Two voices.
One story.

I would come home from work and find her struggling with a Bible she could not make peace with. My youngest. And every question she came to me with left me with nothing to give her, because I had answers, just not the right ones. Not ones that would actually help her.

I could see what it was doing to her. I could see her pulling away from God, pulling away from herself, telling me she hated being a woman. And I did not know how to reach her. The only place I had ever gone for answers was the same book that was hurting her. I could not hand her that. So I prayed.

My name is not on this cover. And I did not want it to be. I did not come to this book willingly. But it changed me in ways I am still finding words for.

I could not read the Bible. There was not a single part of it that felt fair to me. I would watch other women reading it and loving it, finding something in it that comforted them, and I genuinely could not understand how...