When I was 18 years old, I came home from my grandfather's funeral utterly despondent. That night I went out with my friends, and having almost no experience with alchohol, I drank a fifth of voda and chased it with a 6-pack of beer. I woke up in the hospital the next day with my father beside me. The doctor came in and said that he had never seen a miracle before. I asked him what he meant. He said that I should have not only had zero motor function, but that I should have been dead. He told me that every moment I was there, all night long, I said the 23rd Psalm over and over and over again.