putting his son on the altar. When I was a child, I didn't think Abraham should have put his son on the altar and, as an adult, I still don't think so. I don't have that much faith. Why would God want me to surrender my daughter? To write about it and then give others hope? No. I already did that about my family of origin and about incest. I don't want to keep undergoing terrible challenges just so the world can get the benefits of my experience through my writing. Let me experience some joy and I'll gladly write about that!
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Finally I let my pain and despair be okay. There was so much of it, I would come home from the hospital and lie down and let myself just be in pain. At times I didn't want to talk with another human being. When I was really hurting, my chest felt like a flat, gray stone wall. All my sensations seemed to be focused on this emptiness. I felt carved out. I felt my chest was like the back side of the moon: gray, huge, pock-marked with craters, absolutely devoid of life.
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At the same time, it had a shimmer like the new moon, where I could see the roundness. That was the odd thing: it was empty, I was empty, life was emptybut I didn't feel alone. I felt like the spirit of God was there with me, spirits of my grandmother, my brother, a presence, a resonance, a grounding voice that said, "I know it hurts." That's allno promises, no cheerful hopejust a presence.
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