When we make ourselves vulnerable, we do open ourselves to pain, sometimes excruciating pain. The more people we love, the more we are liable to be hurt, and not only by the people we love, but for the people we love.

The unending paradox is that we do learn through pain.

A book comes and says, 'Write me.

What can we give a child when there is nothing left?

There is nothing we need be afraid to say before the Lord.

Stories are like children. They grow in their own way.

We are all strangers in a strange land, longing for home, but not quite knowing what or where home is. We glimpse it sometimes in our dreams, or as we turn a corner, and suddenly there is a strange, sweet familiarity that vanishes almost as soon as it comes...