" The God of my childhood was an old, white, Vandyck-bearded Father Time, who roared up thunder, then puffed out His cheeks and blew down hurricanes on His errant children. He could be placated only if one fell prostrate, groveled and begged for mercy. I didn’t like that God, but He did seem more real than a Maker who was just thought and spirit. I wished for a Someone in between. "

― Maya Angelou , Singin' and Swingin' and Gettin' Merry Like Christmas (Maya Angelou's Autobiography, #3)