Mim had a quiet yet abiding belief in God. She suffered at least one loudmouth know-it-all high school son arguing the topic, to the point where Joe had to step in to say, “Stop browbeating your mother.”

Some number of all-too-short decades later, in intimate conversation with that son, she recounted a couple of occasions in which she clearly heard a voice. The voice spoke needed words of comfort at just the right time, and it was clear to her that was the voice of God.

She was the teeniest bit defensive, as if concerned that the son might still be a skeptical browbeater, as if maybe she herself had the teeniest bit of skepticism. I am pleased to report that that son had learned to accept and appreciate, even support, another’s faith and beliefs, and believes that his words were a comfort too.