Letter from the Publisher

The Power of Prayer
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Having grown up in the heart of Dixie and the middle of the Bible belt in Alabama, I have heard more than my share of sermons about the unmitigated power of prayer. Now, it is important to know that I am firmly convinced that through prayer many miracles can happen. I need look no further than the faces of my children to understand that prayers are indeed answered each and every day. But, I have always tried to balance my belief in prayer with a strong sense of feeling that God will help those who help themselves. This has been a delicate balancing act and I am always looking for just the right combination of faith and effort.

I recently heard a story from one of my good friends that June forever solve the dilemma for me.

My friend is a college coach in his mid-fifties, who grew up in the Bronx. His family was first generation Italian and, like virtually every Italian family I know, his father was the true patriarch of the clan. My friend admired and respected his father, not so much for what he said, but what he did.

The old man was wise, exceptionally intelligent, and well-educated in Italy. Yet, America in the late forties and early fifties was still a melting pot that did not always grant great favor upon immigrants. So, the old man did not find work commensurate with his abilities. He worked in the produce department at a Bronx grocery store. The father never complained about his job, and decided that if fate meant for him to stock produce, he would be the finest produce stocker in the whole of New York City. By all accounts, he succeeded.

At the end of his high school career, my friend received a scholarship to play football at a college in the northeast. During the fall semester of his freshman year, my friend had a visitor from the old neighborhood. His high school buddy informed the young man that there was a new boss at his father's grocery store who was "busting his Dad's chops."

Distressed by this serious offense, my friend caught the late-night train to New York. The next morning as he ate breakfast with his beloved father, my friend asked his father what was going on at work with this new boss. The old man dismissed it as nothing more than his boss being a young college grad just trying to be a tough guy to impress his new employees. The father said he had been praying every morning at mass for the new boss and he was "sure he would come around, he's a good boy... really." My friend was none too convinced, but said nothing to his Dad.

That same afternoon at 12:30, the time my friend knew his father would be walking home for lunch, the young man went into his father's grocery store and asked to speak to the manager. He was pointed in the direction of the familiar produce aisle.

My friend waited until no one was around, walked up behind the manager, grabbed him by the neck and shoved his face in the ice around the zucchini. He proceeded to drag him for about 15 feet through tomatoes, celery and every other fruit and vegetable on display. He then picked the manager up held him aloft by his apron, and told him who he was and that if the manager ever said one more cross word to his father, he would be back to finish the conversation, "Did he understand? And, was he going to clean up the mess?" After a resounding nod of his head to indicate he understood, the manager was let go and fell to the floor.

My friend left to return to college that afternoon and did not go home again until Thanksgiving break. At dinner on Wednesday night, my friend's father walked into the room, saw his son, and gave him a huge hug. During dinner, the old man said, "I know you always say I am wasting my time praying so much, but you remember my boss at work? Well, God answered my prayers; he has really come around, he's so nice now, he's a good boy."

My friend surely smiled, because he knew that prayer does work, but God doesn't mind a little help every once in awhile.

Sincerely,

Barry Terranova

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