Kneel Before Your Magnificent Maker

Sunset taken earlier this month

This blog is just a hodge podge of thoughts. But today I had an experience I feel inspired to share with my children. I can't tell them now (partly because they are in bed, but mostly because they are 4, 3, and 10 months old). It's a simple story with grand impact. I hope you, dear reader, enjoy it as well.

During sacrament meeting today it occurred to me that I am too prideful. I am, but this isn't a story about that realization. This story is about a missing handle on my apple peeler/slicer/corer small kitchen appliance.

Last Wednesday we went to a local Apple Orchard for some apple picking. This Tuesday we picked some apples off a friend's tree. Twice now I've tried to harvest all these apples by turning them into yummy freezer sauce and dried apple rings. Twice, I've failed. My first attempt was last Sunday, and though I did complete a batch each of sauce and rings, the whole process was a mighty struggle and huge mess. In the end I threw my old apple peeler/slicer/corer in the garbage (and chanted mirror, mirror on the wall I am my mother after all).

My new apple peeler/slicer/corer arrived Thursday and thus began my second attempt at saucing and dehydrating. It also came to a frustrating end when I could not get the handle to stay on. To add to my misery, I had three small children demanding all my attention and my kitchen was (once again) a complete mess. I finally just threw my hands up and recognized that now was not the time. I quickly finished up a batch of sauce and decided to complete the task another day. Preferably one when I didn't have three small children around.

Which leads us to today. Coraline and Nell were napping and Reid, you were settled down in front of the TV (an unfortunately regular babysitter for our non-napping child). Dad and I got the kitchen all cleaned up and ready to apple! We had three slow cookers (for three big batches of sauce) and the dehydrator with five trays of rings out and ready to go! The apples were all cleaned and we both had a peel/slice/core station. Only, I couldn't find the handle to my brand new apple peeler/slicer/corer.

I was certain a basic cleaning of the kitchen would turn the missing piece up, but it hadn't. I took time to pause, ponder, and pray. And then I searched through drawers once again. Still, I could not figure out where that little handle (and it's screw) were hiding. Dad started the rings anyway, using the partially functioning peel/slice/corer. I settled on the old fashioned method of hand peeler and hand corer. Things were going alright, but I knew we could be more efficient if I just found the handle.

The thought came to me that prayer was going to help me find it, but I also knew I had to look. So I just continued shuffling through drawers and uttering pleas in my head. The second thought that came to me was "kneel." But I felt like I didn't have time. I didn't need to stop working, to stop looking, in order to offer a sincere prayer. Heavenly Father, I know you can help me find this! Where is it?

Kneel.

Finally, I acquiesced and got down on my knees. I offered the same prayer as before but with a heart that was humble. A heart that was not only pleading with my Father in Heaven, but also worshiping Him.

On my knees my mind was cleared. I knew I needed to go look through the compost bucket. Our yucky, rotting, overflowing, compost bucket. I headed outside with a certain confidence. Continuing a new prayer in my mind, I testified to my Maker that I knew He was great enough, that even if I hadn't thrown the handle in the compost during my fit of rage, He could place it in that bucket at this very moment. And I would find it. I grabbed the bucket by the handle, had a few bees swarm up near my hand, and I headed out toward the compost bin (not giving up at the sight of the bees is proof of my confidence -- they terrify me).

I poured out the basil plants I'd dug up Thursday evening. Then I sifted through rotten egg shells. Next I found all the apple peels and cores. I poured them out onto the lid of our large bin and began sifting. I was running my fingers through rotting, mushy food waste. Nearly everything was brown, and the handle I was looking for is brown. And yet I saw it. My eyes caught sight of it just as my fingers ran right by it. I let out a sigh of glory and relief and began looking for the screw.

As I walked back toward the house with both, I nearly shouted "You are Magnificent!"

All I had to do was kneel.


About a year ago I wrote you, dear children, a letter in regards to prayer. This story would seem to fit right into that epistle. But I needed to add it here tonight. It isn't enough to document, just one time, my thoughts and feelings towards prayer. It isn't enough to occasionally mention my gratitude for my Maker. I don't mention His wonder nearly enough on my little corner of the Internet. But tonight I could not go to bed without preserving this little story.

I am almost 33-years-old and I still (occasionally) pray with the silliness and faith of a child. I pray over missing appliance handles, and my God delivers me. Dear children, please, please, always know that God will answer your prayers. He may demand you humble yourself first. He may demand you kneel. But He will answer.

He wants to help you, but He will wait until you are sincere. He does not want you to take Him lightly. He wants you to really know He is there. And I want you to know your mother worshiped Him. Not just in big moments or before meals and long family car rides. But even in little moments, when I was up to my wrists in yucky compost, anxiously waiting to make you some yummy freezer applesauce.