He was born in an obscure village, the child of a peasant
woman.  He worked in a carpentry shop until he was thirty,
and then for three years he was an itinerant preacher.

When the tide of popular opinion turned against him, his
friends ran away.  He was turned over to his enemies.
He was tried and convicted.  He was nailed upon a cross
between two thieves.  When he was dead, he was laid in a
borrowed grave.

He never wrote a book.  He never held an office.  He never
owned a home.  He never went to college.  He never travelled
more than two hundred miles from the place where he was born.
He never did one of the things that usually accompanies
greatness.

Yet all the armies that ever marched, and all the governments
that ever sat, and all the kings that ever reigned, have not
affected life upon this earth as powerfully as has that One
Solitary Life.

                                      -Author Unknown-