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Your sweet, tender letter at hand.  May the dear Love that wounds to  heal bind up the wounds and pour into your life the pure sense of having been tested by chastisement and found legitimate.  Yes, you are right that the avenger of Truth stabs us through those we love most, as much as to say, ‘You have no moral authority for loving aught but God and His likeness.’  What is our remedy?  It is to watch, work and pray to make first one’s self and then all others into that likeness, patient, meek, loving; then the warfare is comparatively ended and we are saved from a false selfhood.  Oh, may the dear Love that knows no lack be so near that can catch the contact and are comforted.  My own trials can never be spoken.  They are beyond the present sense of mortals.  But the one dear Love binds up my bleeding heart, and I lean on its heart till I get breath to stand before the next volley.  Let us rejoice that the captain of our salvation is training us for higher service.  Mary Baker Eddy (Oakes, Richard, Course In Divinity and General Collectanea, p276)

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