It's as if I've inherited a skin I cannot quite fit, and so I walk about constantly pulling and and tugging, pinning and pruning, trying desperately to fill it out, hoping that no one will look at me struggling and say, 'That one there- she's a fraud, Look how she doesn't fit at all.

If God has nothing better to do than punish schoolgirls for a bit of tomfoolery, then I've no use for God.

But sons are a different matter to a man. More a duty than an indulgence.

And that is how change happens. One gesture. One person. One moment at a time.

Who the heck is Don Quick-oats?

I've heard it said that God is in the details. It's the same with the truth. Leave out the details, the crucial heart, and you can damn someone with the bare bones of it.

Eve didn't choose to eat the apple. She was tempted by the serpent." "Yes," I argue, thoughts coming out half-formed. "But...she didn't have to take a bite. She chose to.