I remember as a boy that some tasks seemed very difficult and almost impossible to me. For illustration: throughout the summer and early fall of each year, father bought wood cut in lengths to fit our cook stove. The man who delivered it would throw it off the wagon in a hopeless jumble. As I looked at this crisscross pile, it seemed to me that it was almost impossible that it could be transformed into an orderly stack as my father required. It meant discipline, it meant organization, it meant work. Eventually I did transform it into neat, even cords. Of course, my efforts were encouraged with the prodding of my father, and he knew how and where to prod.