A visiting Priest was attending a men¡¯s breakfast in Ohio farm country. He asked one of the impressive older farmers in attendance to say grace that morning. After all were seated, the older farmer began:
¡°Lord, I hate buttermilk.¡± The Priest opened one eye and wondered to himself where this was going.
Then the farmer loudly proclaimed, ¡°Lord, I hate lard.¡±
Now the Priest was overly worried. However without missing a beat, the farmer prayed on,
¡°And Lord, you know I don¡¯t care much for raw white flour.¡±
Just as the Priest was ready to stand and stop everything, the farmer continued, ¡°But Lord, when you mix ¡®em all together and bake ¡®em up, I do love fresh biscuits.¡±
¡°So Lord, when things come up we don¡¯t like, when life gets hard, when we just don¡¯t understand what you are sayin¡¯ to us, we just need to relax and wait ¡®till You are done mixin¡¯, and probably it will be somethin¡¯ even better than biscuits.¡± Amen | ¿ÀÇÏÀÌ¿ÀÁÖ ³ó°¡¿¡¼ ÀÖÀº ¼ºÀγ²¼º Á¶Âù¿¡ ¼ºÁ÷ÀÚ ÇÑ ºÐÀÌ Âü¼®Çϰí ÀÖ¾ú´Ù. ±×³¯ ¾ÆÄ§ ½Ä»ç ±âµµ·Î ÇÑ ³ªÀÌµç ³óºÎ¿¡°Ô °¨»ç ±âµµÇØ Áֱ⸦ ±×´Â ºÎŹÇß´Ù. ´Ùµé ÀÚ¸®¿¡ ¾ÉÀº µÚ¿¡ ³ëÀÎÀå ³óºÎ´Â ±âµµ¸¦ ½ÃÀÛÇß´Ù.
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