In someone's darkest hour your simple act of kindness may imitate the sunrise, and to sad eyes you become their only source of light.

Sometimes giving up feels like the easiest thing to do. But then the easiest thing has never produced more than a garden full of weeds.

Sorrow on another's face often looks like coldness, bitterness, resentment, unfriendliness, apathy, disdain, or disinterest when it is in truth purely sadness.

The further you descend into a pit, the darker things appear. You can't keep digging to find the light.

Discouragement is like a scorpion in your shoe; it takes courage to toss it out so you can move on.

Rain is a lullaby heard through a thick, isolating blanket of clouds. It is the tinkling harp of water droplets; a moist breath whistling through willow reeds; a pattering beat background to the mourner's melody. Rain is a soft song of compassion for the brokenhearted.

Moisture falls from the sky, cleansing the world and sustaining precious life. But it's the gloom—the cold, dark air—that receives notice. We fail to see the miracle of raindrops through our own tears.

As ofttimes as it rains on my little spot of earth, you'd think I'd grow accustomed to the gloom.