He is Present

And yet, paradoxically, during those years of struggle, not believing in him, not seeing him, having no faith at all, I nevertheless felt him there.  He was present in my anger.  Present in my loneliness.  Present in my world’s refusal to be what I wanted it to be, and present in his own denial of anything I wanted to make him into.  Present.  With me.  Patiently waiting for me to turn and see him.  And still I struggled.

— Patty Kirk, Confessions of an Amateur Believer, p. 67

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