Mary DeMuth’s spiritual memoir, Thin Places, proves that appearances can be deceiving. To look at the photograph of the author’s laughing, joyful face, readers would guess she doesn’t have a care in the world.
But as they journey with DeMuth to the thin places of her past and peer through the cracks of her childhood, they may marvel that she didn’t fall through and disappear from sight. Her revelations are startling as she goes deep within herself to narrate the story through the eyes of the child she used to be. From this viewpoint she describes her family’s disfunction with candor, grace and a lack of condemnation.
More touching than her lack of rancor is her steadfast belief in God’s sovereignty over the thin places that dogged her early life. Now an adult and deeply in love with the Father who protected her from great evil, she shares how He worked and continues to work in her life. She rejoices in His ability to use what others meant for evil to do good, even to prepare her to reach out to other victims of the same childhood sorrows she endured.
DeMuth doesn’t recount the thin places in her past and ignore the present. This book is no happily-ever-after fairy tale or follow-my-example-sinner sermon. Instead, she confesses her human frailties – a constant need to refocus on God rather than on self, her reliance upon daily confession and God’s forgiveness – and shows how the Father allows her to see His face in the thin places of life.
DeMuth writes with her customary readable, approachable style that echoes Philip Yancey’s. Skillfully, she reveals the source of her joy: her faith in a Savior who loved her enough to die for her and for those responsible for creating thin places in her life.
Thin Places is a book worth reading. While reading it, I learned to find the face of the Father and the joy of the Son in the thin places of my life. I pray that you will, too.
