As a boy wandering in the woods, a teenager constructing a psychic survival shell, a lovesick college student running from the Hound of Heaven—in all those places I felt what T. S. Eliot called “a tremour of bliss, a wink of heaven, a whisper.” I came to love God out of gratitude, not fear. Above all else, grace is a gift, one I cannot stop writing about until my story ends.
