Susan Storm Quotes

Love is . . . Being happy for the other person when they are happy, Being sad for the person when they are sad, Being together in good times, And being together in bad times. LOVE IS THE SOURCE OF STRENGTH. Love is . . . Being honest with yourself at all times, Being honest with the other person at all times, Telling, listening, respecting the truth, And never pretending. LOVE IS THE SOURCE OF REALITY. Love is . . . An understanding so complete that you feel as if you are a part of the other person, Accepting the other person just the way they are, And not trying to change them to be something else. LOVE IS THE SOURCE OF UNITY. Love is . . . The freedom to pursue your own desires while sharing your experiences with the other person, The growth of one individual alongside of and together with the growth of another individual. LOVE IS THE SOURCE OF SUCCESS. Love is . . . The excitement of planning things together, The excitement of doing things together. LOVE IS THE SOURCE OF THE FUTURE. Love is . . . The fury of the storm, The calm in the rainbow. LOVE IS THE SOURCE OF PASSION. Love is . . . Giving and taking in a daily situation, Being patient with each other's needs and desires. LOVE IS THE SOURCE OF SHARING. Love is . . . Knowing that the other person will always be with you regardless of what happens, Missing the other person when they are away but remaining near in heart at all times. LOVE IS THE SOURCE OF SECURITY. LOVE IS . . . THE SOURCE OF LIFE!

Love is as varied and unpredictable as the rain is: it comes in constant summer drizzles, or sudden, unforseen storms that make rivers burst their banks and Cornish fishing boats rock and spill and lose their crew in the Atlantic.

I hate this. Both the storm and the plan. Why does it have to be ‘we’? Why not just me?" “Because ‘just me’ isn’t who we are,” Iseult hollered back. “I’ll always follow you, Safi, and you’ll always follow me. Threadsisters to the end.

Even the greatest feats of man lose their luster when one's head is filled with storm clouds.

Rain darkened with the approaching night, while the wind howled as if it was in pain.


Closed curtains subdued the storm noises, as if the cloth and glass really were a protective shell for Holywell.

If it’s the next storm, perhaps it’s going the other way.” “Goddess, I hope so,” said Dorothy, grimacing at her tea.


You happened to me,You scare me to death, you know. When you stormed into my life, you turned everything inside out. You upset all the things I believed about myself and made me think in new ways. I know who I used to be, but I’m finally ready to figure out who I am. Cynicism gets tiring, Isabel, and you’ve . . . rested me.And don’t you dare tell me you’ve stopped loving me back, because you’re still a better person than I am, and I’m counting on you to take more care with my heart than I took with yours.

I have to get my life back on track. Order as an antidote to chaos. Calm after the storm.

I don’t want to be fixed. Not by anybody but me. Just asking if you can see your way to hang around a spell while I do it.

The creative adult is the child who survived.” –Ursula Leguin

Oh Susie, I would nestle close to your warm heart, and never hear the wind blow, or the storm beat, again. Is there any room there for me, or shall I wander away all homeless and alone? Thank you for loving me, darling...

You ask me what I want. You. I want to be good for you. I got some things to work out before I’m any good for anybody.

The devices meant to float at sea and capture the waves' power have been destroyed in short order by . . . the waves. "they've all been smashed up in storms," Challenor said, shaking his head.

Susan’s fingers wandered, and her eyes sparkled. “Your mouth says no,” she purred, “but this says yes.” I went up on my toes, and swallowed, trying to keep my balance and get her hand off me at the same time. “That thing is always saying something stupid,” I told her.

I love you, Shannon. You brought me back. Filled me up when I was rotted hollow. I will love you until I die. Will you marry me?

I know you feel decimated, but don't let your circumstances tell you who God is. Let who God is tell you how to deal with your circumstances.

Their love was like two matches in a wind storm. They did everything they could to protect their flame. Even if that meant they got burned along the way.

Irina wants to fly into the storm,” the gel hissed. “Told us she would. I sent for help. She made a weird sort of scream. Like an animal or a great bird.

god's grace didn't mean life skipped over the hard parts. Grace meant that when life threatened to drown him, in those catastrophic moments, God enclosed him in the pocket of His embrace. Noah had learned that the onlyl way to discover God's sufficient grace was to let the storm buffet, then cling to God, like David said in Psalm 62:5,"I wait quietly before God, for my hope is in Him."

The storm came pretty soon," said John. "They won't have got much further before it caught them. We may find them any minute. They'll have got off the ice the moment the snow began." "If only they had sense," said Susan. "But they haven't got any, not that sort. People oughtn't to be allowed to be brought up in towns.

