The ocean has limits, but true love does not.

Love gives you knees to crawl, feet to run, legs to sprint, and wings to soar.

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, not the mirror.

When you hear love calling you, don’t pretend to be deaf.

A sword can only pierce the body, but love can pierce the soul.

If you are too busy to love, you are too busy to live; if you are too busy to live, you are too busy to love.

We cannot see love yet its nurturing warmth is the essence of our being and sorrow can touch our very soul. For remorse is like a ripple on the ocean, once given it remains only in the heart of the receiver.Believe in Yourself by Grace Willows

Beds ain't for sleeping, and clothes ain't for bed.

When I see my future, I see you...

She was wrapped in my jacket, almost swallowed by it. You never realize how small a woman is until she wears your clothes.

As a child, crisp spring afternoons were spent wading along Reedy Creek just beyond the field. Then came the heavy breeze in the autumn, pushing off the almond, auburn, sugar-yellow and apple-red leaves into the creek, providing rafts for dragonflies. In winter, the snow upon the wood became an eerie deep, and the occasional gliding of an owl would be spotted from our bedroom. Then, to spend an afternoon walking in a snowy wood and find a scarlet red cardinal perched on a white limb, you would think God arranged that picture just for you.

Eden hid her smile in my hand and leaned down and kissed me. I took her face in my hand, her velvety skin like energy against my fingertips. Her love for her family and for people who were hurting all collided with her stunning beauty and made her irresistible. I kissed her forehead, her cheek, her neck, and her chin. Our noses touched, and she drew a shaky breath. Her hair hung around my face, creating a veil that hid us from the world.

She shook her head, and we parted, kissing, as the first beams from the sun burst forth behind us. When I returned to my bedroom, the scent of her hair remained on my pillow. For the first time in my life, at the age of twenty-five, I was in love.

So we went for a stroll in Alumni Park, a grassy lawn in front of Pepperdine that overlooks the coast. Deer trickle down from the hills and rocky bluffs to graze there. The coral trees rise like watchtowers over a pond where fresh water reeds grow, providing a small refuge for ducks and wild birds. At night, a full moon leaves a trail on the ocean’s black waters, and the constant coastal breeze disturbs the tree limbs, sending their leaves into a continuous stirring.

Grandpa would go for strolls alone through the pastures where meadowlarks and grasshoppers flew like broken-winged birds, where rabbits constructed their havens, and where thick-coated coyotes and red-tailed foxes sniffed and searched them out.

I went for walks across the fields in my cozy, cotton-knit shirt, my worn out jeans, and my cowboy boots. I would stand at the pasture fence and watch the sun set. One day, pink ripples trailed its red ball; then the next it was a yellow bulb shining against gold-dusted clouds. Though it seemed as if heaven was on the other side of the hill, for some reason, the sunset was sad. At night, I would sit in the rocking chair by the fire with a cup of coffee and a book in my hand, a practice I had grown to love over the years. But what was once refreshing was now depressing. And when I stopped to ask myself what was wrong with me to see the world as so dull, dark, and worn-out looking, I remembered.

Grandpa stopped and looked at me. I paused, too, knowing this meant he had something important to say. His body was frail, but when he stood with his chin up like that, staring into my eyes, I had no choice but to respond with complete honesty. He could level me with that look. I was like a vulnerable child every time he did it.