A woman telephoned Neville a few days before the lecture asking him to pray for something too personal to disclose; he sat in his chair afterwards and imagined it fulfilled, and she drove from San Bernardino to that night's meeting to tell him it had happened.

A stockbroker friend in the audience wrote Neville a letter describing how, hungry for an experience of God despite slow business, he asked God for a sign and then dreamed of an ancient world in which a youth he instantly knew to be David, his son, appeared over a wooden fence; the memory came back on Friday morning while he drove to his office listening to a Neville tape. Neville answers him from the platform, calling it a foreshadowing.

Neville reports reading in yesterday morning's newspaper that the Archbishop of Canterbury preached at St. Patrick's in New York and at Riverside Church and commented on Jesus Christ Superstar; Neville notes he has not seen the play himself.

Neville opened this morning's paper and read that the columnist William Lawrence, whom he had watched and listened to and who a year in advance had correctly predicted President Johnson would not run again, had died in his sleep at fifty-five in New Hampshire while covering the coming primary.

A friend came to him just before the lecture and let him read a letter threatening him, which Neville uses to tell the man to go on the appointed day with a laugh in his heart.

With his wife in hospital awaiting surgery, Neville telephoned her the night before and, since she could not speak, had the head nurse read her a thought for meditation; the operation took place that morning.

A divorced woman painter with a small boy, short of money, blew her top and assumed she had all she needed; she then got an unsolicited $5,000 order from the First National City Bank of New York. She told Neville the story on Friday and promised to write it out, but never sent the letter because writing is hard for her.