Political Foot-Washing

So the other week, I found myself practically yelling at a family member over the political situation. By situation, I mean Donald Trump. Sure, I was probably a little hangry that hour of the day, but being a lover of Jesus and all, my immature, angry and rude response was unjustified (*cough* 1 Corinthians 13). Anyways, shame flooded over me a few moments later and I felt absolutely ridiculous that I had let something political shake my ability to communicate in love. I ate some dinner, apologized, then forgot about it until this morning.

This morning, I read Jesus’ words in John 18: “My kingdom is not of this world.” My heart began to ache for the Church in America. Like someone just set of a firecracker, clarity flashed in my mind. The political scene is distracting, sidetracking, and disgracing the Church in America. I wondered what Jesus would say if he walked in on one of the political conversations amongst Christians I’ve overheard the past few weeks.

Then Holy Spirit said it: Would you wash Donald Trump’s feet?

Would you wash the feet of this man who owns strip clubs, makes sexual comments about his own daughter, and appears in PlayBoy magazine?

It’s such a Jesus like question. Jesus knows the hearts of men so well. In Mark 12, he told his disciples to pay the Roman tax, because he knew they wanted to him to say no! In Matthew 8, he heals the daughter of a Roman centurion—a Roman who was aligned with the oppressive system of his day. His Jewish supporters would have been shocked, and probably angry! Remember that part where Jesus talks about walking two miles with someone if they ask you to go one? That was also political. Roman soldiers would force Jewish citizens to carry their gear for a mile. It was a humiliating and oppressive practice. But Jesus said to go two miles! The guy is CRAZY. He’s nuts. He asks us to love enemies and to serve those who are of different and even damaging political structures!  And I’m utterly convinced that He would ask the Church of America if she could wash the feet of Hillary, Bernie, Trump or Cruz.

Regardless of your political viewpoints and alliances, if you are a follower of Jesus, your first and highest allegiance is to Him. To Jesus himself. Your priorities are to be His priorities. The model of his life, yours. The heart of his actions, yours. Most of our political anxiety is a result of misplaced hope. Your hope is NOT in a changed American government, though that is a noble thing to labor for. Your hope is ultimately in the fact that, through Jesus, love wins the day. Sacrifice, servitude, kindness, and meekness win the day.  While I am not encouraging anyone of us to call evil, good or good, evil, I am encouraging us to check our hearts in the heat of politics.

Often, in the Church, most of our political involvement is about being against things and against people. Now, maybe there aren’t people to be for. Valid point. However, let me caution you against devoting all of your emotional and mental energy to a kingdom that will one day bow to Jesus’ kingdom. Everything will one day be tested by the heat of Jesus’ gaze.  Be involved in politics as you are led, but be reminded: foot-washing will stand, facebook posts won’t.

Hearing God: What He Told Me About Abortion

I say that I want to hear God.  A lot of people say that.  You might say that.  We say we want to know, we want to love Him, we want to be with Him where He is, doing what He is doing.

But the thing is–I can’t control Him and what He says.  That’s part of the being God thing.  He’s God.  As the Psalms say, “He does whatever He pleases.”  Even if it scares me or requires something painful, difficult, and uncomfortable from me. 

Do you know what the Lord has been saying to me the past few months?  That He is so grieved by abortion.  

I saw a model of a nine-week old fetus the other day.  I held it in my hand.  It’s about the size of a cashew…or a swollen peanut.  But it literally has all of it’s body parts! It just develops and get bigger and more defined from then on!

The weirdest thing happened when I saw this cashew-sized, rubber baby.  I felt laughter and joy in my chest.  Then a sickening in my stomach.

In that moment, Jesus invited me to hear Him on this.  On the issue of abortion.

Dear friends, I have been involved in many justice issues of today–trafficking, racial justice, poverty work.  But I have have to confess my silence.  I have skirted the issue of abortion.  And I have to repent of that.  I have skirted around it, because I don’t want the world to misunderstand me, find me unloving, or shut me out.  I have skirted around it, because I hadn’t heard Jesus on this enough.

It seems to me that there is a justice issue competition these days.  I don’t want to play.  I don’t want to say that my justice issue is the most important issue.  I’m not going to put down other justice issues.  You know why?  Because I am not in control.  I cannot control what God says to me.  If He says that He hates abortion, that He loves life… If He says that He hates racism, and loves equality…If He says that He hates sex trafficking, and loves marriage… then that is what He says.

