A Child’s Prayer

Family legends have to start somewhere.  This legend started on a road in Montana.

As a poor graduate student, funds were not readily available for vacations.  I took advantage of my position as a local national officer of Tau Beta Pi, the engineering honor society, to take my family on various visits to the colleges in the area, and when possible, to visit family, as well,.  I took the opportunity to visit Butte, Montana, at the Montana

School Mines and technology, to also visit my Uncle Walt Hill.  I can not remember which school break it coincided with, but we packed the family in our yellow Voyager, the one we called McKenna’s van (since we needed to get it when McKenna was born) and enjoyed a brief few-day vacation in Butte, Missoula, and on Seely Lake.

Vacations always end too soon.  When it came time to return home, we listened and watched for the weather and learned that a storm was to come through the area.  We left a little earlier than planned for the 10-hour drive home.

I remember having driven but a short way when it was remembered that we hadn’t prayed before leaving.  The late gray of the sky with the threatening clouds helped remind us.  We pulled to the side of the road.  Who should pray?

Even now, I’m not sure of the feeling and the logic that prompted me to ask David.  I was impressed by his child-like faith.  My reasoning argued that Jacob was old enough to already to self-conscious about his prayers, and Jefferson was too young to be truly conscious of what he was asking.

I asked that David Pray specifically to protect us from the storm.  We had the experience of driving through a blizzard many years before, and I was not eager to repeat the experience with my young family.

David offered a sweet short prayer.  Simple in words, strong in faith.  The purity of his prayer was tangible, moving me and my wife to tears.  We pulled back on the road and drove.

A few flakes fell fro the sullen sky.  Yet it felt as though we were driving in sunlight.

The storm seemed to seethe at our heels.  As we drove down the long valleys, we could se the snow-filled winds far away in our rear-view mirror.

It almost, but definitely did not, catch us at the last pass out of Montana.  Cars were few on the road, the road’s emptiness almost surreal.  We later learned that the pass was closed not long after our trip through it.  Yet as we drove, the flakes were scattered with no snow on the road or roadway.

I can’t remember where we offered out prayer of thanks, whether it was at a gas station on the plains of Idaho or in the warm confines of our little home in Provo.  We offered it with real gratitude and real recognition that a miracle had occurred.

Ever afterwards, even as David matured through grade school, middle, school, and high school, whenever we had an unusual trip, either in length or nature, that we had to take, we would ask David to voice a prayer for us and our safe arrival.

And it has worked.