The Prayers God Doesn't Have to Answer...and Does Anyway.

"Some blessings come soon, some blessings come late, 

and some don't come until heaven; 

but for those who embrace the gospel of Jesus Christ, 

they come."

 -Elder Jeffrey R. Holland

Sunday, May 6, 2012

Excitement is still ringing in the air from the Kansas City Cultural Celebration the night before when all 200 missionaries from our mission sang "We'll Bring the World Hist Truth" as we marched through the midst of the parted sea of youth, all of whom had taken a knee to honor those of us they hoped to become in a few short years. Now, my companion and I are eagerly awaiting the end of our shift at the Historic Liberty Jail so we can make our way to the church building and watch the dedication of the new Kansas City Temple. We drive the short distance, take our seats in the new chapel, and participate in an unforgettable event in the history of Missouri and in the history of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. After the dedication, we decide to walk across the parking lot to the temple grounds before heading to our next appointment. We are chatting with some members from our area, when emerges from the temple, President Thomas S. Monson and Elder Jeffrey R. Holland, amongst other church leaders. My companion and I stand as lookers-on as many of the children from our congregation mingle with the Lord's Prophet. While we are filled with excitement for the small children, we also feel a twinge of disappointment that we were about an arm's length too far to have the same opportunity. We watch as the prophet and apostle get into their cars and drive away. We follow suit, and drive to our appointment, after which we are filled with even more excitement because one of the individuals we taught committed to baptism! As we run into the house that night, ready to exclaim our good news to the other four sisters living with us, one of the four opened their mouth first and proclaimed, "We just met the prophet!" They go on to explain that directly following the dedication, President Monson came to Liberty Jail, where all four sisters had the chance to meet him. My companion and I hung our heads slightly as we muttered sheepishly, "Oh...well...we just committed someone to be baptized...." We make our way to our room, and feeling more than a little cheated, verbally convince each other that the gospel is still true even if we hadn't been given the same opportunity as our roommates, and decide that President Monson would have rather had us out teaching that family than taking our picture with him anyway. We say companionship prayer, head to bed, and I continue to preach as a full-time missionary for the next 10 1/2 months. 

Fast forward two years.

Sunday, February 23, 2014

My text message alert goes off. I roll over in bed and groan, my stomach still churning. I had spent the entirety of the day before vacillating between lying in bed and running to the bathroom every few minutes to violently vomit, among other things. It's the first time I can recall having food poisoning since I was young, and am still unsure of what I might be able to keep down. I crack an eyelid to read my text, and see a message that my bishop wants to meet with several of us in just a few hours. Seeing as getting out of bed is not looking like an option at any point in the near future, I respond to the text stating that I won't be able to make it.

Hours later, my dutiful friend comes over to visit the sick. He asks if I got the text. I state that I did but that I had been unable to follow through due to my present condition. He explains that Bishop had asked several ward members to volunteer to do shoe coverings for the morning session at the upcoming temple dedication next Sunday for the Gilbert Arizona Temple. I inwardly (and probably outwardly) groan at another missed opportunity to potentially meet the prophet. My friend encourages me to call our bishop and see if there are any more slots. I make the call and find out I'm too late and the slots are full. Again, at my friend's prompting, I ask Bishop to let me know if anyone drops out and Bishop assures me he will.    

Saturday, March 1, 2014

I just got home from watching the cultural celebration via that same dutiful friend's laptop. My friend had reminded me he had to go to bed early as he would have to be up early to get to the temple. I tried to show support. Memories are streaming back from another cultural celebration in another place and at another time, and I am filled with nostalgia, and again, a slight twinge of disappointment that I was about to miss another opportunity I desired to have. While at said friend's, he had suggested that I text Bishop to see if any volunteers had dropped out to help at the dedication, so I did. No response. I turn my phone on silent for the night and say my evening prayers and just so happen to ask God to wake me up if my bishop calls, because I don't want to be woken up throughout the night by various alerts. Within moments, I'm asleep. 

March 2, 2014

I wake up and look at the time on my cell phone. 7:15am. I take my thyroid meds and roll back over with full intentions to sleep for another few hours. For reasons still unbeknownst to me, a few minutes later I roll over again and happen to see my phone literally spazzing out, the background picture flashing big, then small, big, then small...something it's never done before. I take a closer look and realize Bishop tried calling about a minute ago at 7:22am. Inside, I debate for about a second whether to just fall back to sleep or not and decide to return the call. Bishop answers and asks, "How soon can you be at the temple?" In my head, I quickly calculate--showering is obviously out of the question, so I need to get changed, I really gotta go to the bathroom, brush my teeth, put on my make-up, do something with this messy mop I call my hair...then drive the mile to the temple. I swallow as I answer, "Um...15 minutes?" Bishop responds, "Get here!" I pull into the temple parking lot at 7:37am, hoping I look somewhat presentable.

I join the earlier mentioned friend, along with others from the ward, who are all standing around near the temple entrance, leading me to be feel grateful and yet wonder why on earth Bishop called me, as it seems as if my help isn't exactly needed. We stand around for almost an hour and watch as both President Eyring, then Elder Callister arrive and enter the temple. Still no President Monson. Eventually we are asked to actually do something and proceed to open several boxes and unravel a plethora of shoe coverings. We finish the task fairly quickly and resume lingering on the sidewalk. 8:30 comes and goes. So does 8:45. All of those watching the dedication in the temple have already entered and taken their seats. We stand waiting for further direction and listen as people wonder if the Prophet is actually going to show. Finally, it's 8:55, a car pulls-up, and President Monson emerges. We've received strict instruction to stay put and are told the Prophet will be entering the north side. It turns out President Monson has other plans, sings "Hold to the Rod" as he holds the bannister climbing the stairs, and instead of walking straight, deviates left and personally greets each of us. He stares hard at my mint green sweater that he strokes as he pauses and shakes my hand, and in awe says, "Sky blue"before moving onto the next person.

Before I know it, the Prophet has greeted everyone and has disappeared into the temple, and we are being directed into the temple as well. We take our seats and reality hits, "I just met the prophet of God and now I am sitting in the temple for the dedication of my temple." And while both of those thoughts are real and intense, the thought that overwhelms me most is that of God's love for little ol' me.

It turns out there had been a few extra tickets for that morning session that were divided amongst the wards serving, and though there wasn't a need for more volunteers, my bishop chose to call me. He didn't know that I had previously missed two opportunities to meet the prophet, and he didn't know that we would necessarily have the opportunity to meet the prophet that morning, but God knew. President Monson could have walked straight instead of turning left, and I still would have known he was a prophet of God and still would have been thrilled by the fact that I got to attend the dedication in the temple, but God knew of the desire I had two years previously and He fulfilled it in His own time and in His own way. God also knew that had I slept in, missed that volunteer opportunity, and watched the dedication broadcasted to a nearby church building, my faith wouldn't have wavered and I would have been content. So why did He do it? He really didn't have to. I'd like to think it was simply because He loves me and wanted to do something to show it. In fact, I think He does stuff like that all the time for me, for you, for everyone. He answers prayers that He doesn't even really need to answer. Just because. And it's a reminder that those other prayers we've uttered that still haven't been answered...will be...somehow, some way, and on Someone Else's timetable, but they will be answered.