Six months later, I picked up a ringing phone only to discover I was on a conference call. Six or seven people were talking over each other as they vainly tried to convince me that I’d just won the $100,000 grand prize. Apparently, my rookie entry, Brother John, had bested ten thousand other essays from forty-seven countries and every state in the Union.

Six weeks later I attended the award ceremony at the Four Season’s restaurant in New York. Best of all, Dom Francis, the abbot of Mepkin Abbey, gave Brother John a highly unusual dispensation from his monastic vows so he could attend as well. Brother John also soon found its way into the anthologies, The Best of Christian Writing and The Best of Catholic Writing.

But as I morphed into a leadership contributor for Forbes, and Columbia Business School successfully published my first book, Business Secrets of the Trappist Monks, my prize winning essay fell into relative obscurity.

Then, thirteen years after I won the award, a man showed up at my house. He was a 47-year-old senior vice president for Bank of America, and he had just driven six hours to personally thank me for writing Brother John. He told me his divorce had sent him spiraling into deep despair and even thoughts of suicide. Then he stumbled upon Brother John. The essay’s healing message inspired him to take a sabbatical from his job and spend nine months as a monastic guest with Brother John at the Trappist monastery, Mepkin Abbey. This stint turned his life completely around, and on his way out the door he asked Brother John for my address so he could thank me personally.

Deeply moved, I said: “I am incredibly humbled by your story, but I also feel guilty.”

“Why would you feel guilty?” He asked a bit stunned.

“Over the years, I’ve received a small but steady stream of grateful correspondence from people just like you. It’s incredibly gratifying, but it leaves me feeling like I have the proverbial candle under a bushel basket. Brother John is helping the few that stumble on it. I got to figure out how to let it help many more.”

When he left, I acted on an idea that I’d been mulling over for several years. The essay, Brother John, was too short to make a traditional book. However, what if the essay became the heart of an illustrated “coffee table” art book?

But where would I find an artist? I don’t remember how, but serendipitously I met an artist named Glenn Harrington. Glenn loved the essay and, as an Irish Catholic, he was fascinated by the opportunity to do a spiritually uplifting project. He offered to do twenty-two original oil paintings of Mepkin Abbey to illustrate Brother John.

I was impressed, but he was the only artist I’d considered, and even at that, only via phone. (To this day we have never met!) So, I called my nephew who was working for Scholastic Publishing in New York. “Jamie,” I said, “I’m only going to get one bite at the apple. I gotta get the right artist the first time. What can you find out about this guy Glenn Harrington?”

A few days later, he called back. “Wow Augie,” he said, “I checked with a bunch of art directors up here. Harrington is famous. They all use him, and he makes big bucks for a single book cover. And he wants to do twenty-two oil paintings for you? Go for it, before he sobers up!”

* * *

Eighteen months later we self-published Brother John: A Monk, A Pilgrim and the Purpose of Life. The book got rave reviews, and Ingram kept us busy ordering and reordering inventory. All royalties and speaking fees are donated to charity.

While not intentional, the story behind Brother John takes place on Christmas Eve, and ever since publication we have been working to help Brother John realize its potential as a Christmas classic and the ideal Christmas present.

I have gone into detail here because the back story behind the making of Brother John perfectly illustrates the magical almost miraculous message so many discover in the essay itself. Nothing about the Brother John story and my subsequent “second career” as a successful author was planned. It has all been a series of “happy accidents.” Happy accidents that I truly believe are merely the byproducts and trailing indicators of the critical decision I made as a young college student: A decision to seek first the kingdom of heaven and let everything else take care of itself.