Why do I have such a hard time trusting Christ, without whom there is no joy and in whom all joy abides? Why would I seek water from any other fountain? They are but broken cisterns, but, in him, life wells up so abundantly that it cannot help but to pour forth over everything in his presence, like a tidal wave bursting out onto a desert, bringing life to a desolate land.

Is that not enough? Will those who are thirsty say to the sea, “You are not enough”? Do those who are hungry curse the bread which has been given to them? What traveler who is weary refuses a bed on which to rest?

Why are you downcast, O my soul? Hope in God!

The bride eyes not her garment,
But her dear Bridegroom’s face;
I will not gaze at glory
But on my King of grace.

Anne Cousin, The Sands of Time are Sinking