Sometimes I lift my head up out of the world I have created to survive in and I realize that I have a child. The child is like a perfect piece of pale silk and I want to protect her from every stain and smudge. I want to fold her into the world I have created to survive in and keep her there. Except then she would fade and disintegrate in my excessive care.
Some stains and smudges wash away and some do not and they become part of her unique pattern. My job is to make sure that the stains and smudges become something beautiful to her and make her fabric stronger.