Sixty-one years and a few months ago, a little girl was born. She grew from that baby to an adult with no real sense of where she might fit in this world. She often felt as if she was meandering aimlessly through life, with no purpose, and no meaning. There were things she was good at, but it seemed as if nobody cared. They only seemed to care about the things she was not good at. Eventually she retreated. She moved into a shell. In a hole. In a tunnel. Under dark clouds. She sat in her shell, and wished for someone to guide her, someone to cheer her on, someone to care. And then someone did – even if only a little bit. But that little bit was amazing, and she clung tight to that little bit of hope, that little bit of love, that ray of sunshine that touched her inside her shell, in her hole, in her tunnel, under the dark clouds. And then miracles happened. The shell cracked open. The soil raised up from under her, and thrust her out of the hole, out of the tunnel. And the clouds parted. In a world where so much seems scary, and so much seems threatening, such a little thing as love made all the difference. And it does. And it will forever.