The social justice trend of the day will ever be changing–be it trafficking, racism, abortion, poverty, adoption, evangelism, education, healing.  All of these–every single one–matter to Jesus.  But I cannot be domineered by the trend of the day in social justice issues.  I must be domineered by Jesus Christ and what He is saying to me.  I cannot ignore my Friend, my Lover, my God.  

Jesus knows justice best.  Isaiah says, “I, the Lord, love justice.”  If he loves it, I can trust him to order my steps, grip my heart, and change my mind.  My call is to respond.  To hear my Friend, my Lover, my God and say, “Yes and Amen.”  This “yes,” this willingness to say “yes,” is a huge part of hearing God.  It isn’t just about knowing who to marry, or feeling loved (both of which are valid aspects).  Hearing God is about catching whatever He wants to reveal to you about His justice and mercy loving heart.

This month is Sanctity of Life month.

Give us ears to hear, O God.


A note to post-abortive friends: I love you.  Jesus loves you.  There is hope.  There is healing.  There is freedom.  There is forgiveness.  There is truth.  There is justice.  I am for you.  God desires you. 

A note to disagreeing friends: I also love you.  Jesus loves you.  I am for you.  God desires you.  


The Grace is Real


Grace is a warm calming welcome, when you deserve disappointment for being late.
Last Thursday, I ran late to lead worship at a the prayer room in Ferguson. It’s a tiny storefront that gets real stuffy and warm in the sun. It’s right there on West Florissant, next to piles of debris that still haven’t been cleaned up. The Gateway House of Prayer has chosen to set themselves faithfully in intercession and praise for this region of the U.S. I was supposed to lead from 12-1. But I was late. For entirely selfish, self-centered, and fleshy reasons. I drove there so fast, so frustrated with myself for not being more organized, more devoted, more faithful. My flat-ish tire squealed as I pealed into the tiny parking lot, only to be met by Grace. Grace came through Tammy, director of GHOP, as she walked towards me with a smile and said, “Slow down, slow down, you’re fine. We are locked out of the building anyways. Just come and center yourself. You’re totally fine.” She didn’t have to do that. But she did it freely.

Grace is anointing when you didn’t prepare at all.
Once the building was unlocked, I got up on the mic and the keys and led that time. I simply asked for God to hear us, and I sensed His presence and His mercy in an overwhelming way. The beauty of Jesus, longing to love Him, and desire to see His kingdom on the earth welled up in the little hour that I sang and played and prayed. God anointed that time, when I hadn’t prepared at all. He didn’t have to do that. But he did it freely. I hadn’t prayed and waited over that set like I normally would. I hadn’t picked songs. I didn’t even play with music. And He came and moved anyways. Grace was like the air I breathed during that set.

Grace is a new cup of coffee when you dropped the first one.
While the building had been locked, Tammy had had held her hot cup of coffee close, sipping and waiting. As we walked in, she dropped it and every last drop splattered on the asphalt. While she said it was okay, any coffee drinker knows that it’s not. I felt so sad for her when it happened. As I played and sang, I opened my eyes briefly and saw her husband, Jeff, deliver a brand new cup of coffee to her. He had left the prayer room and driven to get her a cup of grace. So gracious. He didn’t have to do that. But he did it freely.

Grace is the most powerful force on the planet. When it falls, when someone gives you grace—so freely—you feel arrested and gripped and embraced in the most fiercely gentle way. It’s a gentleness, a mercy, a kindness, that is so undeserved that it scares you and frees you at the same time. Last Thursday was such a heavy experience of that.

This blog is about grace. But this blog is also about the grace that I’ve experienced from the staff at GHOP. I don’t know if I’ve encountered more gracious people anywhere in churches, missions organizations, and parachurch ministries—and I been around the block when it comes to this. I’m not on staff at GHOP, I’m not even regularly scheduled other than the Ferguson prayer room. But I am thankful for the model of grace that I have seen from so many there. If you are interested in supporting the Gateway House of Prayer or their staff, I strongly encourage you to do so.  Cause the grace is real.

My name, Hannah, means ‘full of grace’ or ‘gracious one.’  May the grace I receive fill me and mark me and constitute who I truly am.

