“When she was a child, she would sometimes wake up in the
middle of the night, feeling terrified. Her father would carry her to the window and show her the town where they lived. He would
talk to her about the night watchmen, about the milkman who
would already be out delivering the milk, about the baker making
their daily bread. Her father was trying to drive out the monsters
with which she’d filled the night and replace them with the people
who kept watch over the darkness. “The night is just a part of the
day,” he would say.
The night is just a part of the day. Therefore she could feel
as safe in the dark as she did in the light. It was the dark that had
made her invoke that protective presence. She must trust it. And
that trust was called Faith. No one could ever understand Faith,
but Faith was what she was experiencing now, an inexplicable immersion in blackest night. It only existed because she believed in
it. Miracles couldn’t be explained either, but they existed for those
who believed in them.”