She will never pervert or destroy the works of my Father's hands. She is necessary to you. She will evoke the kindness that will keep you human. Her infirmity will prompt you to gratitude for your own good fortune. More! She will remind you every day that I am who I am, that my ways are not yours and that the smallest dust mote whirled in darkest space does not fall out of my hand.
I have chosen you. You have not chosen me. This little one is my sign to you. Treasure her!'
From Morris West's The Clowns of God
Beth - 1986