When I was quite young, my mother taught me the importance of prayer. She said we needed to pray for the people we care about to a loving Father in heaven. Primary lessons reinforced that concept for me, and it became a habit. We also blessed the food we ate each day, taking turns offering a grateful prayer for the meal we were about to consume. At night, we said prayers before going to bed—part of our nightly ritual.
As a teen, I often prayed for help with difficult classes, situations, and friends. There were nights when I prayerfully begged for a testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ, and other nights when I prayed for peace following the death of a beloved grandmother. Though it would take time for both prayers to be answered, I did eventually receive the desired response.
Those prayerful habits stayed with me during my teen years, and on into college, and so on. Years later, I remember standing beside my sons’ beds at night, listening as they offered short prayers before climbing into bed. One night my youngest son blessed every toy animal he possessed before calling it a night. It was cute at the time, and a tender memory now.
The older I got, the more I realized how important the prayer lifeline really is. It is a way for us to communicate with our Father in heaven. He in turn helps us in a variety of ways through peaceful comfort, insights from scriptures, and at times, through the thoughtful acts of others who feel impressed to call, or stop by, etc.
I have also had leadership experiences where I prayerfully came up with names of people in the ward who would serve with me in varied organizations, and I recall how humbling some of those moments were as the names often surfaced in a quiet, simple fashion that left a burning witness in my heart.
One August day, my boys and I traveled up a nearby canyon to pick huckleberries. These tasty berries only grow in mountain areas and are wonderful in a variety of desserts. It has been a tradition in our clan to try to pick them each year. That year my husband couldn’t go with us, so the three boys and I drove up to one of our favorite spots to harvest what we could.
The day went well, and the boys had a good time playing and picking berries. I was delighted to see that our combined efforts had gleaned nearly a gallon of the purple delights. Caught up in this exciting endeavor, I didn’t pay attention to how far we had drifted down the mountainside, as we continued to search for a few more good berries.
I am a Type 1 diabetic, and at times, my blood sugar level will drop. The walk down the hillside, combined with the heat of the day managed to drop my level quite low. About the same time this happened, I realized we were lost. It’s easy to get turned around in a forest setting and this didn’t help with my blood sugar dilemma.
Normally, I brought candy along on these kind of outings, but this time I hadn’t bothered to grab anything to take with me. We had eaten a nice picnic lunch upon our arrival, and I figured I would be fine until we returned to our vehicle.
I didn’t want to alarm my three young sons, but I knew we were in trouble. Before I began to panic, a calm feeling touched my heart and I felt prompted to kneel in prayer with my sons. I explained that we needed Heavenly Father’s help to make it back to the car. Then I offered a sincere prayer for help, explaining our situation. When we rose to our feet, two impressions came to mind. The first was, “There are carbs in your berry bucket.” It was true. Though I considered the berries we had picked to be precious, I realized I needed to eat some of them to turn things around. So breaking one of my own rules, I ate two handfuls of berries. Within a few minutes, I started feeling better. That is when the next impression came. “Listen.”
I thought that was a weird impression, but as we all quietly listened, I could hear the distant sound of a truck climbing the hill to one side. This helped me figure out the direction we needed to head to find our way back to our car. Several minutes later, we made it back to where we had parked, and I was able to drink a Gatorade I had left in the car to finish fixing my blood sugar glitch. You can bet I always tucked candy into my pants pocket on future berry adventures.
Before we left, I offered a prayer of gratitude for the help we had received that day. What could’ve been a tragic moment, had transformed into a solid example of how prayer can help us when the need is great.
In 2020, I had a very dramatic lesson on the importance of prayer. I was fighting cancer during the worldwide pandemic. It was a scary time. The type of cancer that I had was aggressive, and it threatened my ability to eat and speak. The cancer had invaded my tongue and in the beginning, we weren’t sure how much of my tongue would be removed in an effort to save my life. I faced two surgeries, and there were no guarantees. The fact that I am a Type 1 diabetic didn’t help matters. The medical staff was unsure how things would turn out. Beating the odds, I survived the first painful surgery and was sent home to recover. The next week I needed a followup surgery to remove the lymph nodes that were involved.
Word spread about my ordeal, and when people asked what they could do to help, we asked for their prayers. As the Covid restrictions became more intense, we were told that for the second surgery, I had to enter the hospital alone. I would be escorted back to the surgical area by a nurse. My husband had to leave me at the door. It was a frightening experience.
But as I continued to walk through the eerily silent hallways that morning, I felt like an invisible cloak of comforting peace was wrapped around me. It’s difficult to put into words how that felt. But I relaxed, grateful for the consoling sensation. It was impressed upon me that I was feeling the prayers others were offering on my behalf. I went into surgery confident all would be well, and it was.
I needed that witness of the strength that comes through prayer. Two years later, our oldest son would face his own cancer battle, and prayer became a crucial lifeline throughout the entire ordeal. Time after time, peaceful comfort descended when I needed it most. I became Kris’ primary caretaker and the days were long and arduous. A mother’s heart is tender, and one of the most difficult things we endure is helplessly watching as our children suffer unimaginable pain.
In the beginning we were told that Kris would only live about 2 months, so to me, each minute was precious. As Kris clung to my hand in ICU fighting for his life, I offered one continuous silent prayer, begging for heavenly help. It was granted. Kris went on to defy the odds and lived for nearly a year and a half following his diagnosis. And when he passed from this mortal world, prayers were answered once again with the peaceful comfort I experienced.
I still offer daily prayers, expressing gratitude for the blessings we enjoy, and asking for protection for loved ones. And there are days when it’s not always an easy thing to do, but I know it is important, and so I continue to pray, sometimes several times a day, and most are offered in silence.
Once again it was shown to me how important those prayers are. Our youngest son was involved in a head-on collision this past week. Without warning, a truck full of teens on their way up to ski, crashed into a snow plow as they careened out of control, going too fast for the stormy conditions. They ricocheted off the large snowplow and smashed into our son’s SUV. He was cut and bruised, but miraculously, he wasn’t seriously hurt. His survival was miraculous. When he called later to tell me what happened, I was filled with grateful relief that once again, a prayer was answered. His car was destroyed, but he lived on.
I will be forever grateful for the many ways prayer has touched my life. I have learned that not all of our prayers are answered in the way we envision. Sometimes the answer is “No.” And some answers won’t be fulfilled in this mortal life. Until then, the important thing is to never give up hope, and hold fast to faith in a world that is becoming increasingly perilous.
Years ago, my mother taught us a little song about faith. I’m not sure where it came from. It may have been a song her father knew, compliments of his mother who was gifted with the ability to play musical instruments by ear, something she has passed onto her posterity. Regardless, it often comes to mind on difficult days, when prayer supplies the only hope we have:
Prayer is the key to heaven, but faith unlocks the door,
Words are so easily spoken—a prayer without faith is like a ship without an oar
Have faith when you speak to the Master—that’s all He asks you for
Yes, prayer is the key to heaven, but faith unlocks the door.
Cheri J. Crane
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