Recently, I finished Gilead and Home. Read them. Stop everything else, take up a pen, and devour these books. I read Housekeeping as a senior in high school; something about that book, or reading that book, changed me--but I'm not sure what. Gilead is definitely on the list of "favorite books in my lifetime." I loved Home; perhaps because of the ways it informs and plays off of Gilead. I don't know. They're both amazing. Part of me wishes I was a blend of Marilynne Robinson and Kimberly Johnson.
The term "grace" has been floating in my mind since reading these books. They deal primarily with God's grace, but also with the grace people allow each other. I fear that I am not a very graceful person, in movement or motive. I believe in severity, perhaps I prefer severity, because I do not grasp the possibility of grace. I have faith in its reality in God, but oh I am weak and ignorant and proud and selfish and prefer the gauntlet to the maggoty remembrance of my sins. How do I grant myself grace? And if I cannot accept even my own measly offering, how will I ever accept the Lord's?
If you haven't already, pick up a copy of the book of essays she wrote (The Death of Adam). I'm nearly finished with them, and I'm consistently full of envy for her awesomeness.
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