He makes me think of milk. That’s the essence of it, the quality of his soul (the spiritual world that he believes in as faithfully as in the laws of physics) that I perceive. Happily, heterosexually married, two sons. Middlingly English churchgoer. Pale button shirts to work, no tie. T-shirt and corduroy at the weekend. A whiter shade of pale.
His faith, remarkable faith, is his quintessence, though: he’s made of it, not of everyday clay like the rest of us – or if not the faith is what glues him all together, to the humdrum workaday world. He leaks his fiery belief (in goodness, in meaning, in everyone he meets) all over the rest of us, and it’s like we’ve been touched with grace.
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