Sitting on the shore of Lake Superior several weeks ago, watching my husband skip rocks on the water, I thought about the book in my lap. I'd put it on my reading list many years ago, bought it two years ago when I saw it at a used bookstore, but was only reading it then for the first time. It was the right book at the right time, and my gratitude for it and the image of Dave's rocks on the water, triggered this [not completely thought out] metaphor. It seems to me that if you read a book before the time is right for you to read it, the message meant for you skips across your brain like a flat stone across the water. It's not wasted because the ripples go on and on to who knows where, but you don't immediately absorb it. When the time is right, however, the message is a heavy rock that sinks down deep. A book into the hand and into the brain at the exact right time is a divine gift.