Page 223 - The Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous

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OUR SOUTHERN FRIEND

Pioneer A.A., minister’s son, and southern farmer,
he asked, “Who am I to say there is no God?”

ather is an Episcopal minister and his work
F takes him over long drives on bad roads. His
parishioners are limited in number, but his friends are
many, for to him race, creed, or social position makes
no difference. It is not long before he drives up in the
buggy. Both he and old Maud are glad to get home.
The drive was long and cold but he was thankful for
the hot bricks that some thoughtful person had given
him for his feet. Soon supper is on the table. Father
says grace, which delays my attack on the buckwheat
cakes and sausage.
Bedtime comes. I climb to my room in the attic.
It is cold, so there is no delay. I crawl under a pile of
blankets and blow out the candle. The wind is rising
and howls around the house. But I am safe and warm.
I fall into a dreamless sleep.
I am in church. Father is delivering his sermon. A
wasp is crawling up the back of the lady in front of
me. I wonder if it will reach her neck. Shucks! It has
flown away. At last! The message has been delivered.
“Let your light so shine before men that they may
see your good works—.” I hunt for my nickel to drop
in the plate so that mine will be seen.
I am in another fellow’s room at college. “Fresh­
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