Every morning before his plow touches dirt, he stops in at the alter of the Mount Side Church. It would take a week of hard rain to save his land. And with zero chance in the forecast, he folds his cracked hands. It might seem impossible but still he asks. God dosent listen to the odds. He made the streets where Angles trod. When the facts come up stacked against us, He aint concerned with circumstances. He's bigger than all that. He loves it when we ask. He hears every prayer from every heart. Oh but God dosent listen to the odds. He remembers that evening, Doc. Plainly shook his head. " She won't make it through the night. Son, I did my best." That was 47 years last Tuesday, She's still by his side today. So that old farmer knows what can happen when you pray cuz' he's watched mountains move, whats a little rain. He sits down on the front pew waiting on the sound of that hallelujah linking to the rain coming down