They mount up to the
heaven, they go down again to the depths: their soul is melted because
of trouble... they are at their wits' end. Then they cry unto the Lord
in their trouble, and he bringeth them out of their distresses. He
maketh the storm a calm, so that the waves thereof are still. Then are
they glad because they be quiet; so he bringeth them unto their desired
haven."
I had drifted into the "secret place," the door was shut, and it was the
right time and place for me to pray. I saw that my life had been a
failure, that I was absolutely worthless, and that, if death came then,
there was not one good thing that I had ever done that would survive. In
fact, I could think of nothing in my life that was worth remembering. I
was not so much concerned about my own salvation as for another chance
to live and to do an unselfish work in the world. And so I did what I
thought then (and think still) was the only sane thing to do, I signaled
for the Pilot.
That night the rain came. I spread my oil jacket and caught an abundance
of water of which we drank deeply.
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