What You Can Do About Syrian Refugees

Yep, you read that title correctly.  “What you can do.”  There is actually something you can do.  I’m currently sick in bed.  So I’ve had time to look over some of the devastating and heart-breaking news and images coming out of Syria, Turkey, and European countries.  It’s real bad.  It’s devastating.  Some of us know that.  Some of us are posting articles and sharing information about this.  That’s great.  But more than share information, I’ve found three ways to engage this issues with more than just lip-service.  Here we go:

  1. Pray.  Note: this is listed FIRST.  One year before I went to India, I felt led by the Spirit to pray for angelic visitations and protection for girls in sex slavery.  A year later, while in India, I sat stunned as one of the girls who had been rescued told me about the man in bright white who came and rescued her in the night, from a gutter, after her brothel keeper tried to kill her.  Just pray. You don’t have to understand how it all works–just do it.
  2. Use your American privilege to ask the government to intervene further.  Use this link here to find your representative and their contact info. Shoot them a short message asking them to push for aid for refugees, or to bring them here to the U.S. You can also sign this petition to push for resettlement in the U.S., where we have a blessed amount of resources and space.
  3. Give financially to one of these smaller organizations who are trying to provide aid to refugees.  I’ve seen the dark side of what happens to a lot of financial aid, trust me.  I’ve seen U.S. aid sold on the black market in Haiti after the earthquake.  But the reality is: without emergency aid, the death toll will grow.

I am by no means an expert in human migration, immigration, refugee/asylum processes, or the current Syrian situation.  But I am truly passionate about empowering people to do something about what moves their heart.  I long to see people connect what they feel to what they do, and what they believe to the way they live.  To move beyond clicktivism and showing our social media circles how globally aware we are and into compassion motivated, Spirit-led action.  I don’t know how to do this perfectly.  I know the ultimate answer lies in Jesus’ return.  But with that view in mind, we hasten the day of His coming by living like we should, shining brighter and brighter until that day.  The Syrian crisis is an opportunity for that.

Amargosa Valley

Seven days ago I was sitting in a diner near San Francisco reuniting with my brother who I hadn’t seen in three months.  Over salads and waffles and between yawns and laughter, Ethan, Adam and I celebrated being back together for a road trip from SF to STL.  

There have been relatives visited, sweaty hours in the car, sunburns at the Grand Canyon, boat rides on Lake Tahoe, and sunsets viewed through rain that looked like fire.  And rainbows.  It’s almost like we’ve been followed by rainbows this whole trip.

But we saw our first rainbow when we needed it the most. We were driving from Reno, Nevada to Las Vegas.  We were driving past Death Valley into Amargosa Valley, which means “bitter valley.” And things in the air actually felt dead. I wondered why. And then we passed it.  

A brothel. 

“Oh my gosh you guys, that’s a brothel!” I shouted as I sat up from my slumped position in the car. 

“What’s that?” My youngest brother asked. (How I thank God for that question.)

“Are you serious?” Said Ethan, looking from the road over his shoulder into the dusty dead valley.

“Yes, that was a brothel–a place where girls are for sale for sex.” I said explaining through shock.

And then we passed another. And another. 

I’ve known that Nevada had legalized brothel prostitution.  The shock I felt wasn’t shock to my head, to my knowing. It was shock to my feeling, willing and being. It’s the difference between knowing that ice is cold and then standing in a freezer. You could feel the death. 

You could feel it when you saw the beat-up pick-up trucks sitting there. You could feel it when the sales on girls were listed next to the sales on drinks like menu items for consumption. You could feel it when you saw that most of these places were nearly dilapidated trailers with tacky half, lit up signs, led to by gravel roads. You could feel the deadly desperation, loneliness, isolation, perversion and brokenness that drove men to these remote places. You could feel it when you thought about the remote location creating such vulnerability for the women working–help of any kind would be so far away.  You could feel it.

I was silent and kind of angry and definitely sad. Aching sort of.  I felt full of emotion, but sat motionless as our car moved at eighty miles per hour.  

I prayed.  Because it’s all I could do in the moment.  I prayed hard.  

Then the rainbow came. A huge rainbow.  The promise that despite the evil God sees on this earth, He would–in His mercy–refrain from wiping out mankind.  He is patient and long suffering, slow to anger, and his mercy is over all he has made.  I knew God saw. I knew God put that rainbow over that dead and bitter valley because of what he saw…and because he yet loves and longs for the redemption, salvation and restoration of every sinner, every lost Son and Daughter.

