Asking for help
"Heavenly Father," Little Fella began. He paused, and then said into the microphone, "I need help." At which point the attentive primary president helped him finish his prayer while the rest of us smothered a chuckle.
This brought to mind an old family joke. You know the kind, where the joke is on you. I had successfuly blocked this memory from my mind, but it popped up again on my way home from church yesterday as I was thinking about Little Fella. When I was little, we used to kneel in the living room for family prayers. Not sure how regular this was (as stated, my memory isn't fantastic), but one time it was my turn to say the prayer. I began like the primary child yesterday. "Heavenly Father," I said. And then I tapped my mom on the shoulder and asked for help. My family made fun of me for a really long time. I'm thinking maybe I had insisted that I did not need help, and then of course had to ask for it, and that's what made it funny. But folks, a child who asks for help praying to God is not funny.
Anyway, as I pondered on these similar occurances, I thought, How many times since that day have my prayers been the same, simple prayer? Heavenly Father, I need help.
So many times in my life, I have not been able to ask for help. There is something so abhorrent about asking for help. It terrifies and repulses me, and it always has. But I have never had much trouble asking for help in a prayer. Is it because I think it's not real anyway? Or because I know it is real? Whatever the reason, perhaps is is what aided this lovely comment from my mom to hit home with me:If you can't accept help when Joe Schmoe offers it, how will you ever accept the Atonement the Savior offers? (um, that would be paraphrasing). Perhaps this is part of what the Savior meant when he counseled us to be like little children (pretty sure He didn't mean sticky and smelly and whiny). And anyway, despite the trip down (bad) memory lane, I was grateful for the reminders about prayer and humility.
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