While driving home from work earlier this week, I ran over something (that something is still a mystery) and ended up with two flat tires. I, of course, followed the only rational approach in such a situation – I panicked. When I thought it was only one flat tire, I reviewed in my mind how to put on the spare, all the while panicking. When I then saw that there were two tires rapidly deflating and one spare tire just wasn’t going to be sufficient, I immediately realized that this is why I pay for AAA, all the while panicking. I’m pretty good at working up a good panic. Call it a gift.
When I got home, I immediately called my mom. There was nothing she could do about my problems, and I really didn’t need any help since I knew the course of action to take, but I just wanted a sounding board – someone who could sympathize with my frustrations and annoyance. She listened to my whining and complaining, responding with the appropriate, “That’s so frustrating!†and other supporting phrases. And then I felt better and we said our goodbyes.
But the thing is, I hadn’t emailed or called my parents in quite a while, nor had I stopped by to say hello when I was in their neck of the woods a couple weeks ago. I’ve been a neglectful daughter, as far as communication goes. Mom was there for me that evening, and for that I am incredibly grateful, and she would never have said, “You haven’t called in month, so I’m going to hang up now.†But I really should keep family communication a higher priority.
And this extends into my communications with my Heavenly Father, too. I’ve always struggled with prayer (even my patriarchal blessing discusses my prayer problems), not because I don’t find it worthwhile or productive, but because… I don’t know why (seriously, I been staring at this for half an hour trying to figure out why, but I don’t know). I’ve never had problems studying the scriptures (I love to read them) or paying tithing (never been an issue) or most other things considered basic necessities in an active Mormon life, but prayer just seems to wax and wane, and I always have to chastise myself and try to make it a regular thing yet again.
Just like how I called my mother only when I needed her, when the tire sounded like it was going flat but didn’t feel like it was going flat, so I kept driving and hoping it could make it home, I was praying my heart out. I’ve been neglectful in my prayers, but when I needed help, I suddenly found myself praying. Desperately praying. And just as my mother offered me the emotional support, my Heavenly Father helped me get home, 5 miles from where I ran over whatever I ran over, even though I’d been communicationally neglectful.
So now I feel guilty and once more am making an attempt to have prayer be a more integral part of my life. Here’s hoping I’ll be more successful this time.