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“Child’s seen too much of life for her age.
“I’d appreciate it if you’d mention my granddaughters when you’re talking to the Almighty.
“I will keep your granddaughters in my prayers, especially this little one. Do let me know if things change for the better. It’s hard for a child to be away from home.”
I never thought to ask her name, Father, but you know the little mulberry girl as you know each sparrow of the field. You are the white berry that removes the stain.
I didn’t go inside because I had stains on my feet from hiding in the mulberry orchard when my mama left us.”
Iola and I were not strangers. She had kept me in her boxes all these years. In her prayer letters. “I was the Mulberry Girl.”
No words can encompass the miracles of God.
Or the beauty of a hummingbird as it hovers just an arm’s length away, mysteriously out of season on the day before Thanksgiving, its wings stroking air, rapid, invisible, powerful.
What could more fully tell the truth about a person than words written to God in solitude?
The Prayer Box story itself, weren’t accidents at all. She would say it was divine providence. Something that was meant to be.
I believe divine providence has brought this story into your hands too.
take the time to think through, to write down, to clarify in your own mind the things you’re asking for, the things you’re grateful for, the things you’re troubled about, the hopes you’ve been nurturing. And then? Put them in the box and . . . Let. Them. Go. That’s what trust is.
May the glorious light fill you and shine upon you and draw you ever closer. We all know who waits inside the light.

