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I couldn’t recall anything particular about those four days. They were just four ordinary days.
How hard the believers make it to get into heaven, I thought, when they have all this right here.
the savagery of a man named Mohammed was rarely questioned, but his humanity always had to be proven.
Every miracle has a cost, though, that’s what I’ve come to learn, and it’s not always paid by those who owe it.
But my mother’s love was a war. It was fought every day for the sake of shaping me into somebody new, somebody better.
did I come to understand that love was not a tame or passive creature, but a rebellious beast, messy and unpredictable, capacious and forgiving, and that it would deliver me from grief and carry me out of the darkness.
