She closed her eyes. "God hath not given us a spirit of fear; but of power, of love, and of a sound mind." The verse resounded in her mind. Part of her knew that one of the best ways to overcome any fear was to face it head on and walk through it, instead of trying to run away from it. Once she persevered and made it to the other side, the fear would be less menacing and less controlling. It was just the process of getting there that was so difficult.

The love within them shone as brightly as the lighthouse beam on the darkest, stormiest night. It broke through her confusion and heartache and filled her with a warm glow.

Besides, every woman appreciates when a man takes the time and effort to demonstrate his love, not for what he can get out of it but for what he can give.

It took more courage to love in the face of loss than to close oneself off out of fear of getting hurt.

She didn't know how long she'd have him. There weren't any guarantees. But she didn't want to hold herself back from loving him and miss out on the joy and beauty because she was too focused on the dangers.

Sister Agnes had called it “true love’s kiss.” I didn’t know if such a kiss was somehow enchanted. More likely the kiss was a summoning, a beckoning, a pleading that resonated deep within the soul of the dying, urging that person to fight back and return to the arms of the one giving the kiss.