One day during a prolonged funk, when I was sure the world as we know it was coming to an end, my neighbor stopped by to ask me for help.

When Bernard Hebda was in eighth grade, he thought he had an idea of what God was calling him to do, but he wasn’t sure: God either wanted him to become a priest or a bus driver.

Flat on my back for three weeks, fighting an infection that ravaged my body and attacked both legs, leading to surgery and talk of possible amputation of one or both, I awoke intact but with a grueling regimen of physical therapy three times a day.