When I was a baby, a man dedicated me to the Lord. He said, “Her works will praise her at the gates.” I haven’t dreamed in a while, or thought about building something. When things get hard, I just go to bed. I don’t have a leg up on a legacy. I don’t have a rainy day fund. I haven’t saved up for something for a long time. This little piece of literature is a coin in the bank. It makes a hollow clinking sound on the few other coins in the piggy. I’m writing for a girl who just took her hair down on a windy day. I’m writing for a little boy who beats up dragons. I’m writing for a husband who reads and sighs and cooks. I’m writing for me. It’s not much, but I’ve gotta have something at the gates.