I have a wood pile along the fence that is about one third full. I heat my studio with a little wood stove not unlike the one in this beautiful painting by John Baptiste Camille Corot.
I have random attacks of anxiety about running out of wood and having to work in the cold this winter. I fend these thoughts off with little scripture chunks like, "Those who seek God will lack no good thing" (some where in the Psalms) or "Be anxious about nothing but in everything with prayers and supplication let your requests be known to God and the peace that passes all understanding with guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus" (New testament some where). I say these quietly to myself and as I do I hold up a shield to protect me from these flaming arrows shot from out of the pit of hell determined to burn down my little cottage in the woods.
Dear God, please send fire wood.