Would we imagine rules to guard against the unexpected and mysterious, and in doing so, preempt the beauty and majesty of an unexpected gift to secure the mere prose of a well measured fact? Would the warm, uneven, and scarred flesh of a hand extended in the risk of uninsured friendship, so rich in an honesty forged in the rigors of a molten earth be spurned in favor of a machine, polished and cool, given not in unstudied passion, but with an assurance of exemption from injury, sealed forever against the pain which prefigures the movement of our redemption? Are we not children of an evolving God whose sovereignty of love only grows in, upon, and through the rubble of our uncertainty?
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