Months later on a spring day a friend of mine asked to borrow the knife as he and a few others were going to cut asparagus that grew wild on the roadsides near our homes. To my dismay, after some time, my friend returned without the knife. It was lost!
That knife was one of my prized possessions. I loved it and I was heart-broken. My dear mother, not to be deterred, and not one who was happy about losing things, mounted her yellow Schwinn ten-speed and rode to the place the boys had been. However, her best efforts were fruitless. She could not find the knife. She was about to return, but had the distinct feeling that she should pray. She knelt and offered what I think was a simple, but sincere prayer. She asked God for help to find the knife. When she opened her eyes, they settled upon a clump of wheat grass in front of her there on the roadside where she knelt. She looked behind the clump and there was the pocket-knife.
When she returned with the knife, I was overjoyed! Before she gave it to me, she said that I should thank Heavenly Father. She shared with me the story of how she had almost given up, but felt a prompting, prayed and found the knife.
In the grand scheme of things, what does a little boy's pocket knife matter? I will tell you what it matters. From this experience I learn that God knew me, a six year-old boy in Palmyra, Utah. He knew my heart. He knew my little-boy sorrow. He knows all of us. And he loves us as a tender parent. And he hears our prayers. He knows our sorrows and our concerns. If we will call upon him, he will answer us. It will be in his own time and in his own way, but the answer will come. And, if we are persistent and faithful, we will be the grateful beneficiaries of his grace.
