One of my earliest memories was of my asking my mother a philosophic question at the age of three. "Mommy," I said, mouth open with awe, "Does God see me now?" "Of course He does," my mother said, which led to my follow up, "Does He watch me when I'm sleeping?" "He does that too," was the answer, predictably enough, though I don't think I'd have made a fascinating subject doing that. Finally, with a tremor in my voice, "Mommy, does God see me when I'm in the bathroom?" "He can do that too," was the reply I fully expected, at which point I vowed that I'd always be a good boy, because who knows what could happen when I even entertained an evil thought?
