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Maybe something can only be born when something else dies. Maybe our ‘coming alive’ feels like being dragged through the dirt. Maybe you and I are hanging my a thread of grace for most of our lives and we’re expected to be humble, not haughty, with the breaks we’ve been given. Maybe we’re supposed to pay good deeds forward. Maybe we’re supposed to think what’s in it for me? far less than we do. Maybe we need to sacrifice more. Maybe it won’t feel like a sacrifice at all, but more like the sensation of becoming unnumbed.
