Growing up, I was not raised in an active household that went to church and prayed together, although my parents sent me to church (or rather didn’t object to my going). In later Primary years and Young Women, and then in Seminary, prayer became a habit for me thanks to some kind training from teachers and leaders. One family memory that is moving to me is when one of my sisters became pregnant and, despite the non-religiosity of our family, humbly asked us all to pray for her. We gathered awkwardly in a circle around her but no one was willing to pray – so she said it herself. Where did this spring from? I am not sure, but our mother did teach us a simple child’s bedtime prayer, and we had a grandmother who set a pure example of love for Jesus.

Raising my own children, my husband Bruce and I tried to model and pass along what we had learned about prayer. We encouraged them to pray over their problems small and large as well as for people they cared about. Sometimes our kids would remind US it was time for family prayer. As they grew older and their daily schedules became complicated with activities, we were not always able to get together for family prayer each evening. We asked them to stop at 9 pm wherever they were and think of us if they could not be with us at home! 

Not all of my children and grandchildren are now active in the Church and I worry very much that they do not recognize the worth, comfort, and power that prayer can be in their lives.

Now that I am a widow and the kids are scattered I find that I pray often, everywhere, and over pretty much everything—especially when I (daily) seem to lose my phone. (Yes, I always find it. So far.)

A profound moment for me in establishing my testimony of prayer occurred many years ago when Bruce was diagnosed with a tumor on his optic nerve. Because of the critical location of the tumor and potential of very dire complications, we were referred to doctors on both the west and east coasts. Finally an eye specialist was added to the staff at the University of Utah who could operate. First, however, Bruce’s head had to be carefully laid open for the delicate procedure. Fortunately this preparatory work fell to a U of U surgeon who had recently and successfully separated twins who had been conjoined at the head. All seemed to be falling providentially into place but oh!—how worried could I get?! How I prayed! I went to the temple! Then during his surgery (which lasted 13 hours), as I was driving from the temple back up to the medical center (I still remember the exact spot), I clearly received an answer: Bruce would be OK, “but not in my time.” This I did not quite understand, but I DID understand the peace it brought me.  The surgery was performed, and although recovery took many months and required a few more “minor” miracles, he was indeed ok. Although I had acted on prayer for many years and did have a testimony, this was a solidifying experience in my life.