Dear God of Ice and Snow,
All of creation sings your glory, and I walk a bleak land of winter night. It tells me you are cold, remote, and silent. I could not survive long out here.
In the warm, I had doubts and complaints, and when I felt the cold knocking on my skin, they increased. But into my walk, my whining froze to death and I had marvelous thoughts.
I wonder when I get home, really home, if there will be snowy places with night, where I can look at you far away and vast, and learn from the cold.
You Servant,
BJ
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