Dutiful creature, the mole—shadow sighted, digging his way through fields—going about the day without worry of what he will accomplish. No thoughts of fashion. No pondering his worth. There is only the toil to which he’s been assigned, hidden from view, the dark and dirty work of loosening the earth—faith pushing him forward toward the unseen

We should be so dutiful. Toiling to the life we’ve been given. We should be so faithful—trusting our senses, moving toward that which is felt but yet to be seen.

 

 

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