"Come unto Me. Come unto Me, You say. All right then, dear Lord.
I will try in my own absurd way. In my own absurd way I will try to come unto You, a project which is in itself by no means unabsurd.
Because I do not know the time or place where You are. And if by some glad accident my feet should stumble on it, I do not know that I would know that I had stumbled on it. And even if I did know, I do not know for sure that I would find You there. … And if You are there, I do not know that I would recognize You. And if I recognized You, I do not know what that would mean or even what I would like it to mean. I do not even well know who it is you summon, myself.
For who am I? I know only that heel and toe, memory and metatarsal, I am everything that turns, all of a piece, unthinking, at the sound of my name. … Come unto Me, You say.
I, … all of me, unknowing and finally unknowable even to myself, turn. O Lord and Lover, I come if I can to You down through the litter of any day, through sleeping and waking and eating and saying goodbye and going away and coming back again. laboring and laden with endless histories heavy on my back."
— Frederick Buechner (The Alphabet of Grace)
