A pair of long, black woolen stockings hung there, and in one of them a huge darn. A perfected circle of calmly woven thread, no bobble or tug, no tension, no rough knot. Only someone very special, stable, and peaceful could make that kind of darn. To me it was a work of art. To do the smallest thing so supremely well, it had to be done with Love.
There is hardly ever a complete silence in our soul.
God is whispering to us well-nigh incessantly.
Whenever the sounds of the world die out of the soul,
or sink low,
Then we hear these whisperings of God.
