Bitterness is like a cancer. It eats upon the host. But anger is like fire. It burns

it all clean. Maya Angelou.

I know of an anecdote, one about a little girl named Madeline. Little Madeline was seven

years old, with dark chestnut hair and wide blue eyes.

Everyone thought she would grow up to become such a pretty woman, and a smart one at that.

Maddie loved to read books, all kinds of books, fairy tales and history, fantasy and mystery.

Her parents were so proud of her for being so smart, pretty,

and brave. They knew she was special, but they were all so scared. You see, little Maddie

was sick, very sick. She rarely left her bed, but she had her books, and the love of her parents to keep her

company.

She was brave for both herself and then.

Of course, Maddie didn't know any better.

One day, on a sunny afternoon in December, not a dark stormy night in autumn, just a few

days after Christmas, Maddie's parents came into her room full of books and

leftover wrapping paper, all crinkled and sparkling in the sunlight that leaked through

her window.

They said they would have to leave her alone for a while.

Not long.

Just an hour.

Just enough time to meet with the doctor.

They said that they would be right back and if there were any trouble to call them with

the phone that was kept on the nightstand.

...