It was a drizzly, gray Sunday, and we were driving out to the mall to escape the four walls closing in on us and our increasingly petulant child. As we turned a corner, I noticed a gentleman on the sidewalk holding an umbrella with a book tucked under his arm. It looked like a Bible, which reminded me of a Baptist I know who would walk out of the house without his wallet, car keys and pants before his Bible. This Baptist had once said about me, "At the end of the day, it all comes down to a choice between God and dirt. I choose God, and Jennifer chooses dirt." My reply at the time was, "I'm just using the brain you say God gave me, and dirt makes more sense." Actually I rolled my eyes and walked away, wishing I had some clever retort. We heathens are notorious liars. Anyway, I was continuing this discussion in my head, arguing that honoring the creation is just as valid as worshipping the creator, especially since the creator has been on hiatus since the seventh day. Dude, break's over.
Sam broke into my musings to ask what I was thinking about. I hesitated, but then said, "What if I just came out and said I was thinking God is dead?" His eyebrows predictably reached for his hairline, so I retrenched: "Okay, I was thinking about trees." He gave me a sideways glance before replying, "I believe the first answer way before I believe the second."