Sometimes the light shines through the corner of my hat, and then…

Sometimes the light only gets there through a corner, around a turn.
What happens when the questions stop and there are only answers. This is a serious question. Or…

Is a person swimming toward help any different than one who is rescued?
Or one swimming in the other direction?

The invisible threads weave the fabric of faith because we pick them up in the odd places. We find our want of and for god at a concert and the county courthouse, in the arms of the one we finally love, in a summer tomato with olive oil, in the finding of cancer in your colon, in the light at the corner of a hat.

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