Last year I visited a woman in the hospital who is a poet and deeply contemplative. She was in a lot of pain from crippling arthritis, but she said with confounding vibrancy, "Today I have discovered God as the awful throbbing in my joints. God is the pitiful crying in the woman in the next bed. God is my loneliness. God is the angry nurse who avoids me. I did not expect God to be these things. But here in the hospital before all these agonies, I keep wanting to drop to my knees. Do you think I'm strange?"
"No," I said. "Not strange. Blessed."
— Sue Monk Kidd, Firstlight