I don’t have a motivational close out here, a neat wrap-up.  Cause it’s not wrapped up in my heart.  The only resolution that is damming up the surge of reaction is that rainbow–that God saw, and that He let me see with Him.


For more information regarding legalized prostitution in the U.S. and elsewhere, check out Melissa Farley’s work on prostitution and trafficking.

For a tangible way to affect trafficking and prostitution world-wide, consider supporting Exodus Cry.

For more information on God’s heart, read the Bible and be desperate. 

America’s Need Is Simple

Systemic oppression.




Human harvesting.



Sexual confusion.






Drug use.

Physical abuse.

Marriage redefinition.

Cancer and disease.


Things are being exposed.  Things are being revealed.  The things in the dark must come to light.  The security systems of man must be shaken.  There are prophetic whispers of even greater shakings coming our way–and soon.

Last fall, after the death of Mike Brown, I stood on S. Grand in Saint Louis, after a night of protest, arrests, anger and lament and I felt the voice of God penetrate my self-righteous soul.  “This is because you have not preached the Gospel.”  

It is easy for the Church to decry the state of affairs in our country.  Don’t get me wrong.  We ought.  But we also much be shaken ourselves.  Shaken to see the glory we have held inside, the truth, the light, the Word that actually holds solutions, that actually brings healing, that can truly restore and administer both justice and mercy.

There is so much bad news.  We must see it, face it, recognize it, grapple with it.  We are not to ignore it, or run into our Church feel-goods to hide.  Instead, we must run into hell with the Good News.  The real Good News.  That Yahweh created the universe, created Man to dwell in relationship with Him and inhabit the world, spilling the love and glory of God around.  That though Man rebelled, God’s love was relentless, driving Him to inhabit human weakness and suffer mistreatment, injustice, brutality, abandonment, to purchase freedom and restoration of ALL THINGS.  That Man deserved hell, punishment, separation, destruction.  But that God didn’t give up on His plan to dwell with us and make us glorious.  That God Himself inhabits those who give themselves to Him by His Holy Spirit.  That the power to heal and raise the dead lives inside me.  That one day all things will be entirely made right.  That the fullness of all things will be brought forth as Jesus crushes everything that hinders love and knowledge of Him.  Heaven is coming. Jesus is coming.

Jesus came and is coming.

What America needs is not another speech, another program, another non-profit.  Holy buckets, we have super way more than enough of that.  What America needs is the outpouring of God Himself–the Holy Spirit as the Gospel, this Good News, goes forth.  America needs the Gospel.  America needs Revival.  Something like we’ve never seen.  America’s need is simple.  Because it’s the same as my need.

//Oh God/

/Bring Heaven through me/

/Let Jesus be known/

/Be known as Coming King/

/Let the Cross/

/Be worth it/

/To You Jesus/

/You paid for nearness/

/So make us fearless//

The Reign of God: Endless Vastness

“We can offer you two thousand dollars more per semester,” said the Russian voice on the phone.  “Would that help you stay in our music program?”

I remember that phone conversation in 2009, when I switched out of my university’s music program.  I was freshly saved, just bursting to go to the nations, be among the poor, rid the world of injustice, and tell everyone and their cousin’s puppy about Jesus and his goodness.  (Not much has changed, really.)  After a year in the music program, I simply couldn’t see how four hours of Chopin in a freezing practice room every day had anything to do with advancing the Kingdom, advancing the reign of God.  Sure, I would have said with my words that music and the arts were valuable to God. But they certainly couldn’t be as valuable to God as hugging orphans, right?

Mmm…not exactly.

I grew up in the American Church.  The midwest, conservative American Church to be exact.  I’m so thankful for so much of my upbringing, I’m so thankful for the sacrificial service I saw my parents and others pour out on Jesus’ people.  But what I’m not thankful for are the man-made boxes that we’ve created to slot out the important callings and the not important callings.  Sadly, the creative arts have often fallen into the not important callings in the eyes of the Church.  I knew I wanted to serve Jesus, and my “serve Jesus” box only had a few options in it, like hugging orphans.  Unless something immediately makes us feel or appear more Jesus-ey, we tend to place it in the secular box of things that don’t matter as much.

