“You’re in the valley,”
she says to me, grabbing my shoulders and keeping her eyes on me— they never once wander away from me and find another thing to fix on.
“You’re in the valley,” she says again. “Welcome to it.”
We were standing in the middle of a crowded church lobby. I was rambling on about a boy in a coffee shop who wasn’t choosing me and a plane ticket I wanted to burn and a city I wanted to give up on because nothing feels safe or comfortable or certain inside of the name “Atlanta.” I was home for a short visit. I’d been living in the city for six months— waiting for God to speak and tell me why I was there. I wanted answers from her. Because that’s what you want from a spiritual mentor— black-and-white answers.
I was rambling with the hope that…
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