Preserve your own mystery. We live in an age of social media and what seems like extreme sharing of personal details. I would beg to differ that these revelations are not honest truths but more self-branding. Whatever the case, save a little bit, or a lot, for yourself. If you run around naked all the time, when the storm hits, you’ll have no raincoat.

For now she knew he had been right--the fields might fall to fallow and the birds might stop their song awhile; the growing things might die and lie in silence under snow, while through it all the cold sea wore its face of storms and death and sunken hopes...and yet unseen beneath the waves a warmer current ran that, in its time, would bring the spring.

It’s the kind of storm that Yankees make fun of on Facebook with a picture of a spilled cup of ice on the sidewalk that shuts down schools or a cartoon that depicts massive car pileups with one culprit snowflake. It would be funny, if a tenth of an inch of ice in Texas wasn’t deadly.

Kyle, I was so afraid.” Cole lifted his head from the comfort of her bosom to see her face again. She smoothed back his wild, knotted hair. “It’s you. It’s you. It’s you.” A crowd in the doorway interrupted their loving revelation. Nurse Susan stormed into the room. Cole ignored them all and kissed Kyle’s sleepy lips. “I love you, Kyle. Thank you for being alive. They didn’t hurt you, did they?” Kyle sighed. “They hurt me so much when they took you, Cole. That’s the worst pain on earth. The worst.” Kyle kissed his forehead and ran her hands over his back. “I’m your shadow. I love you too.

Like a wind, like a storm, like a fire, like an earthquake, like a mud slide, like a deluge, like a tree falling, a torrent roaring, an ice floe breaking, like a tidal wave, like a shipwreak, like an explosion, like a lid blown off, like a consuming fire, like spreading blight, like a sky darkening, a bridge collapsing, a hole opening. Like a volcano erupting. Surely more than just the actions of people: choosing, yielding, braving, lying, understanding, being right, being deceived, being consistent, being visionary, being reckless, being cruel, being mistaken, being original, being afraid . . .

Everybody has a favorite color. What color makes you feel good when you see it? What color makes things better?” He put his hands around her face and regarded her steadily, deeply. His thumbs traced the tops of her cheekbones. “Blue. Blue is my favorite color.” “Like sky blue, or navy blue, or—” “Like your eyes.” Show wasn’t a sweet talker or a romantic. He was just…true. Real. Direct. And it made the times he said amazingly sweet, romantic things like that a billion times more amazing, because he simply meant what he said.

I will find your words playing outside in the sun. They will drift in the breeze and hide away from storms. They’ll be comforting in your own way ... [Letter Jumble]

even the greatest feats of man lose their luster when one’s head is filled with storm clouds.

Outside was the calm that sat in front of a July storm, the kind of cloudy stillness that said you’d better get you and your bicycle on home before a gully washer let loose.

God is in the storm. That though the winds blow and my life feels torn apart, if I can just trust Him, I'll discover Him at the center.

God is in the storm. Though the winds blow, and my life feels torn apart, if I can just trust Him, I’ll discover Him at the center.

Funny that when skies were clear, he was the storm. But in the middle of the storm…He was the calm.

Come whatever storms. -Susan Delgado

God doesn't promise to keep the storm away, but He says He'll be with me through it. My faith won't protect me from the loss, but it will carry me and keep me from despair.~page 195

Their other hands flipped up, palm to palm, and Merik’s only consolation as he and the domna slid into the next movement of the dance was that her chest heaved as much as his did. Merik’s right hand gripped the girl’s, and with no small amount of ferocity, he twisted her around to face the same direction as he before wrenching her to his chest. His hand slipped over her stomach, fingers splayed. Her left hand snapped up—and he caught it. Then the real difficulty of the dance began. The skipping of feet in a tide of alternating hops and directions. The writhing of hips countered the movement of their feet like a ship upon stormy seas. The trickling tap of Merik’s fingers down the girl’s arms, her ribs, her waist—like the rain against a ship’s sail. On and on, they moved to the music until they were both sweating. Until they hit the third movement. Merik flipped the girl around to face him once more. Her chest slammed against his—and by the Wells, she was tall. He hadn’t realized just how tall until this precise moment when her eyes stared evenly into his and her panting breaths fought against his own. Then the music swelled once more, her legs twined into his, and he forgot all about who she was or what she was or why he had begun the dance in the first place. Because those eyes of hers were the color of the sky after a storm. Without realizing what he did, his Windwitchery flickered to life. Something in this moment awoke the wilder parts of his power. Each heave of his lungs sent a breeze swirling in. It lifted the girl’s hair. Kicked at her wild skirts. She showed no reaction at all. In fact, she didn’t break her gaze from Merik, and there was a fierceness there—a challenge that sent Merik further beneath the waves of the dance. Of the music. Of those eyes. Each leap backward of her body—a movement like the tidal tug of the sea against the river—led to a violent slam as Merik snatched her back against him. For each leap and slam, the girl added in an extra flourishing beat with her heels. Another challenge that Merik had never seen, yet rose to, rose above. Wind crashed around them like a growing hurricane, and he and this girl were at its eye. And the girl never looked away. Never backed down. Not even when the final measures of the song began—that abrupt shift from the sliding cyclone of strings to the simple plucking bass that follows every storm—did Merik soften how hard he pushed himself against this girl. Figuratively. Literally. Their bodies were flush, their hearts hammering against each other’s rib cages. He walked his fingers down her back, over her shoulders, and out to her hands. The last drops of a harsh rain. The music slowed. She pulled away first, slinking back the required four steps. Merik didn’t look away from her face, and he only distantly noticed that, as she pulled away, his Windwitchery seemed to settle. Her skirts stopped swishing, her hair fluttered back to her shoulders. Then he slid backward four steps and folded his arms over his chest. The music came to a close. And Merik returned to his brain with a sickening certainty that Noden and His Hagfishes laughed at him from the bottom of the sea.

