Without dignity, identity is erased.

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.

Honestly, I expected to get a cold reception because of my subject matter. But when editors took a look at the story I had to tell, and saw that this was not a parochial story at all, they really warmed to it

But with nonfiction, the task is very straightforward: Do the research, tell the story

I just thought I was empty and now I'm being filled...and I just wanted to keep being filled.

And at that point, I think my experience in covering the subject helped me. I think editors felt comfortable with the idea of me telling this story because I had demonstrated that I know this business pretty well

When he thought of his history, what resonated with him now was not all that he had suffered but the divine love that he believed had intervened to save him.