- Shopping Bag ( 0 items )
Posted September 17, 2002
I sit on my deck in the afternoon sun, grateful for my cup of coffee and so much peace. . . and I reread The House Were the Hardest Things Happened and I cry all over again at the confusion and shame and pain that we carry through this life. I know that our desire to belong and to exclude starts when we can first string words together, "You can't come to my birthday party. . . You're not in my club. . . You're not on our team anymore. . .You can only play if you're the monster." It truly is the house where the hardest things happened, but what I love about Kate Young Caley's book is that remembering has to do with healing, not with bitterness. It reminds us that our everyday life is joyful and funny and ironic. It is written to build understanding, not merely to categorize our faults. It wonders out loud how God can reach through all our awfulness and love us still. . . and how we can love God in return.Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.