“my god is not waiting inside a church or sitting above the temple’s steps. my god is the refugee’s breath as she’s running, is living in the starving child’s belly, is the heartbeat of the protest. my god does not rest between pages written by holy men. my god lives between the sweaty thighs of women’s bodies sold for money, was last seen washing the homeless man’s feet. my god is not as unreachable as they’d like you to think. my god is beating inside us infinitely” ~Rupi Kaur, The Sun and Her Flowers