So, I set aside Chopin for Chris Tomlin.

That sentence hurt to write.  Don’t take that as any sort of shot at Tomlin–the Church needs Chris and I’m thankful for how God has gifted and used him.  But my point is that I was being ruled by boxes, not by the reign of God.

In Scripture, our first glance at the reign of God involved him telling Adam to name and care for animals and plants.  There, in perfection of relationship, God gave Adam something to do that God deemed worthwhile–crafting, creating, caring for His creation.  God could have told Adam to stare at His glory and ignore the squirrels and the flowers, but he didn’t.  God intended His reign to leak out into the earth through Adam.  God entrusted creative license to man, and commissioned him with responsibility and authority.

Mmm.  I’m stuck there.  I’m stuck on the thought that in perfection of relationship, with no sin, weakness, tiredness, darkness hindering God and man in communion, Adam was given a creative job–that involved animals and dirt.  There was no sacred/secular divide.  There were no boxes, there was just life.  And it was sacred.

I’m beginning to believe that the sacred/secular divide is entirely un-Biblical.  Sure there’s a divide–between Light and Darkness, between Christ and the enemy, between holiness and sin, between life and death.  But God’s people have been commissioned into all of life to be carriers of His Presence, leaking God’s reign and character into the earth in every aspect of life–and definitely in the creative arts.

All this leads to something difficult, costly, and right: I–and the Church at large–need to shift my way of thinking…you know, repent.  Not repent for hugging orphans, of course.  But repent for not being faithful with gifts and calling in the creative arts, because they didn’t seem important enough.  Repent for thinking of God’s reign and rule in the universe as a roof, instead of the sky–endless vastness.  



I’ve been staring at pages and pages of work on sexual abuse and exploitation for hours.  These are dark and heavy realities in the world.  Before I met Jesus in the Gospels on my bedroom floor, I never imagined that loving Him would plunge me into dealing with these dark realities.  But somehow, 6 years later, the declaration and promise of Psalm 32 feels like a tangible reality.  I can hear and feel and touch and taste God’s faithful shepherding, leading, instructing, teaching in my life.  It’s like faithfulness is in the air, filling up my lungs with hope.  I feel like I’m inside of a cloud of the most terrifying, certain security.

Psalm 32 says, “I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go; I will counsel you with my eye upon you.”

I feel overwhelmed with thankfulness for the way that God has shepherded my life.  I feel like like my heart is beating out hallelujahs.  Like, hallelujah, Jesus died on a Cross to bring me into relationship with himself.  Hallelujah, Jesus died on a Cross to set me free from years of sin.  Hallelujah, Jesus died on a Cross to undo the power of shame.  Hallelujah, Jesus died on a Cross to crush the clutches of self-hatred that suffocated me for so long.  I am that crying sinner in Luke 7…and I am that one that He has forgiven, validated, defended, accepted.  And it has changed me.  Like undone and remade me.  Like the car was totaled so here’s a check for a new one.  Like gut the floors and walls, we’re changing everything.

I know that Jesus came for the prostitute and the pimp, because he came for me.  I know that sexual abuse, exploitation, and trafficking meet their end in the Cross.  I’m so thankful that Jesus doesn’t let me believe the Cross is just a ticket to heaven’s cotton candy harp show.  No–He has redeemed all of my life to dunk me into the depths of what the Cross really accomplished.

Hallelujah, His heart is so huge that the Gospel touches these things.  Hallelujah, the Cross is so powerful that it actually pardons for guilt and breaks the power of shame.  Hallelujah, the Spirit is so real that holy intimacy can be restored for those who have been violated.  Hallelujah, the Kingdom is so just that the broken are protected.  Hallelujah, the Father is so merciful that the most sinful, the most defiled are the most beckoned. Hallelujah, the forgiveness of God is so powerful that it bursts forth in reckless reverence for Jesus.  Hallelujah, the zeal of God sent. Jesus. here. for. this. 

