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in which I am revealed as a godless heathen

Caleb and I are in the back of a cab headed to a soccer tournament, early Saturday morning. “Mommy? Have I ever been in a church?” he asks, apropos of precisely nothing. I think to myself that surely he must have been in a church, at some point in his eight years on the planet.  I stall: why? “Well,” he says. “We were looking at an exhibit of chairs and …