Beth Caplin renames one of her books.
I often joke that it was a bad idea to publish a memoir at the age of 22 because the shiny, child-like faith I had back then is now frozen in time. I’ve evolved quite a bit since, but only those who know me personally are aware of that. My readers are not.
If I were to read Confessions of a Prodigal Daughter today, after having deconstructed my faith several times over the last few years, I would be very disappointed by the ending. It’s not neatly wrapped in a bow or anything, but it oozes a great deal of “With God, all things are possible!” platitudes.
It doesn’t convey the ongoing difficulties of living life as a Jew-ish Episcopalian – nor does it even go into how I discovered the Episcopal church, which is a very critical part of the journey.
It also doesn’t include my experiences at seminary…
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