When I was a wee tiny, the church we went  to used the 1928 Episcopal Book of Common Prayer.

As I sat in the pew with the hymnal on my lap, coloring on the bulletin with Dad’s pen, I used to shiver with delight every time the priest mentioned the Holy Ghost.

“Scary!” I thought, but not too scary, because it was the Holy Ghost, and I figured God wouldn’t let it be frightening.

So I really really wanted to see the Holy Ghost. I wanted to see any ghost, but the holy one wouldn’t scare me as much.