Prayer sent around the world [December 2006]

After trudging down a long, road filled with mangy dogs and up to the fifth floor of a sherbet orange apartment building, new converts Tik and her husband (whose name I don't recall) aren't home. Tik is one of at least four contacts on our list who lives on the top floor of elevator-less buildings and I am SO over it. My fanny pack waist pack feels like it's a hundred pounds even though all I have is a Thai Book of Mormon, mini English Book of Mormon and a few pens. It must be a hundred degrees outside and the air feels stale and heavy. What sounds nice is getting into Tik's apartment, a cool glass of water from a refilled Coke bottle. Tik and her husband have a huge Linkin Park poster on their wall, and a couch, accoutrements rare for the people we visited. Sometimes people have a bed, usually a small coffee table, but rarely a couch. A couch sounded great right about now, and cool tile on my hot feet. But no one's home and after we decide to wait for a minute for her to appear the long street we just walked up to get here. I lean my whole body against the balcony, sure that the bright orange building means it's clean enough, and internally complain about people who are late, flaky, or who, for whatever reason, make me have to wait outside for them when all I want to do is sit on their floor and drink their cold water so my brain will start to work again.

A few minutes into our grace period (slash my internal rant), my demeanor changes entirely and I'm ready to bound onward, ever onward, glorying in His name. It's a strange change and it comes quickly, like a well that was dried and cracking is now more than full, splashing over the edges that were brittle seconds prior, not filled drop by drop, or even by flash flood, but just in an instant.

The amazing part of this story, and why I still remember it more than the other thousands of times I was weary and over the heat is that I knew, and I mean it, I knew that my resurgence of energy and vigor came from a prayer my mom said. It was just obvious to me, no question about it. As Sister Sopa and I made our way back down the stairs to whatever backup plan we were going to follow, I counted backwards the hours from here to there, there to here. It was about 5 pm in Thailand, something like 7 am Seattle time, right when my mom would be up and about, getting ready for her day.

I'm sure my mom prayed hundreds of prayers on my behalf while I was on my mission, and at other times in my life, and I'm sure many of them bouyed me up and kept me safe. But this one prayer I know, again I emphasize that I know, certainly and honestly, that it made a difference that day, in that moment.