This morning my hill-climbing exercise was a frigid one, cut short by the bitter weather. Wrapped in winter gear, I climbed the Granite Street hill in front of my house two times, but had to quit early because I could barely feel my face. With the strong wind pushing me steadily to the top, climbing the hill was actually relatively easy, but coming down was difficult. The 11° wind whipped against me all the way.

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Eating my breakfast by candlelight this morning, it suddenly occurred to me that this particular moment had never happened before and would never happen again. Never in the history of the universe had a man named Hamilton Salsich sat in this particular chair at this table with these green beans and carrots, and this particular whole wheat muffin, with these molecules of air floating around him. Never again would any of this happen in just this way. I was in the midst of an exclusive and elite miracle. And – wonder of wonders – the same type of miracle will happen moment after moment all day.

Needless to say, I enjoyed the rest of my breakfast immensely.