“It’s a wonder either of us still believe in God,” I said into the phone, softly, hesitantly, as if speaking them were releasing a terrible truth.

How dare we, after all?  Yes, Jacob wrestled with God, but we weren’t allowed to.  We’d grown up in the same subculture, drinking batch after batch of Kool-Aid, trying not to let it influence us but knowing that it was slowly poisoning us anyway.

He didn’t say anything for a while.  When he did, it was soft and reluctant and surprised and awed.  “Y...