deep, its structure firm.

In the highest part of the house, in a warm and comfortable room, one watched through the night, scarcely hearing the storm because of the tumult within her own consciousness. She had journeyed to this home to share in the adjustment of a common problem and to give what comfort she could to the human sense of grief. During the hours of the preceding day each member of the household had brought to her his weight of burden, until her own thought yielded to discouragement and she sought this room as a sanctuary in which to clear her thought.

February 28, 1931

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