Sometimes God is like the less glamorous sister in my life; other companions and interests shine brightly and get me to play, while I ignore her quiet steadiness and loyalty. Then the others drive me crazy and I run back to her, and she holds my hand and never complains that I’m fickle. People dress her up in ill-fitting outfits and make her dance, but it’s never her who’s dancing. I don’t sew dresses for her because I could never guess her size, and I’m too shy to ask.

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