Squished with Sofia

Sofia, my five-year old granddaughter, visiting my wife and me in California, lay in bed last night waiting for the three of us to watch "The Nutcracker" (for the thousandth time). She sat near the edge of the bed, leaving little room for me to sit. Her Grandmother said: "Move over, Sophie...leave a little more room for Grandfather." Sofia stared at her Grandmother: "But I like to sit 'squished'!" Grandmother gestured her move. She finally did; only a little bit though, and I crawled in the bed next to her. She snuggled into my arm pit, and we turned the TV on. As Sofia and I watched, contentedly 'squished' together, she stared at the TV and simultaneously and unconsciously put her hand up and stroked my my face, then my neck, finally settling on the soft bottom on my earlobe, which she continued to flip back and forth. This gentle repetitive motion of easy fingers stroking my earlobe continued on and on, for minutes on end, until it became nothing. Except:

There is a God.
Goodness exists.
Happiness is possible.
'Squished' is the answer.