Dear God, I cannot love Thee the way I want to. You are the slim crescent of a moon that I see and my self is the earth’s shadow that keeps me from seeing all the moon. The crescent is very beautiful and perhaps that is all one like I am should or could see; but what I am afraid of, dear God, is that my self shadow will grow so large that it blocks the whole moon, and that I will judge myself by the shadow that is nothing. . . .
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(Fantastic review: 'If you preorder now, you will have it in plenty of time to pepper your
Thanksgiving prayers with O’Connorisms like, “When I think of all I have
to be grateful for, I wonder that you don’t just kill me now.”')
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