Korean Washcloths: Messengers of God’s Nearness and Love

growing into identity

For years when I was young, my mom took nightly baths, and I would join her. We would pile our thick, black hair on top of our heads, so strong and stiff it would shoot up like onion sprouts. We scrubbed each other’s backs with neon-colored, nylon washcloths, as if we were scrubbing potato skins…

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