This isn’t a well-crafted, pretty, artsy, impactful post. This is a bursting, seeping hallelujah post. Like, ya’ll, I was a child of darkness.  But because He loved me, now I’m made of LIGHT.  I was a slave.  But because of the Cross, now I carry Freedom.  I was angry.  But because of His gentleness, I’m a weepy joy-baby.  I was frantic and anxious.  But because of His mercy, I’m safe.  Ugh, I’m just overwhelmed.  His goodness could crush me.  All of my life, every moment of rebellion, every moment of failure, every moment of lost-ness, is redeemed, renewed, and makes sense inside the Cross.  He’s had His eye on me from before my birth.  He’s counseled me, instructed me, guided me, led me, covered me, known me–the whole time.


May you know His counsel under His eye.  May you be restored by Redemption.  May you be consumed by the Cross.  May you be held inside Hallelujahs.  Because this is where all of creation is headed: to one big Hallelujah.  

What if I’m a Racist?

As the 50th anniversary of Bloody Sunday is commemorated in Selma this weekend, I’ve got a few things to say. First, racism is sin. Second, I am a sinner. Third, I am a sinner and a racist.

The other day, in my Inter-Cultural Counseling class of mostly white Christians, a friend bravely confessed, “I wasn’t raised to be racist, but I feel a certain way around black men. My parents never taught me this, but it just happened.” I had a majorly upsetting and disconcerting lightbulb moment as she said this. I have been, for a while now, struck by the evil of racism. As my classmate spoke, however, I realized that racism’s breeding ground isn’t hatred, it’s passivity and blindness. Follow me with this, for a second.

If you’re a Christian reader, then you would agree that mankind is fallen, corrupted by sin, infected and affected tremendously. Yes, there’s common grace. But thanks to the Fall, our natural proclivity and propensity is sin. We are bent towards it. We crave it without even realizing it. And that’s the kicker: without even realizing it.

I don’t know why it took me so long to connect this understanding of sin to racism. Maybe I’m just dense, or maybe this is where racism (and sin in general) gets its power. From the blindness, the willful and twisted ignorance—not just toward another’s culture—but towards our natural bent in our own hearts.
If sin is universal and deceptive…

…and if our human heart is desperately wicked…
…and if we reek of pride, superiority, abuse of power…
…and tend to order our lives around homogeny and self-love…
…and if racism is sin…

…then why, in the name of Heaven, would we assume that racism is a special category of sin that must be acquired, taught, or caught from parents, older generations, corrupt law enforcement, or others? Why would we view it as something originating outside ourselves, instead of lurking within? Is it just too much to think that maybe…just maybe…I’m a sinner…and maybe…a….a…racist?

Theologically, it only makes sense that mankind would have a natural proclivity towards the sin racism. We don’t have to be taught to lie, or be selfish. We don’t have to be taught to always want to be right. Why would we need instruction on pride, abuse of power, or judgement by skin color? We also have an amazing propensity for self-deception. Remember that whole log in the eye story Jesus told? Or maybe let’s just zoom out and check out those Pharisees. The dudes literally studied the Scriptures for a living, and yet they told the Son of God he was demon-possessed. Talk about blind! Maybe we’re like the same version of sinner with the same sort of sinner problems.

Which leads me to my next point. Christians (myself included) claim to believe in grace: unmerited favor and experiential empowering. But we have no recognition of our need for grace, without recognition of our sin. Christian reader, we need to let our doctrine of sin smack our hearts hard enough that we start screaming for our doctrine of grace, for real. Like a specific dose of conviction regarding racism.

So, all this means a few things. Lean in close; these are important. First, if the sin-thing is real, it means that none of us are exempt from the sin of racism. Not me, not you, not your 80 year-old, pie-baking, hymn-singing grandma. (Dude, even my desire to serve in minority communities can be a superiority complex. Ugh, that hurts so bad to face.) Second, it means that if we are not actively combatting racism in our own hearts and lives, then by our passivity we are permitting, perpetuating, and proliferating racism. (I know that’s really uncomfortable, but I think I’m getting that from the Bible.) Thirdly, if the grace thing is real, then Christians of all people, should be the most ready to confess, face, and actively combat racism in their own hearts. Dear Christian reader, you have the freedom and safety to name your sin, confess your sin, and actively make war on your sin by God’s grace. (Now I know I got that one from the Bible.)

Whew, that’s a lot. A painful lot. But a necessary lot.

Let’s face sin. Face racism. Not someone else’s—but your own.  My own.  Then you kick and scream for grace till it’s poured out. Then you walk in that till Jesus returns for a unified, but diverse Bride.


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