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Then round about the age of twenty-five, I was tired of being tired of being scared about doing something that, if I deconstruct it honestly, might somehow cost me my salvation and make God love me less. When I understood, in God’s grace, that there was nothing—not a thing—I could do to make God love me any less or any more, when I understood that there was nothing wrong or right about who I am in God’s eyes, that I’m just loved, I started to live. Boldly. Or at least as boldly as I can muster much of the time.
