The Nail Caught My Fall....

Have you ever heard that story?  The one where the man is working on a roof and starts to fall off?

He prays like crazy all the way down, "Lord, please don't let me fall.  Please don't let me die.  I'll be good for the rest of my life, I promise."

Down, down, down he goes until something wonderful happens.  At the last second, his belt loop catches on a nail, saving him from a lot of pain and suffering, or even death.

The man's response?  "Never mind Lord, the nail caught my fall."

I hate to admit it, but I have been a "nail caught my fall" kind of girl most of my life.  It's hard to change, but something happened the day we had Morgan's farewell for her mission that made me think about this story.

The weather had not been great all week and I was worried.  We don't have enough room in our house for all the wonderful people who know and love Morgan so I was mentally preparing for what to do in case of rain.  (It poured buckets for Austin's baptism and it was terrible!  Lots of brave Fronks ate outside on the back, semi-covered, patio.)  Well this time we had family AND friends AND ward members coming.  I kept  picturing all my cute little  nieces,  lined up and down our hallway, trying to eat. 

It started drizzling that morning, as it had all week, right before raining hard most afternoons.  It had rained so hard that the carpet in our living room, which had been fine for 3 years, buckled right in the middle.  And not just a little wrinkle either.  Kind of a "Hey, look at me!" kind of buckle that actually trips people.

Anyway, I prayed like crazy that morning.  And that's when I thought about the nail story.  I knew if it didn't rain that day it would be a miracle, just for us (me).

And guess what, it rained like crazy.

JUST KIDDING!  It DIDN'T rain.  It cleared up and was beautiful weather.  Nice and warm, but not too hot, and sunny.  There might have even been a rainbow.

The nail didn't catch my fall.  Somebody up there was thinking about US and answering my prayer.  It might have been a small thing to some people, but to me it was HUGE.  I'm not a fan of large gatherings in the first place, and having things like this at my house is enough to throw me over the edge on a good day.  Add in a thunderstorm and that's pretty much the end of it.  I feel like I barely survived the baptism and this was so much harder for me because I was already dealing with the fact that my sweet, happy daughter is leaving us for a year and a half.

Since Morgan has been preparing for her mission I have really been thinking about spiritual things.  Working on my testimony and really hashing out things in my head to see what I really believe in and where I stand.  It has been good for me, but hard at times.  I'm not good at feeling.  I'm barely good at thinking anymore.  Figuring out my current testimony has required both.  (I'm probably one of those people who can't walk and chew gum at the same time either.  I don't know.  I don't like to chew gum.)

So, just like the man in the story, I got my happy ending.  Except I do know and acknowledge who really saved us that day.

I just want to point out another difference. When I prayed, I didn't say that I would be good for the rest of my life.  I don't like to promise what I can't deliver.  (I might have said I would try harder though.)