I have a vague memory of reading somewhere that stories are lies that tell the truth, and one of the best truth-telling liars I know is Chesterton. Through his small priest, Father Brown, he reveals truth after truth about God and man, and he's set to work some of the strangest parables within me -- one of which I'll try to explain. The cold weather cracks my skin. For some inexplicable reason, my right thumb is always the first part of my hands to mark the season change. Right around the nail, sometimes just under, my skin opens and often bleeds. I apply all kinds of lotions and fake skin products throughout the winter, but I end up toying with dead flakes no matter what I do. As I read the final part of The Secret of Father Brown , I peeled off a section of my right thumb, and it landed on page 807. I was reading page 806 at the time, and at once a parable set to work. It's not the parable of the knife playing an arrow, nor is it the parable of a missing suit of armor...
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