The blue skies are dotted here and there with white clouds. At night the stars shine undimmed in all their glory. God’s peace, his blessing, is felt so clearly…

My dearest Alice,

Your long letter with the glorious description has given me very much pleasure. Yet I do not envy you.

Yes, you are right: my city is noisy, hot, dirty in the summer, cold, uninviting in the winter. My days are spent in narrow, evil-smelling streets, in overcrowded houses, going through innumerable backyards where a few dusty flowers struggle vainly to find some sunshine.

Yet I walk in beauty; I am steeped in it. It greets me everywhere—in the eyes of the little children who come running toward me with glad cries and trusting hands.

It is in the faces of the uncomplaining women, who are always tired, often sick, and stand strong and brave at the place God has chosen for them—making, out of small dark rooms, homes for their men, their children.

It is in the firm clasp of a man’s hand, which in its very silence conveys, more than mere words could ever do, the wealth of gratitude for a little service rendered.

It overwhelms me at times, almost blinding me when it reveals itself in all its glory in youth that come to me from my dark slums—asking for help to lead others, to become nuns or priests so that they in turn might lift the heavy load from the patient shoulders of the poor.

God’s blessing is on your lake and on your hills, but God himself is in the slums. His footsteps are everywhere, and where he has passed, beauty remains.

You best will find her where people plod. For Beauty walks where walks the Son of God.