In our many conversations, religion and spirituality had come up a number of times. Casimir had told me that he had studied many religions, mainly Christianity. He admitted that he had scarcely ever gone to church, and he didn’t pray or check in with God on a regular basis. “When I was about three and a half, my mother gave me a children’s Bible. She would read it to me every night before I went to bed. Sometimes my father would come into my room and listen to her read it. The memory is rather hazy, but I know it’s valid. Maybe the few fond childhood memories which reside inside of me are what have kept me going all along,” he said thoughtfully. “So I assume that your mother was religious?” I asked. “Indeed, she was. I overheard someone say that she could find God’s love in just about anything. In the flowers, the trees, and even in the rain. Even in a sickly premature baby,” he finished. Then, I recalled my father. He called me his little miracle; his promise.