These new devotees—most of them far more qualified for spiritual life than I—could go on
for hours about a smile they saw on Prabhupada’s face or a single look, one piece of
prasad received from his hand, a garland they gave him—even a single blossom they
retrieved after he’d stepped on it on his way to the car. And here I am, getting it all! I
meditate on this often—how unqualified yet how lucky I am.