The Prayer of a Child

Isaac prays a lot.

During various times of the day I will be interrupted by him running to me and declaring, "Mom!  I need to say a prayer."  We'll bow our heads and he'll utter a short, simple prayer.  His petition to Heaven usually includes requests for help finding lost toys or pleas for help with scary situations.

A few months ago, as usual, he came to me and asked me to join him in prayer.  We bowed our heads and he pleaded with Heavenly Father to help him find his Henry train (I think it was Henry.  I get all those friends of Thomas mixed up).

After his prayer I talked with him about how we needed to look for the train and that we also should try to have receptive hearts so the Holy Ghost could put ideas or thoughts into our minds regarding where Missing Henry could be.

We looked in his room.

We looked in the playroom.

We looked in the living room, kitchen, and just about everywhere.

No Henry. 

Later that night, while going through the rush and bustle of getting kids ready for bed I had a feeling that I should look in Eleanor's toy bucket, located conveniently in our great room,  for Henry.  But I had three tired kids and one mom eager for bedtime.

So I ignored the prompting.

The next day, during another time-sensitive moment, I again had the thought enter my mind to look in the toy bucket.  I ignored that one as well.

By this time Isaac was pretty sad about Henry.  Why wasn't Heavenly Father answering his prayer?

Finally, that evening, right before prayer and scripture study, I *just happened* to be sitting on the floor next to Elle's toy bucket.  The thought, 'look in the toy bucket' again came into my mind.

Heavenly Father must really love children to overlook their parents' bull-headedness and constant pride during times like this.

Finally I looked in the toy bucket.  I literally took out one large toy and there, right beneath it, was the precious Henry train.

"Ike!  I found Henry!"  Joy flooded both our faces and Isaac came running over. 

And then I realized what I needed to do.

"Isaac," I was hesitant to admit my own failings, "I need to tell you something."

I explained to him how, during the course of those two days, I had continually ignored the promptings of the Spirit.  While I told him of my mistakes, Isaac's face became very serious.

"Mom, you should have listened to the Holy Ghost," he lectured.

"I know.  I'm really sorry I didn't listen sooner Isaac.  If I had, we would have found Henry a long time ago."

Fortunately, Isaac exhibited some of those much-needed characteristics of a child, and he forgave me.

But he didn't forget about the incident.  During the next few weeks he continued to regale me of, "Mom, do you remember when you didn't listen to the Holy Ghost?" 

And I remembered.  And hopefully learned my lesson.