When a heart becomes as a morass, one loses hope of building anything lasting there. To build upon a morass, it must first be made solid by fillng it with good sand and soil. In large part, I believe such soil consists of purpose - with hope mixed into it, and faith. The best means for accomplishing so large a job as this is to gather managable loads, carried together with the hands of willing helpers; and the best source is near the river where the soil is soft and fresh and fertile.

The river is Love, and sweet fruit is born of its vitality, in due season. Of course, one would not uproot good trees that grow there to get what is needed. The wise one digs where the ground is free. Likewise, occassional sips are needed at times of rest, but one must finish the work to establish the heart before taking a long swim or planning irrigation by its streams. Even better, however, would be for one to seek to become planted in a good place along its banks in a new beginning; and this, too, may require willing hands to lend aid.

Anyone can see that a swamp of tears is no place to dwell, but one has to admit it is not hopeless if there is yet breath to call for help and there are willing helpers. May I never fail to help such a one in need.