Standing still, I watched the world heave and swirl around me in the air. The sandy earth of the beach was making itself visible to my young heart, reminding me that it still lived and breathed. I grounded myself in the granules and refused to let the wind take me away. I could barely see through the thick yellow sand that smeared the air. It held me entranced within its existence.

Blue took that picture. You remember? It was the day you proposed.” He hadn’t exactly gotten down on one knee and held out a little velvet box. More like shouted it at her and stormed out. But then he’d come right back and asked again. And she’d said yes.

I'm saying that storms happen - cancer happens. Accidents happen. We can either run from them, hide from them, or....go through them. God is with us in all of those situations. But yeah, some of his best people are pressed out, shaken, fermented...aged through circumstances or time.

Yep. Be. Believe. Hold on. Stand. Our best hope in the middle of confusion and chaos is not to try and solve our problems ourselves but to simply remember whose we are and who we hope in. You stay rooted in the middle of a storm—darkness, confusion, chaos—by putting your focus on the One who is stronger than the storm.

You look at me like you see something.” He drew his thumbs over her cheekbones and felt the swell as she smiled. “I do.” “No. Nothing to see.” She blinked and her eyes cleared and opened fully. “That’s not true, Show. I see kindness. Strength. And sorrow.” One hand slid from his neck, and she put her fingers over his mouth and through his beard. “When I look at you, I can feel you. I don’t know why.

David?" she asked as they approached an elevator. She was a little uncertain about doors that opened and closed by themselves and little boxes that went up and down. She supposed she'd just have to cope. "Yes?" he asked. She rested her head on his shoulder. "How should we celebrate our eight hundredth wedding anniversary?" "Hmm? How about with a good night's sleep?" "Suits me." Together they walked into the little moving box.

The abuse experience might have made her suspicious of anyone wanting to help and support her. Her abusive partner probably twisted the concept of trust in such a way as to shatter her willingness to trust others. It might be hard for her to fathom that an anchor has no agenda except to care about her. However, it is the very process of learning to trust her anchor which can help an abused woman. Through that relationship she can be reminded what real trust is, who is trustworthy, and how to trust someone again or for the first time.

Awake ye muses nine, sing me a strain divine, Unwind the solemn twine, and tie my Valentine! Oh the Earth was made for lovers, for damsel, and hopeless swain, For sighing, and gentle whispering, and unity made of twain. All things do go a courting, in earth, or sea, or air, God hath made nothing single but thee in His world so fair! The bride, and then the bridegroom, the two, and then the one, Adam, and Eve, his consort, the moon, and then the sun; The life doth prove the precept, who obey shall happy be, Who will not serve the sovereign, be hanged on fatal tree. The high do seek the lowly, the great do seek the small, None cannot find who seeketh, on this terrestrial ball; The bee doth court the flower, the flower his suit receives, And they make merry wedding, whose guests are hundred leaves; The wind doth woo the branches, the branches they are won, And the father fond demandeth the maiden for his son. The storm doth walk the seashore humming a mournful tune, The wave with eye so pensive, looketh to see the moon, Their spirits meet together, they make their solemn vows, No more he singeth mournful, her sadness she doth lose. The worm doth woo the mortal, death claims a living bride, Night unto day is married, morn unto eventide; Earth is a merry damsel, and heaven a knight so true, And Earth is quite coquettish, and beseemeth in vain to sue. Now to the application, to the reading of the roll, To bringing thee to justice, and marshalling thy soul: Thou art a human solo, a being cold, and lone, Wilt have no kind companion, thou reap'st what thou hast sown. Hast never silent hours, and minutes all too long, And a deal of sad reflection, and wailing instead of song? There's Sarah, and Eliza, and Emeline so fair, And Harriet, and Susan, and she with curling hair! Thine eyes are sadly blinded, but yet thou mayest see Six true, and comely maidens sitting upon the tree; Approach that tree with caution, then up it boldly climb, And seize the one thou lovest, nor care for space, or time! Then bear her to the greenwood, and build for her a bower, And give her what she asketh, jewel, or bird, or flower — And bring the fife, and trumpet, and beat upon the drum — And bid the world Goodmorrow, and go to glory home!

