Questions
Heavenly Father, are you really there?
And do you hear and answer ev'ry child's prayer?
Some say that heaven is far away, But I feel it close around me as I pray.
Heavenly Father, I remember now
Heavenly Father, I remember now
Something that Jesus told disciples long ago:
"Suffer the children to come to me."
Father, in prayer I'm coming now to thee.
Pray, he is there; Speak, he is list'ning.
You are his child; His love now surrounds you.
He hears your prayer; He loves the children.
Of such is the kingdom, the kingdom of heav'n.
Words and music: Janice Kapp Perry,
b. 1938(c) 1984 by Janice Kapp Perry.
Plain rubber boots can become spectacular in the eyes of a child, in the right circumstance. I grew up watching my dad get up before the sun rose, putting on irrigation boots and driving off in the pickup with irrigation tubes rattling in the back and the family dog chasing after. He worked long and hard to provide for his family. We had everything we needed, but as a normal, rural family, our needs were simple, seeking the essentials of food, clothing, and shelter rather than an extravagant collection of “things.”
Every year in August we made a family trip to Boise, Idaho to buy a school outfit and a few extra items like socks. The year my little sister joined our family we each got to pick our very own boots, the rubber, flat soled kind that go over your shoes with a little stretchy cord to latch the extra fold of the top back to help hold them on your feet. I chose white because I was going to be baptized that year. I wore them on both sunny and rainy days. Shoes stuffed inside were a waste of time so I shuffled around on angel’s wings.
My brother, three years my senior, had been building kites the whole summer long. The latest kite was in the common diamond shape but was a five-foot monster kite. A rope was needed in place of string to keep it connected to the earth and a complete bed sheet for a tail to give stability.
One Saturday afternoon I saw my brother with his latest creation heading through the backyard and out into a freshly plowed field. I knew my brother would need a little sister’s help. As I ran outside I felt the warm steady strong breeze and saw the puffy clouds scuttling across the sky. What a perfect day to fly a kite. However, running in a field of turned up huge clods of dirt was cumbersome, especially with boots on, so off they went.
There were few things better than running barefoot in warm, slightly damp soil. One exception was chasing after my brother and the humongous kite that would lift me clear off the ground as the wind sent the kite soaring high in the sky. Hours of joy went by in just moments. Finally exhausted and seeing the sun low on the horizon, it was time to go into the house. My brother tied the kite rope to the pasture fence post to allow it to soar as long as possible, as we headed into the house. About half way across the pasture, watching for fresh cow pies, I realized that I was still barefoot. Exhausted, I turned back to get my beloved boots.
I went back to where I remembered taking them off, but the boots were not there. I looked and looked as the sun lowered in the sky. How could I not see bright, pure white boots in darkened soil, even if there were huge clods to hide behind? With tears forming in my eyes, I tried as hard as I could to think where in the 18 acres I had taken them off in order to run without restraint. I certainly didn’t want to ask for help by telling my parents I had lost my most favored new boots. Dejectedly I started back to the house a second time. Halfway across the pasture, I remembered lessons from my parents, Primary, and Junior Sunday School teachers about prayer. This would be a good time to find out if what they said was true.
I knelt down in the pasture grass to say a quick but fervent prayer asking for help in finding my new white boots. As I got up I turned back to the field, having faith in the power of prayer, I believed that God heard and would answer my prayer. What a powerful and uplifting feeling that was! I walked back to where I knew I left the boots, but they still were not there. Again I wandered around and around, over the clods in the field hearing the kite’s material snapping above, laughing at my efforts. The sun was just going down below the horizon the cooler breeze was blowing against my tear stained face. Miserably I turned and crawled under the barbed wire fence, shambled across the pasture, through the back yard and came to the back steps of home. I trudged up the stairs, opened the backdoor, tears continued to slowly roll down my cheeks. Then my beautiful white boots materialized in the mudroom! How could that be? They were lost out in the field! It finally dawned on me I didn’t have them on when I went out. I had worn my regular scuffed brown shoes.
I turned around for the third time ran back across the grass, crawled under the fence and ran through the pasture. Even in the deepening twilight, I ran directly to my shoes. Returning back across the pasture one last time I knelt to thank my Father in Heaven for truly answering my pray and letting me find those amazing white boots even when they weren’t lost out in the field.
