Ms. Davies’ wrinkled face scans the room. “I been livin’ in this contry for over 65 yeers.” She leans in and puts the backside of her hand flat against the smiling corner of her mouth. “But I’m still the Queen’s gurl!”

Moses crouched low, loosened a strap and removed the sandal. The sand, warmed by sacred fire, seared his sole like embers fallen from an altar...

The foreheads of four men leak beads of sweat as they sway shoulder to shoulder, like a buoy tipping back and forth at the gentle wake of a motorboat. A statue of the Virgin Mary, hands folded at her breast and face resolute yet gentle, towers above them...

The older I become, the more penance I crave. I never expected this evolution in my spiritual maturation...