Then she remembered robin’s nests and rainbows and redbud trees and long drives big skies soft, worn blankets black-eyed Susans hammock naps treehouses red-eared sliders acorn wreaths fairy rings birthday crowns cupcake dinners honeysuckle lake water fried catfish summer storms moments of shared intuition the autumn tree line at dusk being enveloped by the warm C of a loving body being the enveloper being in the presence of Someone who believes you have something worthwhile to say being the one to whom important things are said and bird wrists and twig fingers and strawberry moons and finally: the symphony of hearts, the internal music that plays when one decides to renew their partnership with life. Yet the symphony had been playing faintly all along, a barely discernible underscore amid the noise of her going, going, long-term goaling, going, aiming, going, sweating, going, trying, going, failing, going, striving, doing, working, going, going, hiding, going, going, moving, going, going, excelling, perfecting, succeeding, winning, compartmentalizing, going, going, going, going, going. But now the call toward life was loud, swelling and triumphant— like a brass section with one hundred instruments, a musical theater ballad from a woman born to sing it, or a rock band full of young unknown geniuses. Suddenly, with such insatiable yearning, Wren wanted to fill her lungs. She did not choose to be born, but she chose, in this moment, to live.

The only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion.” – Albert Camus, a rumored INFP

If you create something powerful and important, you must at the very least be driven by an equally powerful inner force.” – Ryan Holiday

Nobody realizes that some people expend tremendous energy merely to be normal.”  ― Albert Camus

always hated that story because I felt like Jesus got angry with them for being afraid. But what He was saying is ‘I’m aware of you and your storms and your dangers, even when it feels like I’m “sleeping.

Sometimes, all you’re called to do is stand.” “Stand?” Fraser said. “Yep. Be. Believe. Hold on. Stand. Our best hope in the middle of confusion and chaos is not to try and solve our problems ourselves but to simply remember whose we are and who we hope in. You stay rooted in the middle of a storm—darkness, confusion, chaos—by putting your focus

on the One who is stronger than the storm.” Silence. “It doesn’t mean you stop fighting. But maybe your fight is to simply trust.

But grief is something else. It’s not fog, it’s a storm. It rages inside you, tearing at your organs, pulling at your heart, lungs, skin, until they feel like they are going to rip wide open, exposing the most delicate parts of you, leaving them bloody and raw. Grief is savage, like love. I think maybe it’s the same thing as love? It’s love that is trapped inside you, a bird that can’t spread its wings so it flaps violently in protest until it’s exhausted and broken and utterly without hope.

Criticism is often unwelcome for various reasons, but if we immediately go on the defensive, we can’t distinguish between valid, helpful criticism and unfair criticism. If you have an insecurity button that gets pushed when you are criticized, try to quell the automatic internal storm that erupts: “Who is she to criticize me?” “He thinks he knows better than I do.” “If I don’t respond strongly, she’ll think I’m admitting fault.” This reaction short-circuits the process of seeing whether the criticism has value and correcting the underlying problem.

Susan Sewell 5-Star Review "A supercomputer enhanced with artificial intelligence causes havoc in the life of its creator in the thrilling and suspenseful science-fiction fantasy, AI Beast by Shawn Corey. Since he was a child, Professor Jonathan Anthony Edwards dreamed of creating a sentient computer. Finally, his dream is coming to fruition, and his AI computer program, Lex, is almost ready to launch. To add to his delight, he has found someone with whom he can share his life. Beverly is an enchanting and beautiful woman who captivates Jon at first sight. In an unbelievable coincidence, her son, Nigel, is a student of quantum computing and is excited to be a part of Lex's debut. One day, while Jon and Nigel are working alone with Lex during a storm, something goes very wrong, and Jon is injured and sent into a coma by a blaze of light. When he finally regains consciousness, everything has changed at the University, and Nigel is in charge of Lex. While he has been out of commission, Nigel, Lex, and powerful world leaders seem to be working together to alter the world and humankind. What happened to Nigel and Jon that stormy day? Did Lex modify their psyches to use them to enact her secret plans? Incorporating prophecy from the book of Revelation and combining it with the element of artificial intelligence, AI Beast by Shawn Corey is a brilliant blend of science fiction and religion. Filled with suspenseful and intense, action-packed scenes, the tale chillingly portrays the terrifying conceptualization of a viable source that could be responsible for the fulfillment of the Bible's prophesied end times. From the beginning, the story flows at a quick pace, building momentum and culminating in a dramatic and explosive finale. Well-written with a solid, riveting plot, fascinating characters, and an intricately woven storyline, it is a stunning novel that is impossible to put down. The book contains deceit, passion, and exciting action scenes that will enthrall fans of Christian thrillers and science-fiction novels with a biblical influence. Due to some sexually intimate scenes, the book is more suitable for mature readers.

