“Tomorrow was Sunday. Sunday was a good day to be born. I was born on Sunday, although I didn’t remember it. Sometimes, when Mama talked about it, I thought I could remember being afraid, high in the air, rocking in a little flannel blanket, clutched in a stork’s beak. What would Aunt Betty’s baby remember? If only babies could talk, they could tell us what God was like, before they forgot. If I asked Aunt Betty’s baby easy questions about God, questions you could answer yes or no, maybe she could give me a sign. Maybe God sent babies into the world without words, precisely so they wouldn’t reveal Him while they still remembered.”