Looking out through the lens of true ex nihilo creation—at a spoken world—everything becomes an artistic touch. Every crack in the plaster, every bathroom-dwelling spider, looks out at me like a stage prop, an author’s added texture, a fellow character living at this time, inhabiting the same paragraph that I do. There are Christians in the world who bemoan the absence of God’s speech, who cry out for personal communication with God Himself. They want cues for their lines. They want explanations and specific directions from the Artist.
