I did not want to go to prayer service that evening; I wanted to stay home and make a dish of candied fruit from a new recipe. But the recipe called for three oranges, and I had none.

Reluctantly, I decided to go to church, thinking that if I got the oranges that night, I could make the dish first thing in the morning. As I drove through the city to church, I stopped at every corner store along the way, looking for oranges. Unfortunately, all the stores I passed were out. I arrived at church feeling disappointed but determined to keep my mind on the service until the end.

As I was leaving, a teenaged boy asked for a ride home, and I agreed to take him. When we pulled into the public housing project where he lived, my headlights landed on a loaded pick-up truck. As we drew in closer I shrieked, "Oranges!" There, spotlighted by a street lamp, stood a truckload of oranges—boxes and boxes of large, beautiful oranges.

"Where is the driver?" I asked aloud.

"Here he comes now!" replied the teenager. Reaching hurriedly in my purse and finding one dollar, I gave it to the teen and told him to ask the man if I could buy three oranges. He jumped out as I craned my head out the window trying to see around the truck. I was still holding my breath when the boy came around the truck with as many oranges in his arms as he could carry.

"He didn't have any bags!" called the boy.

Awed and overjoyed, I took the fruit, returning several to the grateful teen. That night, I made my candied fruit, knowing I had put God first, and he had met my needs.