“I snorted. "I could write a doctoral dissertation on his 'charitable spirit.”

“Charis sipped, smiling back. "...I saw God everywhere."Grif narrowed his eyes. "Really?"She nodded and leaned close. "We were actually pen pals. I'd write Him letters in Latin and leave them in my closet.""Why the closet?"She shrugged. "Because He didn't appear after I set my front yard's bushes on fire, so I decided He was shy.”

“I didn't know his middle name or his favorite color, but I knew how his thoughts felt caressing my mind. The bright tang of his adrenaline coursing under my skin. The force of his heart, strong and rhythmic and a bit sad, pumping within my own chest.”

“Even with tortured minds and broken spirits, even bound to the Surface, they ached for God's presence. It would be like being drawn back into the womb. It would be rest. It was the only real redemption there was.”

“But no life was without it's strain & strife, not if it was fully lived. Opening up to experience, even the good ones like trust & love, was to open yourself up to the pain. I suppose the key was to not compound matters by making the rest of it unnecessarily hard. My need for control had certainly done that in the past. So I made a promise to myself in that moment. I would make a concerted effort to reach for what was soft & good in this world. I'd find a place to settle into, and hold still so that this world's good and soft could reach back & touch me as well.”

“I think you look like the spawn of Satan.""Yeah, and you still look like my brother's favorite blow-up doll.""Speaking of, what's the deal with the size of my breasts in last month's manual?" He'd drawn me so top heavy a stiff wind could have knocked me off balance."Creative license," he said with a shrug."A little too creative.”

“What about Cher and Suzanne?" I called after him."I don't know, but if you end up kissing them, call me. I wanna watch.”