I Was 8 Years Old When I

His Conviction That Everything Happened For A Reason, And Would Come To Good, Gave Him Laughing Equanimity Even In Hard Times.

Such Beauty, He Thought, Was Too Perfect To Have Come About By Mere Chance. That Day In The Center Of The Pacific Was, To Him, A Gift Crafted Deliberately, Compassionately, For Him And Phil. Joyful And Grateful In The Midst Of Slow Dying, The Two Men Bathed In That Day Until Sunset Brought Is, And Their Time In The Doldrums, To An End.

Every Day After Lunch When I Was Writing My First Book, I'd Nibble A Square Of Fine Chocolate And Meditate On All That Had Gone Into Its Creation: The Sun And Rain That Spilled On The Cocoa Plant, The Soil That Nourished It, The Hands That Picked The Beans, And So On. My Taste Of Chocolate Became A Lesson On The Interconnectedness Of Things, And The Infinite Blessings For Which I Am Grateful.

I Was 8 Years Old When I Went Across The Street From My House To A Fair, And They Always Had A Used Book Sale. For A Quarter I Bought A Book Called 'come On Seabiscuit.' I Loved That Book. It Stayed With Me All Those Years

I Identified In A Very Deep Way With The Individuals I Was Writing About Because The Theme That Runs Through This Story Is Of Extraordinary Hardship And The Will To Overcome It.