Yes, grace was terrifying when you knew just how much you didn’t deserve it.

You have to stop seeing yourself through the eyes of your disaster and start seeing the woman you’ve become. Our scars—my scars—are part of the beauty that makes us not only survivors, but beautiful. Stronger.

The mood at dinner is so chilly I half-expect a polar bear to storm through the door.

Second, the world is broken. Storms happen. Accidents happen. And people die. We can't escape that. So the question is - how are we to respond to that?

You can blame God,"..."and go it alone. Or you can trust that God loves you and that he'll carry you through the storm.

In my experience, relationships are much like being stranded in an ice storm when you’re knee deep in snow with nothing to keep you warm, or being thrown into a burning fire in ninety degree weather. The temperature never seemed to be just right, which is probably why I'm still single.

He quoted a verse from Isaiah. ‘As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.’ And then Dad said that God is in the storm. That though the winds blow and my life feels torn apart, if I can just trust Him, I’ll discover Him at the center.

I don’t know. It feels like God should save us from tragedy.” “It does. Yes. From our perspective, always. But while I can’t see past one meter, He can. And His purposes and thoughts are much greater than mine. So…I trust Him in the storm. In fact, I even run into them. And there, I expect to see Him already at the center.

But Jonas was there anyway. God is in the storm. Though the winds blow, and my life feels torn apart, if I can just trust Him, I’ll discover Him at the center.

Life is not about surviving the storms, but learning to dance in the rain, Susan.

Men were recruited—no women, for this initial attempt at colonization—and ships and supplies were obtained. In December of that year, a fleet of three vessels dropped down the Thames from London. For long weeks, the ships lay anchored in the Downs, just off the southeast coast of England, battered by terrible storms, waiting for favorable weather. Finally, in February 1607, the three ships set out across the wintry Atlantic. After crossing from England to the West Indies and then north along the Atlantic coast, the ships—the Susan Constant, the Discovery, and the Godspeed—dropped anchor in the Chesapeake on April 26, 1607.

Two starving kids and tree-hugging vegetarians. I’m going to kill Chase.” Phoebe didn’t blame him. Despite her lack of experience in the cattle-drive department, even she could see the potential for trouble. Then a familiar figure standing beside the driver caught her attention, and she waved. Maya grinned and waved back. “It’s Maya,” Phoebe said. Zane turned and followed her gaze. “Just perfect,” he muttered as his ex-stepsister walked toward them. “You’re looking grim, Zane,” Maya said cheerfully when she joined them. “Who died?” She smiled. “Oh, I forgot. You’re just being your usual charming self.” She squeezed his arm. “You’ve missed me, I know.” Zane’s eyes narrowed. “Like foot fungus.” She laughed and turned to Phoebe. “You’re still alive. I see Zane didn’t bore you to death.” “Not even close.” Phoebe hugged her friend. Maya waved forward the bus driver, a pretty woman in her fifties. “Phoebe, this is Elaine Mitchell.” “You’re the one Maya worked for in high school?” Phoebe asked. “I am.” Maya put her arm around Phoebe’s shoulders. “And this is my BFF, Phoebe.” “Welcome to Fool’s Gold,” Elaine said with a smile. Instead of her usual suit and high heels, Maya wore jeans, a long-sleeved shirt and boots. Her blond hair was pulled back in a braid. “You look like a local,” Phoebe said. “Speaking of locals,” Maya began, a note of warning in her voice. “Oh, shit,” Zane said before she could continue. Phoebe looked toward the bus and immediately saw why Zane’s face had gone a little ashen. The two crazy old women who had cornered her at his truck in town had just gotten off the bus. Eddie and Gladys, if she remembered right. The skinny one was wearing stiff, dark blue jeans and a plaid Western shirt with pearly snaps along the front. The plump one, who still looked as if she had asked for one of everything at the cosmetic counter, was wearing jeans, too, and leather chaps with fringe along the sides. They both had cowboy hats perched atop their white curls. Besides her Zane muttered under his breath. She caught a handful of words. Something about being old, broken bones and a reference to hanging Chase from the lightning rod in the middle of a storm.

