A Prayer of Faith

We all breathed a sigh of relief last Saturday as we got to the CO-145 spur, indicating that we were down to the last sixteen miles of our six-hour journey. It doesn’t sound like much, but six hours of driving had worn us out. (This was no ordinary drive on straight, you-can-drive-75-miles-an-hour freeways. After navigating through the winding, treacherous roads in the majestic Colorado moutains (with children who had never been in a car long enough to cross our state border), we were ready to be done.)

At sunset, we arrived at the place we are calling home for a week. I have to admit that the thought of getting up early to drive another hour and a half to get to church was hardly stomachable. But on Sunday morning, we dutifully readied ourselves (packing a cooler since the drive would be as long as the meetings) and headed off to worship with people we had never met.

Should I even say that we made it earlier than we usually do for our meetings that are less than five minutes away? (Go figure.) Seriously, though, that was the first evidence of tender mercies, because we left later than we should have (and there was that camper that was going so slow…). We considered it a little miracle that we were there for the sacrament. The other specific blessing was that the topic in the combined, fifth-Sunday Relief Society/Priesthood lesson was on a topic my father-in-law is pondering for his new calling.

But we didn’t need specific tender mercies to know that being at church was simply the right place to be. My mother-in-law leaned over to me in Gospel Doctrine and whispered that she had been tempted not to come. I confessed that I had felt the same way. We looked at each other and both shuddered to think of what we would have missed.

We basked in the Spirit as these good, kind, welcoming people shared their testimonies about spiritual and temporal preparedness, read quotes from our beloved leaders, bore their testimonies about various gospel principles, and inspired us to be better people. I felt a love and kinship with these strangers. But they weren’t strangers. They were my brothers and sisters, and I felt that wonderful kinship that unites us in the gospel of Jesus Christ. I left the meetinghouse spiritually filled–and so very, very grateful.

As I wrote last night in my journal about this experience, I was reminded of a scripture I have always loved:

And after they had been received unto baptism, and were wrought upon and cleansed by the power of the Holy Ghost, they were numbered among the people of the church of Christ; and their names were taken, that they might be remembered and nourished by the good word of God, to keep them in the right way, to keep them continually watchful unto prayer, relying alone upon the merits of Christ, who was the author and the finisher of their faith.
And the church did meet together oft, to fast and to pray, and to speak one with another concerning the welfare of their souls.
And they did meet together oft to partake of bread and wine, in remembrance of the Lord Jesus.
Moroni 6:4-6

This experience was a reminder to me that it’s worth a little sacrifice (which I know many people make every Sunday) to attend our meetings. I’m sure we could have had a lovely day together as a family doing Sundayish things. But it would not have been the same. There is a power and Spirit associated with meeting together as Saints, renewing (and keeping) our covenants, and nourishing each other with the “good word of God.” I am grateful to my brothers and sisters in Montrose, Colorado who nourished me and my family. Our vacation would not have been the same without the blessing of gathering with them to worship.

This entry was posted on Wednesday, August 2nd, 2006 at 5:47 am and is filed under Every Word. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.