Written by Marjorie Norman Westra in 2020 for a #lighttheworld challenge of sharing a teaching story. Chris said he had heard the first one, but not the second. Wendy said the second one sounded familiar but that she hadn't heard the first one. Chris added the stories to Family Search, and now they are here on the blog as well, to ensure they won't be forgotten.
When a was a young girl in Murray.....My mother sent my brother Merrill (18 months younger than me) with a dollar bill to get a haircut in downtown Murray--about a mile away. Merrill came back crying, saying he had lost the dollar bill on the way to the barber shop. Mother called me (I was playing with friends) and told me to take Merrill on the back on my bike (our bikes used to have a long narrow seat above the back wheel, where someone could ride) and follow his route and see if we could find the dollar. I didn't want to leave my friends and resented having to do it. So I said a quick prayer that we would find the dollar----before we reached State Street---so I could get back and play with my friends.
With Merrill on the back, I rode along Boxelder Street, turned up Miller Street, towards State Street. Suddenly I felt my bike tire go flat. I pulled over to the side of the street, next to a big field. I told Merrill to get off so that I could check the flat tire. But I was surprised to see that the tire was not flat. I looked down and there was the dollar bill, blown up against the weeds of the same color. We never would have seen it if we hadn't been right next to it! And yes, we found it before we got to State Street! I have remembered this experience my entire life. I have often thought that if God would answer the selfish prayer of a young girl, how much more likely he would be to answer our heartfelt important prayers.
When I was growing up, we went camping often with our extended family on the Howell side (mom's siblings and their kids). It was so fun to camp and play with my cousins, in the Fairview mountains. On one such trip, we were camped by a stream. My Uncle Demont decided to take all the kids who were old enough on a hike. We walked along the stream for a while and reached a point where the worn path ended and we needed to cross the stream to continue our hike, stepping on rocks to get across. I was a "scaredy-cat" then, as I am now. I was afraid to cross the stream this way, and told Demont and my cousins that I would just follow the path back to camp, which I did. By our camp, there was a bridge across the stream. So I got the bright idea that I would just cross the bridge and then rejoin Demont and my cousins on the other side to continue the hike.
Well, I got hopelessly lost in the mountains. I was so frightened. I shouted and shouted, over and over, but no answer. I was smart enough to know if I could find the stream again, I could follow it back to camp. But emerging from the trees, I was on kind of a cliff. I could see the stream far down below, but the stream at that point was shaped like horseshoe turn and I didn't know which way to try to reach and follow the stream or if I would just get more lost. Finally, I was so desperate, I knelt down and prayed for help. As I got up from my knees, there was Uncle Demont coming towards me! I was so grateful to see him! It was such a traumatic experience that I was unable to even speak at all for about an hour.