Welcome to Fool’s Gold,” Elaine said with a smile. Instead of her usual suit and high heels, Maya wore jeans, a long-sleeved shirt and boots. Her blond hair was pulled back in a braid. “You look like a local,” Phoebe said. “Speaking of locals,” Maya began, a note of warning in her voice. “Oh, shit,” Zane said before she could continue. Phoebe looked toward the bus and immediately saw why Zane’s face had gone a little ashen. The two crazy old women who had cornered her at his truck in town had just gotten off the bus. Eddie and Gladys, if she remembered right. The skinny one was wearing stiff, dark blue jeans and a plaid Western shirt with pearly snaps along the front. The plump one, who still looked as if she had asked for one of everything at the cosmetic counter, was wearing jeans, too, and leather chaps with fringe along the sides. They both had cowboy hats perched atop their white curls. Besides her Zane muttered under his breath. She caught a handful of words. Something about being old, broken bones and a reference to hanging Chase from the lightning rod in the middle of a storm.

They basked in the sweet-scented breeze, and felt the sunshine warming their bare heads. Petals drifted from the gnarled apple and cherry trees, creating a pretty storm, like confetti. They lay together in the grass, watching a beetle trundling through the blades, its clumsy movements reminiscent of the soldiers' giant transport trucks. Birdsong filled the air, horse buses clopped through the street, and somewhere along the city docks, a ship's whistle blew. When it was time to go home, they packed everything into the basket and walked together, their clasped hands swinging between them. Annalise loved these perfect days with her mother, when the air was warm and the tulips and daffodils were coming up.

No wonder the world needed people of faith to stand strong—they were looking to them for the smallest inkling of hope. ~page 285

When you take the high road to living a virtuous life, you are fortified by knowing that regardless of what life throws your way or what storms may rage, you are grounded in goodness. In this, you secure not only your own integrity, but you secure it in the eyes others.

While some may consider being friendly an appealing personality trait, I challenge you to see it as a valuable skill. In a world where we are continuously bombarded with negativity and anxiety is at an all-time high, a warm and friendly person is a welcome relief. Training yourself to be the friendly “calm in the storm” makes you a true asset to your business, your family, and your community.

Besides her Zane muttered under his breath. She caught a handful of words. Something about being old, broken bones and a reference to hanging Chase from the lightning rod in the middle of a storm.

Zane awakened them both early. By the time Chase stirred, he had both their tents down and was on his third cup of coffee. Phoebe had promised she could act completely normal, but looking at her from across the fire, he wasn’t so sure. There was no way anyone could see her dreamy expression and not know something was different. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “What? You keep looking at me. I know my makeup can’t be smudged. I’m not wearing any.” It didn’t matter; she was still beautiful. “You look different,” he told her. “Satisfied?” Color flared on her cheeks. “You’re only saying that because you know the truth.” “Uh-huh.” He doubted that, but maybe she was right. Or maybe the weather would be enough of a distraction to keep everyone from figuring out the truth. “How long is it going to rain?” she asked as she fingered a pole holding up the canvas sheet they put up to protect the fire and the seating area around it. “It sure got cold and damp in a hurry.” Zane shrugged. “No way to tell. The storm is supposed to hang around for a few days, but maybe it will blow over.” He hoped it would. Traveling in the rain wouldn’t be fun for anyone. And he couldn’t simply turn them around, head to the ranch and be there in time for lunch. They were at the farthest point from his house. It was a full two-day ride back. Phoebe finished her coffee. “I’m going to check and see if my things are dry,” she said as she stood. He nodded, then watched her go. Cookie had started a second campfire on the far side of camp. Phoebe’s clothes and sleeping bag were getting a dose of smoky warm air in an attempt to get them dry before they headed out. Zane knew the old man wouldn’t tease Phoebe. Instead he would save his comments for Zane.

