I was struck by the sermon today about hope. Specifically, when the minister was describing the loss of hope as having dried bones - a spirit that is shrived away and all that is left is the bones.
It made me think of the I Hate You jar. I've been describing it as a dried shakable mass this last week. I shook it this afternoon and thought: If a person is called names, excluded and punched upon, at what point does this person loose hope? At what point does their spirit shrivel away?
The mold growth continues in the Control Jar. The I Hate You is dried and shakable. The I Love You jar - fluffy like it was when I put it into the jar.