We sang a song in which the lyrics said of God, “You’re altogether lovely, altogether worthy, altogether wonderful to me.” As my friends and classmates sang together, some with raised hands and closed eyes, all I could think about was Zarmina’s tennis shoes peeking out from under her burqa. I didn’t see anything lovely or wonderful about that. My throat tightened, and I stopped singing. A thick and intense sadness rushed over my body, and I didn’t want to worship anymore. All my life, I had imagined God as a warm, faceless light, a sort of benevolent and eternal sunshine. That morning in
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