Do you still pray?
On our third day in front of the coffee-shop in Somewhere, North Carolina Helen and I had been quizzing each other on mathematics, forgotten grimoires, the great Scheme and personal reflection. We stirred cold coffee and ignored passing glances and exchanged brief and stolen kisses. Three months had passed since these self-described Prophets and interpreters had crossed paths by means only the divine could determine, but we wracked each other’s brains with no recourse. With a furrowed brow, the Tenant asked in awe of his compainion’s gnosis, “If this is all true, Helen, do you still pray?”
Prim and swift and dignified was her response, as she adjusted her posture in an iron-wrought chair in naught but grace.
“Well of course, Matthew,” and finally eye-contact was made after 7 agonizing minutes.
“I may be a woman of sin, but I’m still a woman of God.”