The email came yesterday.

“Dear Sean, I am an atheist, I do not believe in God… Your God cannot be omnipotent and concomitantly allow evil, you can’t have it both ways… Remember the recent floods in Texas, where was your God then?

“…Sorry Sean, would love to believe in a higher power like the rest of you small-brains, but my heart and brain both say ‘HELL NO.’”

Dear Friend,

I’m no theologian. I’m not even a church guy, either—not unless it’s a pennant race. No, I’m more of a Pabst Blue Ribbon enthusiast.

Moreover, you’ve written to an uneducated man. I had to look up the word “concomitantly.” I’m still not sure how to use this adverb.

So I’m not exactly the person you should be sending these emails to. You’re much sharper than I am. Any response I write will make me look like I am full of bovine byproduct.

There is, however, one thing I know.

I once met a woman from Illinois who was born blind and deaf. Just like Helen Keller. She was remarkable. You would have liked her.

The percentage of deaf-blind cases in America is low. So you’re looking at a population of about 11,000 in the U.S.

Moreover, 90 percent of deaf-blind people also have medical, physical, or cognitive disabilities. Back in the olden days, many parents put deaf-blind children up for adoption. They were sent off to state facilities until someone adopted them. Which—surprise—people rarely did.

That’s what happened to this deaf-blind girl. As a kid, she was tossed around. She didn’t learn how to truly communicate with other humans until her late teens.

Take a moment and think about that.

Her life was a long, arduous road. For her first half of existence, she had no concept of our world. She lived in darkness and perpetual silence. She did not know, for example, who her caregivers were. Heck, for that matter, she only had a vague idea of what PEOPLE were.

When she was 15, she got adopted.

The woman who adopted her was committed, and she deeply—and I mean DEEPLY—loved this child. She fed the girl, clothed her, took care of her.

The girl still had no real idea what was going on. She didn’t know she’d been adopted. Neither did she know this human was her new mother.

She had no word for “mother.” And even if she did, this word would have had no definite meaning since the girl didn’t know what words were.

Still with me? What I’m telling you is that this deaf-blind girl was completely isolated, inside her own head.

When the deaf-blind girl grew older, and began learning to communicate, do you know the first word she learned? Her first word was “Mama.” She was 17.

This word was spelled in her palm by a teacher’s fingers, Anne Sullivan style. The name “Mama” itself has no actual meaning. Names and labels have never had any meaning on their own. Names and words only represent ideas. And the idea of “Mama” is, simply put, love.

To the girl, Mama was the loving institution that fed her—sometimes by placing food directly into her mouth. Mama was the unknown creature who cleaned up the girl’s bathroom accidents when the girl soiled and urinated on herself.

Mama was the one who carried the teenage girl to bed each night, even though she was heavy to lift.

Mama was the one who kissed her daughter’s little face and said, “I love you,” while pressing her voicebox against the girl’s forehead so the vibrations could be felt by the child.

Mama was who provided. Who fixed her hair. Who held her hand and trained her to walk. Who, against all odds, made this child one of the unforgotten. Mama was the woman who saved this child’s life.

Now I ask you. Do you think this child’s dedicated mother cares whether her deaf-blind daughter “believes” in her?

Hell no.

Concomitantly yours,

—Sean Dietrich