First-Line Fridays · Weekly Themed Posts

First Line Friday #151

Just Show Up: The Dance of Walking Through Suffering Together

by Kara Tippetts and Jill Lynn Buteyn

24795797

About the Book

“In my midtwenties, I had my first real encounter with suffering. Before that time, I didn’t really know or understand hard. I certainly didn’t know it could be used as a noun until Kara.”


NOW IT’S YOUR TURN!

GRAB THE BOOK YOU ARE CURRENTLY READING, OPEN TO CHAPTER ONE, AND POST A SENTENCE OR TWO IN THE COMMENTS BELOW.

THEN HEAD ON OVER TO HOARDING BOOKS TO SEE ALL OF THE FLF PAGES THIS WEEK (JUST CLICK ON THE FLF BUTTON BELOW).

First Line Fridays hosted by Hoarding Books

13 thoughts on “First Line Friday #151

  1. To whom does our island belong? I found myself wondering that as I sat on my scooter in the rain, late for my pricy-but-absolutely-necessary-for-a-person-who-eats-for-a-living personal trainer, attempting to cross a massive traffic jam on Eaton Street.
    THE KEY LIME CRIME by Lucy Burdette
    2clowns at arkansas dot net

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  2. Happy Friday! I love that first line!! I want this book now Nicole!!💜

    My first lines come from The Summer House by Lauren K Denton……

    T he morning Worth left, something pulled Lily from her sleep, though at first glance nothing seemed out of place. The light coming through the bedroom window was soft and hazy. Above her the ceiling fan ticked and swayed, and outside a lone bird sang, trying to rouse its friends. Everything else was still and quiet.

    Have an awesome weekend and happy reading!📚💜

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    1. Thank you for sharing! I hope you’re enjoying your book. 🙂
      My book is amazing but definitely is a read you must have tissues to get through.
      I hope you have a great weekend! 😊

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  3. I’m sharing the first line from Finding Love for the Workaholic by Laurie Larsen on my blog today. “Isabelle Harmon drew in a lungful of air.”

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  4. My first line is from The Haunting At Bonaventure Circus by Jaime Jo Wright:

    Life was not unlike the wisp of fog that curled around the base of a grave marker, softly caressing the marble before dissolving into the violet shadow of the night.

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