And then, just like that, I was on the other side—the other end of the chasm. Through me, over me, beyond me. Safe. Saved. On that Eve of St. Valentine’s Day, I stepped out onto the sea and walked. I did not go under. Strangely, instead, even in my disbelief, through my ardent desire to believe, I was lifted up. The grace of it all poured out, like expensive perfume on weary feet, like soothing oil on a heavy head. I am sorry, God. I am sorry for all the ways I fall short, for all the ways I prefer myself to You. I am sorry that I have refused Your gift of freedom from the trappings of myself.
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