Monday dawns like a page still blank, waiting for the first stroke of your hands. You don't have to fill it all at once; write the day slowly, with what ...

Monday dawns like a page still blank, waiting for the first stroke of your hands. You don't have to fill it all at once; write the day slowly, with what you have today. God holds your pen when your wrist grows tired, and together you compose the week.


See also