Six years ago. something unforgettable happened. My wife, Liz, and I celebrated our 50th wedding anniversary that year. It was a lovely event hosted by our sons for us. Many wonderful friends from the past surprised us with presents and congratulations. Our gift to each other was a driving trip out west. We drove from Ontario into Alberta, then southward into Glacier National Park in Montana, and continued to Yellowstone National Park.

It was a cold spring day, and the Beartooth Highway had opened for the season just days before. Alongside the road, there was still a great amount of snow remaining. The seenery was so impressive that we made numerous stops to record memories with my camera. At roughly the highest point of the highway, I stopped at a lookout to catch the amazing views, with my wife in the center of my camera lens.

There were not many vehicles on the road. Occasionally, cars with energetic young tourists passed by. And then we heard a motorcycle in the distance. The driver of the motorcycle, in rags, parked behind our car. As he approached us, his only words were, “Give me your camera and get over there with your wife." I must admit I felt nervous that we might be robbed where we just created some beautiful memories. Surprisingly, he just took a picture of us, handed back my camera and rode off before we could express our gratitude. The photo he took is one of the most cherished and prized of our trip.

I learned my lesson somewhere I least expected it. God judges us just by our heart, so we should never judge a man by his appearance. If the motorcycle driver reads this story and remembers the situation, we would like to say "thank you" to him.

We first encountered the hermit (隐士) in the summer during a holiday on the rugged southwest coast of Scotland. I was waiting for a bus from Bennane Hill Caravan Site with my mum and my brothers, Abel and Kevin.

It was Kevin, then aged five, who spotted him first and broke the silence excitedly shouting out that he’d seen a “tramp” (流浪汉) and pointing him out. I was thrilled to look up and see that there was indeed a tramp strolling along the road opposite us dressed in rags.

My poor mum was embarrassed, scolding Kevin, and saying it was a terrible thing to call someone. When he pointed out that the man must be a tramp because his clothes were all brown, she countered that maybe brown was his favourite colour. We weren’t buying it. He was a tramp.

There’s not much recorded about Snib. He seemed to live a normal life until his thirties. It is said that he worked as a banker in Dundee and was well paid, well respected and engaged to be married. The great mystery of this story, and indeed the making of it, is that Snib suddenly walked away from everything at the age of 33 and no one seems to know why.

Snib’s cave was massive. In his cave, burning the driftwood he collected from the shore, Snib had the shelter he needed. There was an abundant local supply of rabbits, fish and potatoes for nourishment. For anything else he needed, Snib exchanged bottles he collected on the shore for goods at a local shop in Ballantrae.

Snib never took on the worries of promotion, status or ownership of a fancy car. But on his daily commute along the beach in rags seeking only the simple things in life, he was surrounded by beauty and regarded with respect. Even now I sometimes wonder if Snib is one of the wealthiest people I’ve ever met.

Susan was born as the ninth child in a Catholic family. She suffered from learning disabilities ever since her birth because of her mother’s poor health.

School was difficult for Susan and she was bullied because of her different behaviors. Her siblings, who were much older, had life experiences that were unknown to their little sister. From the time of her birth, Susan was a screamer. The only really safe place that she would use as a repeat was her bedroom. There she would hang posters of her musical idols on the wall and sing popular music into a hairbrush that she pretended was a microphone.

One by one the siblings moved away from home and then Susan’s father died. This left her alone with an aging mother and a cat. The siblings accused her mother of not expecting more out of Susan. She had seen many professionals and remembered hearing the word “borderline” but didn’t know what it meant. She tried volunteer work. Her best state of mind, however, was found when she was singing and so she would regularly join others in karaoke or pubs where she could show her skills and receive appreciation from the crowd.

When Susan announced at Christmas that she was planning to compete in the Britain’s Got Talent contest, her siblings tried to discourage her. It was a wonder that she was even able to do the audition considering the troubles she faced just physically getting to the right place.

“The Woman I Was Born to Be” is a beautiful story written in the simple but humorous voice of the author, Susan Boyle. She tells her story from birth to the present in an interesting and educational manner. The writing is supplemented by photos from her albums.

I love this book! In fact, I read the whole thing in one day!

There is something in the stories that not only teaches the reader but also inspires us to reach for our dreams — no matter how impossible they may seem to be!