In an old house in Paris that was covered in vines, lived twelve little girls in two straight lines. The smallest one was Madeline.
Something clicked today. Before I heard about Mandela. Before I thought about what my prayer would be if I was locked up for almost three decades. Before I thought about what struggle *really* feels like: needing food, drinkable water, shelter.
New goals. New things. Return to a soft heart. Less senseless fear. Less self-doubt. More compassion. Look strangers in the eye. Really look. And then smile. More resolve about the profoundly deep things.
Like, God is good. Always.
And carpe f***ing diem.@22 hours ago