Anne Lamott is digging around in the hatch of her VW Bug, which means the bumper sticker that reads "Who Would Jesus Bomb?" is, appropriately enough, pointed heavenward. "Does anyone need a water for church?" she asks. "Say yes," her friend urges. "It'll make her happy." Lamott looks up, grinning.
Lamott is accustomed to laughing at herself. The essayist and novelist has spent much of the past 30 years chasing profound truths, pinning them to the page and then dousing them with self-deprecating humor. She makes life's terrifying challenges seem small enough to hold in your hand, cameos to contemplate rather...
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