In spring, he returned to the vicarage of Etten and spoke again about going to London, "If he really wants to, I shall help him go," wrote his father. But finally he went back to the Borinage, and that summer of 1880 he lived in the house of the miner Charles Decrucq at Cuesmes. There he wrote in July the wonderfully touching letter which tells what is going on in his innermost self, "...my only anxiety is, how can I be of use?... Can't I serve some purpose and be of any good?" It is the old wish, the old longing to serve and comfort humanity, which made him write later, when he had found his calling, "And in a picture I want to say something comforting as music is comforting." Now, in the days of deepest discouragement and darkness, at last the light began to dawn. Not in books would he find satisfaction, not find his work in literature, as his letters sometimes suggested; he turned back to his old love, "I said to myself... I will take up my pencil... I will go on with my drawing. From that moment everything has seemed transformed for me..." It sounds like a cry of deliverance, and once more, "...do not fear for me. If I can only continue to work... it will set me right again." At last he had found his work, and his mental equilibrium was restored; he no longer doubted himself, and however difficult or hard his life became, the inner serenity, the conviction of having found his own calling. never deserted him again.

- from The Complete Letters of Vincent van Gogh, Volume I