A Child's Prayer

Johnnie's mom was mean.  All the neighborhood children knew that, at least I thought we all did. Looking back I can't figure out why I was so intimidated by her. I can't remember any unpleasant interaction with her myself. But in my young mind, Johnnie's mom was mean.

So when Johnnie came over to play one day and confessed to me some misdeed he had done, now long-since forgotten, I was plenty worried for him.  We both knew he was really going to get it.

But Johnnie had a plan. He was going to lie and deny everything when his mom found out. It seemed so plausible then.

Although I don't remember my exact age at the time of this incident, I was old enough to recognize a lie, which ability typically doesn't kick in until around age five, if I remember my childhood development principles correctly. My guess is that I was six when this happened.

At any rate, I knew that Johnnie's plan was wrong, that he shouldn't lie. And I told him so. He, of course, wasn't buying it. But again, I encouraged him with all my young heart not to lie to his mother. I went so far as to promise him that if he would tell the truth that he would not get in trouble. Where I got that idea I have no idea.  Perhaps my mother taught me that. Or perhaps I was responding to a prompting of the Holy Ghost because this event ended up being quite the testimony-builder for my young heart.

Johnnie was persuaded. He took courage in my fledgling witness that when we choose to keep God's commandments that we are blessed. And he left me with his new plan to go home and confess to his mother. I felt so good about that.

But once he left I remembered that Johnnie's mom was really mean, and I got really scared. She was gonna kill him, I just knew it. And I did the only thing I could do. I prayed. This was my very first real prayer. My parents had diligently been tutoring me in the mechanics of prayer throughout my young life, putting words in my mouth and modeling prayers that I could copy. But this was the first time that I turned to prayer for myself. And how fervently I prayed at that moment on my front porch.

"Heavenly Father, Johnnie has gone home to tell his mom the bad thing that he did. But she is so mean. I'm afraid what will happen to him.  I promised him that if he would not lie that he wouldn't get in trouble. And he believed me.  Please, please, please help him."

It was a desperate plea but my first true act of faith. 

Later Johnnie came trotting back over to the house, bright and cheerful.  "You were right!  I didn't get in trouble at all when I told my mom the truth." It was truly a miracle in my young eyes. God heard me! He helped me! He helped Johnnie.

That was 55 years ago. As simple of a story as that is, it is one of the important events in my life.  That initial reaching for God. That tender reaching back. I learned then that He is there and the many years since have only confirmed that truth. We have only to put out our hand and He will take it. Really.

I wonder if Johnnie remembers....