Some years ago, sitting next to a fifteen-month-old child whose cancer had begun in her mother's womb, as I prayed for her life, something very deep inside told me to stop, that I didn't know enough to make such a prayer. It said that I was just second-guessing God. That I could not comprehend what her spirit needed next. That only this pain and this fleeting body, which was being torn from the hearts of her loved ones, might teach her, as she evolved toward her ceaseless potential. That she, like us all, was in the lap of the Mystery, and that the only appropriate prayer was, "May you get the most out of this possible."
— Stephen Levine, Unattended Sorrow