Love Warrior (Oprah's Book Club): A Memoir

Suddenly I find myself wanting more beauty, more love—as if gratitude immediately widened the vessel, creating space for more.

I remind myself that since crisis means “to sift,”

I can’t describe the ferocity of the fear and rage inside me with words tame enough for the light of day.

I won’t let my discomfort with her pain keep me from witnessing it for her.

scared and sacred are sisters.

But the still, small voice won’t allow it. The still, small voice insists that if I walk back in now, I’ll be rejecting the gift inside of this crisis. Crisis. Sift. This is an invitation to allow everything to fall away in order to be left holding what can never be taken. The invitation in this pain is the possibility of discovering who I really a

One day a girl with sliced-up arms says, “My mom sent me here because she says no one can believe a word I say.” I look at her and I want to say: Does she see that you tell the truth on your arms? Like I tell the truth in the toilet? By the time we landed in the hospital, most of our families considered us insensitive liars, but we didn’t start out

I am going to love you now because you are the vessel through which the world delivers beauty and love and wisdom to my soul.

I’d pulled out the easy buttons of pretending and denial and held them out to her.