Prayer

“And it shall come to pass, that whosoever shall call on the name of the Lord shall be delivered...”(Joel 2:32)

Ever since I was tiny child, I remember being taught to pray.  My parents were diligent in helping me learn the importance of praying as a family, over our meals, and when we needed help and strength.  My Dad was in the Air Force Reserves when I was growing up, and I remember very clearly having my mother kneel down with us by the bed each night while my Father was overseas on an assignment, and praying that he would be safe and well, and would come home to us.

As time went on it became more and more up to me to pray on my own, because my mother was in the hospital, and my Dad was working almost constantly.  Fortunately, because I had developed a testimony of prayer when I was young, it served me well as my life became difficult, lonely, and chaotic.

I will never forget one night as I came home to my apartment after babysitting for a ward member.  It was fairly late, almost 11:00 at night, and I didn't really live in the safest area.  Gangs were common in and around my city, and most of Los Angeles County, and you quickly learned what was safe to do and not to do.  However, I felt perfectly at ease this particularly night as I came in the back gate of the apartment complex from the alley.  It was extremely dark, and was made more so by the fact that some of the lights in the complex were burned out.  
   

As I walked across the concrete path toward my apartment, I suddenly heard swearing and threats on either side of me in the dark.  They weren't directed toward me, however...I soon realized that I had walked right into a gang fight.  As I squinted in the dark to see who it was, I was horrified to see one of the young men take out a gun and point it toward the other young man on the other side of me.  It seemed like time went in slow motion as I heard the gun go off, and actually felt the breeze of the bullet go right by my head.  My mind suddenly kicked into gear and said “Run, you fool!” and I took off running as fast as I could toward my apartment.  It was as if the two young men hadn't even known I was there until I started running away, but suddenly they were after me as I went into my apartment and slammed the door and locked it.  I felt fairly safe, even though one of them had come banging on the door telling me to open it or he would kill me.  I crouched in the corner of the kitchen and thought, “He can't get in, I'll be fine.” 

But then a horrible realization dawned  on me.  I had never carried a key with me when I went somewhere because it annoyed me to have to carry it, and the front window next to the door had a broken lock—so that every time I came home all I did was slide open the front room window, and reach in to unlock the front door.  It was a stupid thing to do, but I realized with perfect clarity now that many people had seen me do that in my apartment complex, and it was  probably only a matter of time before he gave up pounding on the door, and tried the window.  It could be slid open with only one finger, and I suddenly felt that this was surely the end of my life.

What should I do?  Should I try to run out the back door and climb the wall?  No, there was no time—the only thing I knew that could save me was to pray.  So I prayed like I had never prayed before, asking Heavenly Father to save me from being killed, and to keep this person from being able to get in my home.  As I prayed this over and over again, I suddenly heard the banging stop and the moment I knew would come began: his hand moved to the window to try and slide it open.  I prepared myself mentally for being killed, and hoped that it wouldn't be too painful...when to my astonishment the window would not move.  This window that would normally slide as easily as a knife through butter, would not budge as the intruder tried over and over to get it to open.  I sat there, still crouched, realizing that I had just witnessed a miracle.  Heavenly Father had answered my prayers and had saved my life. 

The gang member finally went away, and I still don't know who it was. But after he left I prayed with as fervent a desire as I had prayed when he was at my door; but this time I was thanking God for hearing my prayer, and for keeping me safe.  I struggled for many years trying to learn how to pray consistently and listen for the still small voice, and the everyday guidance that the Lord wanted to give me.  But there is no doubt in my mind that I would not be here today if it were not for the answer to a sincere prayer of a 13 year old girl.

How have you gained a testimony of prayer?  What experiences have you had that have showed you that the Lord listens to and answers our prayers?