Hey,” Chase said as he approached. “The rain sucks.” “Agreed.” His younger brother settled on a log. “I checked on the cattle. They’re fine. The clouds don’t look like there’s going to be any lightning or thunder, but they look plenty wet.” Zane nodded. “Storm’s supposed to last two days. I was hoping it would hold off until Saturday.” Chase sipped his coffee. “Everybody okay?” There was something about the question. Zane stared at him. “What do you mean?” “Nothing. Just checking.” Had Chase heard something in the night? Zane shook his head. Not possible. His tent had been some distance from the others, and the rain had blocked out a lot of noise. Nothing about his brother’s expression told what he was thinking. “We’re heading back today, right?” Chase said. “That’s the plan. I wish it wasn’t a two-day ride.” “There’s--” Chase stopped speaking and stared at his coffee. Zane knew what he’d been about to say. Reilly’s place. It was only about an hour’s ride. The old man would give them shelter until the worst of the storm passed, and even send out a few of his men to watch over the cattle until then. But Zane wasn’t about to impose on his neighbor. Not now and not ever. He glanced at the sky and wondered how long he could take a stand in weather like this. Whatever his issues with Reilly, his guests’ safety came first. “I better see how everyone’s doing,” he said as he tossed the rest of his coffee into the fire. “Before you go,” Chase said and held out something in his hand. “I wasn’t sure if you had enough with you.” Zane stared at the three condoms resting on his brother’s palm. Then he glanced at Chase, who was grinning. “Way to go, big brother.” Not knowing what to say, Zane rose and stalked off. But not before he took the condoms. He might be stubborn, but he wasn’t a fool.

In the wake of the storm, sunset lay in a pink-and-amber swath over the rolling landscape, the trees in the orchard casting elongated shadows on the hillside. To the other side of the slope were Dominic's vineyards. The vines were heavy with fruit, the dense bunches of grapes nearly black in the deepening light. They held hands like a couple of teenagers. It felt ridiculously good to hold hands with this man. His touch was both safe and sexy at once. He walked with her through the vineyards, pointing out the different grape varieties, planting dates, grafting techniques. And always, like a song playing in the background, was the sense that they were moving together toward something, and she was scared and eager all at once.

He was killed while serving in the military, during operation Desert Storm.” She had only the vaguest recollection of the conflict. She had been in grade school when it was going on, and the conflict had been as remote as a space shuttle launch. Seeing the man in the picture, with his hauntingly familiar smile, suddenly made it real to her. “I’m terribly sorry.

The testosterone wafted off him like dirt off Pigpen from the Peanuts comics.

When it made the distinctive screech that only an old country screen door could make, another layer of lead came off his chest. That was a sound of home. Of history and memory and comfort.

The quest of the handsome prince was complete. He had found his fair maiden and the world had its fairytale. In her ivory tower, Cinderella was unhappy, locked away from her friends, her family and the outside world. As the public celebrated the Prince’s fortune, the shades of the prison-house closed inexorably around Diana. For all her aristocratic breeding, this innocent young kindergarten teacher felt totally at sea in the deferential hierarchy of Buckingham Palace. There were many tears in those three months and many more to come after that. Weight simply dropped off, her waist shrinking from 29 inches when the engagement was announced down to 23 inches on her wedding day. It was during this turbulent time that her bulimia nervosa, which would take nearly a decade to overcome, began. The note Diana left her friends at Coleherne Court saying: “For God’s sake ring me up--I’m going to need you.” It proved painfully accurate. As Carolyn Bartholomew, who watched her waste away during her engagement, recalls: “She went to live at Buckingham Palace and then the tears started. This little thing got so thin. I was so worried about her. She wasn’t happy, she was suddenly plunged into all this pressure and it was a nightmare for her. She was dizzy with it, bombarded from all sides. It was a whirlwind and she was ashen, she was grey.” Her first night at Clarence House, the Queen Mother’s London residence, was the calm before the coming storm. She was left to her own devices when she arrived, no-one from the royal family least of all her future husband, thinking it necessary to welcome her to her new world. The popular myth paints a homely picture of the Queen Mother clucking around Diana as she schooled her in the subtle arts of royal protocol while the Queen’s senior lady-in-waiting, Lady Susan Hussey took the young woman aside for tuition in regal history. In reality, Diana was given less training in her new job than the average supermarket checkout operator.

Sadness is thick, like a heavy fog that clouds your vision so you can’t see any of the good things around you. But grief is something else. It’s not fog, it’s a storm. It rages inside you, tearing at your organs, pulling at your heart, lungs, skin, until they feel like they are going to rip wide open, exposing the most delicate parts of you, leaving them bloody and raw.

Grace had always imagined that she would feel some sense of warning, at least for a millisecond before her life was transformed. She fancied that she was possessed of a hyper-vigilance, an awareness of a change in the cosmic field, much as animals can sense the coming of storms and earthquakes.

Follow the Bat in the mountains, to find the soil and stones. Follow the Fox and the Iris, to find the tides of home. Follow the Hound and the Giant, to find the winds and the storm. And follow the Hawk moving eastern, to find what flames have born. Follow the Rook to the snowcaps, and you'll find the soul that begins. But it's in the pitch-deep darkness, that you'll find where all things end.

