I used to think “thin places” referred only to those dangerous places on ice where one could fall though . . . or those times when I was smart-mouthing my mom and she’d tell me I was skating on thin ice!
But the term “thin places” has long been used, originally by Celtic peoples, to refer to those places where the connection to God felt especially palpable, where our spirits are especially sensitive to that which cannot be perceived with the physical senses. Holy ground, some might call it.
Mary DeMuth has mined some painful experiences of her life, and, holding them up to the light, has recognized that they were indeed thin places – places where she can see God was at work. It’s one thing to experience God in the still beauty of a sunrise; it’s another to see him through the pain. Mary has done a beautiful job in reaching back and embracing these moments. Her recently published memoir, Thin Places, is not an easy read, but it’s a compelling one, written with grace and beauty. I came away with a longing to face my own past with greater courage, and to look for God’s hand in each and every moment.