It’s the only letter like it I’ve ever received—and certainly the longest. I’m convinced he left out nothing.
Of course, I often do have a question or two, and wonder why he doesn’t explain himself more to my liking. But when I read over his words again I invariably find gentle answers that seemed hidden before, or confident promises that help me see my question was untimely or unwise or untrusting.
His words have proven to me how much I need him. I find encouragement and comfort, but also warning and rebuke and instruction. His writing in one place seems mysteriously deep in wisdom, but in another utterly simple in the plainest truth. He gives me profound and intimate views of himself, mixed with piercing insight into my own heart.
He knows me and loves me—this I know, for his letter tells me so.