The ocean wind blows against me, making me shiver like a frail petal in a storm.

Sometimes the nearness of a storm may deafen us to distant thunder.

But the winds are stirring. Clouds are rushing in, and darkness rides the earth. 
And when the storm comes, furious, fast, and violent… will those in its eye, when the pieces fall… …be left standing?

You may have rescuer tendencies if you tend to assume a director role in loved ones' lives when you see the need. You may view yourself as the kind of person who will do anything to help someone you care about. You are there at a moment's notice to make quick decisions and get things done, even as others seem to be faltering. It seems so clear what needs to be done. Perhaps you are a natural leader, efficient and organized. Perhaps it is excruciatingly painful to stand by and do nothing as someone you care about suffers. Yet as hard as you work, loved ones never seem to fully appreciate your well-intentioned help.

The dangers of one-man rule—of a president who would seek to “perpetuate himself in office”—could be realized, he wrote, only in “the last stage of corrupted morals and political depravity.” And at that grim point, term limits would be of no consequence.

As Abby began to trust Justine more, the lack of trust she had for her husband became more apparent and uncomfortable for her. As she attempted to discuss these concerns with her husband his abuse of her worsened. At the same time, her trust in her cousin was strengthening. When Abby decided to leave her husband, seeing little chance for change in their relationship, Justine was the first person she called for help.

If an abused woman can see and hear the different sides of herself, she can begin to make decisions about who she wants to be. If she chooses her inner self, as opposed to the self which has been defined by her partner, she is on her way toward rediscovering her inherent personality. Through this process of rediscovery she can unlock her own power to make changes in her life. Tapping into this internal power is the only way she will be able to create a life safe and free from an abusive partner. This is the role you choose when you choose to become an anchor.

Please,” Jonas said, and for a second she thought he might stop her. No more hope. Instead, his gaze latched on to her with desperation. No wonder the world needed people of faith to stand strong—they were looking to them for the smallest inkling of hope.

The book promoted no theories of autism causation and promised no astonishing recovery. The climax of the story was quite different: in the middle of one of Nat’s inexplicable storms of laughter, Susan realized that, even in his most difficult moments, he was trying to communicate with her. “He was looking at me warmly,” she wrote. “Now my throat was burning—this had cracked me wide open. Oh my God. He really does it to connect with us. Just doesn’t know how, other than to annoy us.” Her insight proved to be a pivotal moment for the whole family: “My epiphany about Nat’s laughter would mark a profound, positive change in how we dealt with Nat and how he responded to us.

Then she remembered robin’s nests and rainbows and redbud trees and long drives big skies soft, worn blankets black-eyed Susans hammock naps treehouses red-eared sliders acorn wreaths fairy rings birthday crowns cupcake dinners honeysuckle lake water fried catfish summer storms moments of shared intuition the autumn tree line at dusk being enveloped by the warm C of a loving body being the enveloper being in the presence of Someone who believes you have something worthwhile to say being the one to whom important things are said and bird wrists and twig fingers and strawberry moons

Don’t wait for the wind to push you be the storm that reshapes the sky.

I know you feel decimated, but don’t let your circumstances tell you who God is. Let who God is tell you how to deal with your circumstances.

a book club meeting—which was code for eight women getting drunk on expensive wine and decadent food and dream-casting the actors who should play the book’s characters—she’d

Ronin had learned a long time ago that anger had no value. It was a cancer, and the things people thought would kill it—revenge, retribution, ‘justice’—nourished it instead. The only cure for anger was excision. Cut it out, discard it, leave it behind. Anger didn’t give a man power. It sapped it from him.

feel decimated, but don’t let your circumstances tell you who God is. Let who God is tell you how to deal with your circumstances.

I see the clouds which now rise thick and fast upon our horizon, the thunder rolls, and the lightenings play, and to that God who rides on the whirlwind and directs the storm I commit my country.” [attributed to him by his granddaughter, Eliza Susan Quincy]

Don't be sad every storm runs out of rain, and every dark night ends with a sunrise.

Everyone thinks that God won’t give us more than we can handle. But that’s not true. In fact, that thought is absolutely contrary to the nature of God. He puts us in situations that are over our heads because He wants us to need Him. Paul said that when he was sitting in a prison in the bottom of a ship, during a storm at sea that overwhelmed them to the point where they gave up hope of being saved. In another passage, Paul talks about their troubles in Asia as being so dire, they despaired of life itself. That doesn’t sound like something they could handle on their own.” Her voice softened. “I know it’s terrifying to be in a place where we can’t control things. But we have to trust that God is good and He is sovereign.