The Power

Three weeks ago I was preparing for FHE, making dinner, and listening to Elder Packer on my iPod. It was the week after General Conference and I had plans to plug in the thing to download the latest sessions. I'd also finished all the "This American Life" episodes, and was eager to try some new ones. But the next morning I could not find the little device. Over the last 21 days I have looked under beds, in drawers, closets, cars, and pockets. It's absence has weighed on my mind and heart. Alas--I have become dependent on the ease of tuning into Conference and Copland, Sedaris and Chopin whenever I needed a boost.

I had faith that I would be inspired to look in the right place one of these days, and that this longing would end. My good bishop asked if I'd prayed. I told him yes, but I knew, that like I do with so many areas in my life, I'd not really wanted to impose on the Lord for such a triviality. Sunday night, after pulling a new pair of Sam's dirty socks and underwear from under my bed --in yet another vain attempt to find my iPod, I folded my arms (I was already on my knees anyway) and pleaded humbly (and a bit timidly) for help. I told my Heavenly Father how much I appreciated the time spent with his disciples talking directly in my ears, and could use that extra time right now. I finished and went to put on my Jammie's. I made one last effort at feeling around the closet floor. I checked my sweatshirt pocket for the millionth time, then felt the pocket of the sweater hanging beside it. I have no recollection of having worn that sweater for a very long time, but my iPod was there, it's earphones wrapped neatly around it's slim frame. I called to the good bishop. I said nothing, just held out my treasure. He smiled, "You prayed didn't you?" I prayed again (I was on my knees anyway). Why do I make things so hard?

The truth is--there is power in prayer. Even seemingly silly ones.

And my humility was deepened once more.