I wonder if you ever went to an automat—that’s a restaurant that loks like a post office. You go in and you don’t’ see any cook, any waiter, or any waitress. You drop in a quarter, out comes some pie and coffee, you drop in fifteen cents and out comes something else.
I went to New York one day, and, being a country boy, I tried it out. I went in, dropped in the money, and out it came. But I wasn’t a big enough fool to believe that there wasn’t somebody back there passing that stuff out.
For fifty-three years I’ve walked up to the open window of Heaven and I’ve had stuff passed out to me just as real as mashed potatoes and gravy. And that’s the reason I know there is a God—He answers prayer.
Just a Country Preacher, B.R. Lakin, by Angela E. Hunt, no publisher, nd. (Lakin lived 1901-1984.)