How I got back home? The Adventures of Julia Gray

7

I officially got 20 euros for the day. I bought some canned soup and a loaf of bread. Mary was cleaning up dinner as I write my journal entry.

April 16 1943

Love is known as many things. It can be a service for something important to you. A kiss. Gifts (physical or non), or just about anything to come to mind.

 Reading my books have made me think that love can be more than just what romance and intimacy can bring upon your soul. John 15:13 says that: Greater love knows no one than this than to lay down one's life for one's friend.

 So just because you kiss someone or give them a gift of roses, or a juicy read doesn't mean they love you. Its more like looking at your lover and making a choice. Is he/she worth my life? If the answer is not immediately yes, then you don't love them.

Its hard for people like Scarlet O'Hara or Tom Sawyer who think about materialistic things as love. Rhett Butler loved Scarlet but all she every thought about was that new fur coat, or that perfect new dress. She was in of her head and lost Rhett for now I mean I haven't read the rest of the book. Tom Sawyer loved this girl based on her looks alone. He doesn't even know who she is yet. Not even her name (Bette Thatcher).

But in 1 Corinthians 13:4-8 says, "Love is patient, love is kind, love does not envy or boast, it is not proud, it does not dishonor people, it is not self- seeking, It is not easily angered. Love keeps no records of wrongs, love does not delight in evil, but rejoices in the truth. Love always protects, always trusts, and always perseveres. Love never fails."

I conclude in saying that you must look at yourself and think "I must respect myself before I can love others". Its only these little principles that makes of love.

Your love,

Julia Gray

I put it down and start to read again. I soon begin to think of mum and Luke, remembering those fun times of exhilaration and pleasure. I miss them dearly. I hear Mary whimpering in her room. I go in to see what is the matter.

She has eyes of Niagara Falls pouring like a butterfly drowning in the falls of Argentina. I sit on her bed, and it whines and whimpers. I don't speak and look into her eyes. It sends messages to the soul, and strengthening in the spirit. We don't converse, yet she nods and wipes her tears in her old wrinkly kerchief. I tuck her in bed and recite a prayer. 

"Dear Father, thank you for your safety, that you bestowed upon us, that it may never leave us. Please help Mary in her spirit, she needs you, we need you, more than ever. Protect us in the name above all names. Amen.

She murmurs what sounds like Amen, and turns to sleep.