The late Bishop Ernest Fitzgerald used to tell about a man he knew years ago who lived in one of the isolated corners of the Blue Ridge Mountains. Life was hard, and every day his little hillside farm was at the mercy of drought, wind, or cold. Yet he was about the most serene and deeply contented man Bishop Fitzgerald had ever known. So he asked the old mountaineer one day if he had ever had any troubles and if he had ever spent sleepless nights. "Sure, I've had my troubles," he said, "but no sleepless nights. When I go to bed I say, 'Lord, you have to sit up all night anyway. There's no point in both of us losing sleep. You look after things tonight and when tomorrow comes, I'll do the best I can to help you.'"