An angel appeared at the foot of my bed when I was eight years old, so it shouldn’t surprise me that I ended up writing eulogies. Initially, they were about people I’ve lost, one after another. Eventually, they became a way to examine other types of losses. No matter how much I try to write about “normal” things, my stories take unexpected turns and I end up writing about the ineffable and things that can’t be explained in rational terms, but just feel true. I call it my “God-writing.” At first I wasn’t crazy about the idea. “Spiritual” writing, for lack of a better term, like its real-world counterpart, religious doctrine, can be trite and lacking in intellectual rigor. It can be divisive instead of creating community. It can be used to maintain the status quo of privilege for a few instead of opportunity for all. It can engender complacency instead of spurring us to action. But at its best it can teach us about each other, can open our hearts to the suffering of others, can even sometimes bring us joy. This is hard work, but it can lead to openness, compassion and love, and nothing feels more important to me than that.