The good Samar... Atlantan?

It was 11:23 p.m. on Tuesday night when I woke up to a woman's scream. 

"Great. Just great," I thought. "Stupid neighbors are at it again."

I opened my eyes and saw light coming through the bedroom window. We live on the top floor of our building (the 4th floor counting the basement apartments facing the woods), and Josh and I are used to hearing raised voices coming from other apartment balconies below us. At first, I dismissed the yelling, but the lights went away and the one loud voice continued.

"PLEASE, SOMEBODY HELP ME," the woman screamed out. "HELP ME!"

I jumped out of bed and looked out the window. Brady barked. On the road behind the apartment complex, I saw a woman on the ground beside her car and thought the worst. Raped. Hurt. Mugged. Beat up. Something bad. 

My heart is whole

As far back in my memory as I can go, I can always remember my parents and my grandparents telling me to "date only who you'd think would make a good mate." As I got older, they also told me to "save myself" for marriage. They didn't just give me the good ol' "it's what's right" or "that's what you're supposed to do" spill. They were honest, and my parents told me something that I never forgot: "You and your future husband will treasure being able to share your whole heart and his with each other." (Somewhat in my own words, but that's what I remember).

When I one day have a daughter and/or a son, I'd like to share this hypothetical story about giving your heart away... enjoy. (This rendition would be for a daughter).

Let's say you meet this wonderful, fantastic guy. Your relationship is amazing. You can tell him anything.