The man had been ill a long time. Thirty-eight years in fact. He had tried everything. Hoped that one-day a doctor, a priest, or someone would know how to fix him. But thirty-eight years is a long time. His chronic condition had worn his soul thin until there was only one small thread of hope left. To put it modern terms, he was hoping to win the lottery. That’s how unlikely his one last hope was. Discouraged and bitter he waited, there was nothing else for him to do. He saw others get better, win the lottery as it were.