Prescript:

Two days ago Ila called and asked for my story about the sailor who was contemplating suicide.  (See Saving the Sailor in this book).  She wanted to use it for the devotional thought that she was to give in seminary the next morning.  That’s why I posted that particular story on yesterday’s blog (11 Sept. 2012).

Last night Isaac called and asked for my story about the baler and the jack.  It was his turn to do the seminary devotional.  I had to page through my journals to find it.  I’m glad he made me do it because otherwise this story might have gotten lost.  I’m thrilled that my kids are asking for these things, and are using them.  I’m glad I’ve kept a journal.

While looking for Isaac’s story, I found a thought that I’d written and forgotten about.  It explains why I’m doing all of this:  “Of anyone who keeps a journal it will be said of him, as it was said of Abel, ‘He being dead yet speaketh.’”  The reason I write is my hope that I’ll be able to influence my grandchildren for many generations to come.

 

Entry from James’ journal, 29 August 1983.

This morning because of the things that happen to all of us as we begin our days, I neglected to have my personal prayer.  I also let the opportunity for family devotional and family prayer slip by.  For the next couple of hours a little inward voice periodically said to me, “You ought to have your prayer.”

As frequently as the reminder came I’d say, “You’re right, I will—later.”

The morning progressed.  I wanted to do some haying so I went down to where my tractor was parked.  The little voice said, “This is a nice quiet place to have your prayer.”

I thought, “Yes, it is.  I’ll be sure to do that—later.”

I unhooked the baler from the tractor, and climbed aboard the tractor to start it and pull away from the baler.  As I reached for the key the little voice said, “You really ought to have your prayer before you start this noisy thing.”

“All right, I’ll do it,” I replied.

I got off and knelt behind the tractor between it and the baler.  I thanked the Lord for my particular blessings, asked for guidance in my concerns, and safety for my family.  As I prayed there with my eyes closed the little voice said, “By the way, you forgot to put the jack under the baler.”

Without opening my eyes I knew that was so.  I was dumbfounded because I never forget to put the jack down when I unhook.  Had I pulled away, the baler would have crashed to the ground.  At the worst it would have bent something, and at least it would have made the next hookup difficult.

Then the little voice said, “Say, you left a tool lying on the back of the tractor.  It will bounce off and be lost before you get to where you’re going.”

I finished my prayer and headed up the road on the tractor.  The little voice wasn’t done yet:  “You know you have a lot of ward members who didn’t have their personal prayers today.  You’d all save yourselves a lot of daily grief if you’d just take the time to ask for my guidance and protection.  You’re facing your days unarmed and without the protective shield prayer places around you.  Why don’t you tell them?”

Postscript:

This story probably prompted a dream that I had just before I opened my eyes this morning.  In my semi-wakeful state I had a bird’s-eye view of this valley.  Rising up from scattered houses around the valley were little packages of prayers.  They looked like long and short cylinders, and were rising at the rate of released helium balloons.

God, in His heaven, took note of each rising prayer, pointed His finger at the house from which each prayer emanated, and zapped a blessing upon its giver before the prayer had even started its ascent.  Unlike letters that I sometimes get and send, not one of the blessings went astray.  Each went immediately to the person for whom it was intended.