“When someone stood up to read their story, I pictured the Mr. Clean version of God lounging back in His heavenly lawn chair, knocking back pink lemonade and snorting over who we painted Him to be with our words. I pictured Him shaking His head and fist-pumping when the stories got good and he got to play all the right hero parts. I imagined Him jotting notes and highlighting sections about things He’d need to fix in some of us. I saw Him shedding egg-size tears when His own creations damaged one another. I pictured Him blushing a bit when we said lovely things, and used constant kind words, the day we asked Him to stick around. The day we really, really meant it.”

“Some people are dotted lines and other people are destinations. Some people get you somewhere and some people are just a place to be, all in themselves.”

This book is liberating. Both emptying me and filling me up, if you can only image what that looks and feels like.

As Hannah recounts her life thus far, a deeper strength is forming under my skin. A hungrier desire to tell my story.

This process is debilitating. Consuming. It’s breaking down all the right walls. And in turn, prompting me to rebuild.



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