Lost Keys

When I was a very young, my parents taught me how to pray. I remember my mother sitting on my bed, and Barbara, Daniel, and I kneeling down in a row at bedtime as she helped and listened to us say our personal prayers. We had family prayer and blessings on the food as well. Prayer was a natural part of our lives.

When I was four years old, my parents only had one car. If my mom needed to run errands, she would bundle up her children early in the morning and drive my dad to work. I remember those early morning drives still wearing my pajamas and still half asleep.

One particular day when my mother had the car for an important appointment, she could not find her car keys. She looked everywhere. Frantically she asked me, her oldest child, if I had seen them. I had not. She continued to look.

I remembered that we could ask Heavenly Father for help. I remember going into my bedroom, kneeling by my bed, and asking Heavenly Father to help me find the keys. My mommy needed to go somewhere and she could not find the keys anywhere.

When I finished praying, I stood up, walked out my bedroom, down the hallway, through the living room, into the kitchen and out the back door to our back yard. Without any hesitation I walked over to the clothesline. I remember reaching up into the bag where the clothespins were kept and reaching in with my little hand. I couldn't even see into the bag because it was higher than I was, but when I reached in, there were the keys!

I grabbed them and walked into the house.

"I found your keys, Mommy!" I called.

I don't remember if I even said a prayer of thanks, but this memory has stayed with me all my life. I have told this story many times as I have taught Primary, Young Women, and Relief Society. My testimony of prayer began as a four year old. It has continued to grow as a teenager and an adult.

I'm so grateful for prayer.