So Rita and I decided that the most subversive, revolutionary thing I could do was to show up for my life and not be ashamed.

There is ecstasy in paying attention. You can get into a kind of Wordsworthian openness to the world, where you see in everything the essence of holiness.

Now she and I sit together in her room and eat chocolate, and I tell her that in a very long time when we both to go heaven, we should try to get chairs next to each other, close to the dessert table.

It's funny: I always imagined when I was a kid that adults had some kind of inner toolbox full of shiny tools: the saw of discernment, the hammer of wisdom, the sandpaper of patience. But then when I grew up I found that life handed you these rusty bent old tools - friendships, prayer, conscience, honesty - and said 'do the best you can with these, they will have to do'. And mostly, against all odds, they do.

Prayer means that, in some unique way, we believe we're invited into a relationship with someone who hears us when we speak in silence.

I worry that Jesus drinks himself to sleep when he hears me talk like this.

Almost everything will work again if you unplug it for a few minutes, including you.