Here it is over 50 years later and I have forgotten more than I remember. Yet I remember a pair of plain white boots from my childhood with love and tears because they represent a budding testimony of God and His tender mercies. That child, in the present, still knows that a loving Heavenly Father answers prayers.
I was very lucky to have learned about Heavenly Father and His love for me from my parents as I grew up. Here is a story from my life that confirmed one thing I knew.
This picture was taken in 1964, we went to pick out our Christmas tree in the mountains. I added the picture because it shows my......
White Boots
Plain rubber boots can become spectacular in the eyes of a child, in the right circumstance. I grew up watching my dad get up before the sun rose, putting on irrigation boots and driving off in the pickup with irrigation tubes rattling in the back and the family dog chasing after. He worked long and hard to provide for his family. We had everything we needed, but as a normal, rural family, our needs were simple, seeking the essentials of food, clothing, and shelter rather than an extravagant collection of “things.”
Every year in August we made a family trip to Boise, Idaho to buy a school outfit and a few extra items like socks. The year my little sister joined our family we each got to pick our very own boots, the rubber, flat soled kind that go over your shoes with a little stretchy cord to latch the extra fold of the top back to help hold them on your feet. I chose white because I was going to be baptized that year. I wore them on both sunny and rainy days. Shoes stuffed inside were a waste of time so I shuffled around on angel’s wings.
My brother, three years my senior, had been building kites the whole summer long. The latest kite was in the common diamond shape but was a five-foot monster kite. A rope was needed in place of string to keep it connected to the earth and a complete bed sheet for a tail to give stability.
One Saturday afternoon I saw my brother with his latest creation heading through the backyard and out into a freshly plowed field. I knew my brother would need a little sister’s help. As I ran outside I felt the warm steady strong breeze and saw the puffy clouds scuttling across the sky. What a perfect day to fly a kite. However, running in a field of turned up huge clods of dirt was cumbersome, especially with boots on, so off they went.
There were few things better than running barefoot in warm, slightly damp soil. One exception was chasing after my brother and the humongous kite that would lift me clear off the ground as the wind sent the kite soaring high in the sky. Hours of joy went by in just moments. Finally exhausted and seeing the sun low on the horizon, it was time to go into the house. My brother tied the kite rope to the pasture fence post to allow it to soar as long as possible, as we headed into the house. About half way across the pasture, watching for fresh cow pies, I realized that I was still barefoot. Exhausted, I turned back to get my beloved boots.
I went back to where I remembered taking them off, but the boots were not there. I looked and looked as the sun lowered in the sky. How could I not see bright, pure white boots in darkened soil, even if there were huge clods to hide behind? With tears forming in my eyes, I tried as hard as I could to think where in the 18 acres I had taken them off in order to run without restraint. I certainly didn’t want to ask for help by telling my parents I had lost my most favored new boots. Dejectedly I started back to the house a second time. Halfway across the pasture, I remembered lessons from my parents, Primary, and Junior Sunday School teachers about prayer. This would be a good time to find out if what they said was true.
I knelt down in the pasture grass to say a quick but fervent prayer asking for help in finding my new white boots. As I got up I turned back to the field, having faith in the power of prayer, I believed that God heard and would answer my prayer. What a powerful and uplifting feeling that was! I walked back to where I knew I left the boots, but they still were not there. Again I wandered around and around, over the clods in the field hearing the kite’s material snapping above, laughing at my efforts. The sun was just going down below the horizon the cooler breeze was blowing against my tear stained face. Miserably I turned and crawled under the barbed wire fence, shambled across the pasture, through the back yard and came to the back steps of home. I trudged up the stairs, opened the backdoor, tears continued to slowly roll down my cheeks. Then my beautiful white boots materialized in the mudroom! How could that be? They were lost out in the field! It finally dawned on me I didn’t have them on when I went out. I had worn my regular scuffed brown shoes.
I turned around for the third time ran back across the grass, crawled under the fence and ran through the pasture. Even in the deepening twilight, I ran directly to my shoes. Returning back across the pasture one last time I knelt to thank my Father in Heaven for truly answering my pray and letting me find those amazing white boots even when they weren’t lost out in the field.
Here it is over 50 years later and I have forgotten more than I remember. Yet I remember a pair of plain white boots from my childhood with love and tears because they represent a budding testimony of God and His tender mercies. That child, in the present, still knows that a loving Heavenly Father answers prayers.
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