Aaron has invited me to go with his stake youth on a 3-day handcart trek from Ladd Canyon over the hills to the church's Catherine Creek Lodge.  He is going to pull Ellen in a handcart the whole way.  He has also invited me to give her the priesthood blessing that I've been wanting to give her.  For months I've been wanting to go to the mountains for a prayer session as I'd seek permission to give her a blessing of healing.

This morning (24 June 2023) I set out on a hike up to Willow Creek to have my prayer session.  I learned a lot, probably more than I can remember or write about.

On the way to my destination I pondered upon Aaron's invitation to join the trek.  The first day will be an 8-mile uphill walk.  I would like to think that I'm physically capable of that, but I have doubts.  I would not like to start out and find that I couldn't make it.

Just this month I've finally reached the point where I'm not constantly aware of my 8-month-old new knee.  I think my knee might allow the hike, but I'm not sure about my stamina.  Therefore, I'm not going on the trek, even though it would be fun to be with my son and granddaughter.

I found a block of wood at Willow Creek upon which I could sit and think, and beside which I could kneel and pray.  I prayed out loud.  I was thinking of Lorenzo Snow in Italy as he went to the mountain, spent the day in prayer, and received permission to go down to the village and heal the little boy that was dying.  The healing had a profound effect upon his missionary efforts.  Could I have permission to do the same for Ellen?

I prayed for quite a while, received no impressions, and then sat upon the block of wood in the sunshine with my hat off.

At my feet was a miniature world.  Three ants marched in a line to some destination.  Another ant scurried hither and yon not knowing where to go, but he was doing it rapidly.  He had no idea where he was going, but he was making good time.  The world he was trying to negotiate was a tangle.  Tufts of grass were big trees and dense thickets to him.  He'd climb through some, go around others, and occasionally end up on a blade of grass high above the ground, necessitating a turn-around and backtrack.  The hoof prints of cows became giant cliffs and chasms.  He generally couldn't see more than an inch ahead, and wasn't able to choose easier routes to a destination he wasn't even sure of.

Like a god I sat above the ant looking down on the entire landscape.  If the ant had simply stopped in the midst of his frenetic activity, and looked up, I'd have been happy to give him directions.  But he gave me no thought, and just blundered on.  He was very human-like.

It was very peaceful there.  The only sounds were the stream, bird calls, and an occasional jet passing overhead.  I heard robins, quail, and chickadees.  There were lots of butterflies silently doing their thing.  I think I fell asleep sitting there in the sunshine.

I opened my eyes, and saw layers.  The layers represented the different levels of our existence.  The sight was very beautiful.  Near at hand was a grazed-down layer of grass, only one inch high.  That was our mortality.  On the other side of the fence was dark green grass, 18-inches tall.  That was paradise.  Near the stream was a 10-foot-tall layer of alders.  Behind that was a 40-foot-tall grove of light green aspens.  Above the aspens were 80-foot-tall pines and a cottonwood tree.  These were the layers of our eternal progression.

The cottonwood was releasing little tufts of cotton onto the breeze.  Each tuft of cotton held a seed almost too tiny to see.  Each seed had within itself the capability of growing into a giant like its parent.  The tree was releasing millions of seeds, but precious few of them would ever become a tree.

I turned my attention back to the ants.  Did they matter to the god that was watching them?  Do I, or does Ellen, matter to the God that is looking down upon us?

Absolutely.  He loves us.  We're His children.  We have the potential of taking root and of growing up to be like Him.  He just wishes that we'd stop our activity sometimes and look up occasionally for directions.  He has the capacity to guide us through our tangles.

I knelt and prayed again.  I really like it when I'm given clear instructions, but none were forthcoming.  I ended the prayer by asking if it was His will for Ellen to be healed now.  I don't want to go against His will.  I wasn't told what His will is, but I told Him that I would give Ellen a blessing, and hoped that He would dictate the words.

I headed home through the field.  As I walked and pondered, a voice in my mind said, “I've already told you that I would honor the blessings that you leave on people's heads.”

There was the answer I'd been seeking.  Do I have permission to heal Ellen?  I don't know.  I'll give the blessing, and we'll see what the Spirit says.  Much depends upon her faith and ours.  I would like her to be suddenly able to walk and to run and to be headache-free, but we will see.  She has endured many months of pain and immobility.  She has done it patiently, and with a smile.  I admire that.  So does God.  For her to reach her godlike potential, I think she needs a clear mind and workable legs.  I'm sure that she's learned more than many of us who are decades older.  I'm probably selfish in wanting her to be able to run again, but I love her.  So does God.  He knows what's best.