The death of a friendship was usually slow and insidious, like the wearing away of a hillside after years of too much rain. A handful of misunderstandings, a season of miscommunication, the passing of time, and where once stood two women with a dozen years of memories and tears and conversation and laughter—where once stood two women closer than sisters—now stood two strangers.

It's not how we fall that defines us as Christians. It's how we get up again.

Real love never fails.

A verse came to mind, one that has comforted Kari before. It was the shortest verse in the Bible: Jesus wept. If he cried over Jerusalem, if he cried over the death of Lazarus, surely he was crying now over the death of her dreams, the death of her marriage.

I write about the trials and triumphs of contemporary life - and often the readers see themselves between the lines of the story.

The truth was this: Love is a decision.

I write about true-life type things.