Traveling Mercies: by Anne Lamott
A faith-based memoir that blends humor, honesty, and deep reflections on spirituality and personal growth.
From the cover:
With an exuberant mix of passion, insight, and humor, Anne Lamott takes us on a journey through her often troubled past to illuminate her devout but quirky walk of faith. In a narrative spiced with stories and scripture, with diatribes, laughter, and tears, Lamott tells how, against all odds, she came to believe in God and then, even more miraculously, in herself. She shows us the myriad ways in which this sustains and guides her, shining the light and exposing surprising pockets of meaning and hope.
Why should you read this book?
Anne Lamott is a beautifully, honest writer. She’s not afraid to share her experiences, both good and bad. She writes about grace and forgiveness and how a sense of community has shaped her life while reflecting on all the small, everyday moments that have deepened her faith in God. Her style is often funny, but very raw. She embraces her vulnerability and makes spiritual insights that are accessible and relatable to everyone.
Excerpts:
“My coming to faith did not start with a leap but rather a series of staggers from what seemed like one safe place to another. Like lily pads, round and green, these places summoned and then held me up while I grew. Each prepared me for the leaf on which I would land, and in this way I moved across the swamp of doubt and fear. When I look back at some of these early resting places- the boisterous home of the Catholics, the soft armchair of the Christian Science mom, adoption by ardent Jews- I can see how flimsy and indirect a path they made. Yet each step brought me closer to the verdant pad of faith on which I somehow stay afloat today.”
“I looked fine on the outside: thin, cheerful, even successful. But on the inside, I was utterly obsessed. I went into a long and deep depression after seeing some photos of people on a commune, working with their hands and primitive tools and workhorses, raising healthy food. I could see that they were really tuned to nature, to the seasons, to a direct sense of bounty, where you could plant something and it grows and you cut it down or pick it and eat it, savoring it and filling up on it. But I was a spy in the world of happy eating, always hungry, or stuffed, but never full.
Luckily I was still drinking at the time.
But then all of a sudden I wasn’t. When I quit in 1986, I started getting healthier in almost every way and I had all these women helping me, and I told them almost every crime and secret I had, because I believed them when they said that we are as sick as our secrets. My life got much sweeter right away, and less dramatic; the pond inside began to settle, and I could see through the water, which was the strangest sensation because for all those years I’d been taking various sticks-desperate men, financial drama, impossible deadlines- and stirring that pond water up. So now I was noticing beautiful little fish and dreamy underwater plants, and shells lying in the sand. I started getting along with myself pretty well for the first time in my life. But I couldn’t or wouldn’t tell anyone that for the last ten years I had been bingeing and purging, being on a diet, being good, getting thin, being bad, getting fat.”
“Early on I heard a sober person say, “Religion is for people who are afraid of hell; spirituality is for people who have been there,” and all I could hear was an attack on religion, on my religion. I couldn’t hear that the person was saying that I had already gone to the most terrifying place, to the land of obsessive self-loathing, egomania, and decay, but that now like a battered explorer, I was bravely trying to find my way home.”
About the Author
Anne Lamott is an American novelist and nonfiction writer. She is also a progressive political activist, public speaker, and writing teacher.