As I sit quietly at the desk in my hotel room and look out the window, watching light replace darkness in the courtyard, as I contemplate the choice of French’s yellow mustard window trim against the white and gray outside walls, God suddenly makes sense.

I can’t explain that any more than I can explain what love is; any more that I can explain right and wrong; any more than I can explain why, at some point, buying pants with the previously scorned expandable waistline makes sense, or how evangelical Christians continue to support Trump.

Still, at this blessed moment, God makes sense.

And surprisingly, the yellow trim works.

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