Could do but remain a helpless sufferer.

A thought came to him. It was always nice to receive letters, but why not write them–he could still use his right hand with some difficulty. But to whom could he write? Was there anyone shut-in and incapacitated like he was who could be encouraged by his letters? He thought of men in prison–they did have some hope of release, whereas he had none–but it was worth a try.

He wrote to a Christian organization concerned with prison ministry. He was told that his letters could not be answered because it was against prison rules, but he still decided to commence this one-sided correspondence.

He wrote twice a week, and it taxed his strength to the limit. But into the letters he put his whole soul, all his experience, all his faith, all his wit, and all his Christian optimism. Frequently he felt discouraged and was tempted to give it all up. But it was his one remaining activity, and he resolved to continue as long as he could.

At last he got a letter. It was very short, written on prison stationery by the officer whose duty it was to censor the mail. All it said was: “Please write on the best paper you can afford. Your letters are passed from cell to cell till they literally fall to pieces.”

Author unknown. If anyone has a proprietary interest in this story please authenticate and I will be happy to credit, or remove, as the circumstances dictate.