“as if no one else existed,” and how powerfully he wants to use me, it comes as a considerable relief to finally discover that I’m actually not that big a deal: a bit-part actor—certainly not the lead—in the play of someone else’s life. I am, as the psalmist says, just dust. I am, as Isaiah says, like grass that grows, withers, and dies in a day.[14] I am a child who finally knows enough to know that I
