When you have died and your leaves have been raked, when you have looked on the face of God and had your final conversation, exchanging words others may never know, you will be where you want to be. If you cannot let go of yourself, if you cling to the filth that you’ve loved for so long, stroking the cherished scabs that line your soul—hates and bitternesses that you cannot lay down, an imagined mirror picturing a glorious self—then He will push you away. You will be sent out into the darkness, far from His presence.
