Unanswered Prayer


When I was a boy Mother insisted I attend church each Sunday, 
though she never stepped through the door. 

I occupied a pew beside my sisters, and thought about rocks, 
fishing, and just about anything else but our Lord and Savior. 

One fine morn there was a special feature—a woman came 
to play glorious music on her harp for all to hear. 

Wait a minute, I prayed. Harp is a light Irish beer, and I'd 
sooner have a glass of it than her and that danged harp.

j