Real miracles bother people, like strange sudden pains unknown in medical literature.
Hope is like yeast, you know, rising under warmth.
Once torched by truth...a little thing like faith is easy.
Sometimes heroism is nothing more than patience, curiosity, and a refusal to panic.
Many a night I woke to the murmer of paper and knew (Dad) was up, sitting in the kitchen with frayed King James - oh, but he worked that book; he held to it like a rope ladder.
When a person dies, the earth is generally unwilling to cough him back up. A miracle contradicts the will of earth.