Huda learned to love what she had and to take what sweetness she could from life, her memories as pillars of strength. The refugee camp was good enough. She found solace in the bonds she forged by the strings of her own heart. With faith and prayer she could manufacture serenity, even after soldiers ransacked her house in their endless search for “terrorists.” As long as she could return to the arms of love at the end of each day, that was all that mattered to her.
Shouldn't we all learn to love like that?
