In 1978, Quaker writer Richard Foster published his book Celebration of Discipline, which examined spiritual disciplines such as prayer, fasting, meditation, simplicity and solitude. Some evangelicals branded him as "New Age." Christianity Today later named the million-selling modern classic one of the 10 most important books of the 20th century.

Meanwhile, Foster's son Nathan was growing up in the shadow of his famous dad. Here's his story about his father and his faith.

In my junior year of high school, my teachers recommended that I learn a trade because I had little hope of continuing my education. Rather than attending normal classes, I spent half of each day learning carpentry at a vocational school. That year, I went ahead and got my GED. No one had any expectation that I would go to college.

"Today I summit the largest mountain. Today I graduate!" read the invitation. I had done it. I wasn't nearly as smart or stuck up as I had imagined a college grad to be. Climbing mountains was much easier than academic work. If it wasn't for the assistance of my brilliant wife, there's no way I could have finished. (I offered to frame half of my diploma for her, but she declined.)

As a challenged student, Dad had been my role model. In college, he would stand on his head to keep awake as he studied through the night. (I never had that type of fortitude.) Perseverance and a willingness to remain teachable kept my father from facing any significant consequences from his academic impairments. Dad was determined to learn, even as an adult.

So a man of average intelligence, with no real means and plagued with horrible spelling and grammatical skills, became an author. After the summer sun had set, the moon illuminated the stage of the child athlete. The wind transformed small trees into shadowy spectators waving applause. A worn basketball exposing its woven core was my trophy, marking another season of school-less days and late bedtimes. When I was 10, I could have shot baskets all night. Occasionally, Dad would join my brother and me on the magical court. Following the cadence of his pounding palms against the orange orb, his announcer voice would begin: "The disciplined person does what needs to be done when it needs to be done. Now I can take a basketball and put it in a hoop." Then he would unleash a wild shot that would hit high on the backboard and bounce into the grass. Comically shrugging his shoulders, my dad would continue with diminished enthusiasm: "But I can't do it when it needs to be done." I'd laugh so hard I'd nearly pee.

Dad's monologue was his catch phrase: The disciplined person does what needs to be done when it needs to be done. My entire family had it memorized, and we always repeated it in a deep and sarcastic tone. Funny how you can memorize something and have no idea what it means. Of course, the bit about his basketball ability was true, too. I remember a lot of dramatic grunting. Even today I can picture him darting wildly toward the hoop, often falling over, seldom making a basket.