Prayer?

I was raised in Utah. My family was LDS, as the majority of Utah families were at that time. It was my grandparents who were the most influential in setting the LDS standards for my life. When I attended church, most of the time it was with my grandparents.

My dad gave me a blessing and a name at birth. He baptized me when I was 8 years old. At that time, he lived life as a worthy priesthood member. However, it was only for a short time, in order to get me baptised, but I am grateful that he did this for me. I was very afraid of the water. As an adult I still can't handle having my head under water. He knew that there was no way in hell I would allow anyone but him to put my head and body underwater and trust that they would bring me back up again. The words didn't come out quite right the first time, so just when he went to dunk me the officiator stopped him and he started over again. I still remember how grateful I was. If I was going to have to be dunked twice I probably would have jumped out of the font and made them take me home.

I was a Daddy's Girl right from the start! Shortly after my baptism dad went back to his usual ways. Alcohol was his vice. I still thank God that he was a nice drunk. It made his addiction more tolerable.

Dad could do anything. He was a hard working farmer and Southern Pacific Railroad worker. He was talented, intelligent, handsome and kind. As a young child I would follow him anywhere, through the fields to help him irrigate, to the barn to milk the cows, or to the garage to repair equipment. He was an important example to me and he taught me to do most of what I know how to do today. But the one thing he didn't teach me was how to do was pray.

I can't recall ever hearing Dad pray out loud when I was a child. The only public prayer that I can remember him offering was as an adult. It was the family prayer at his brothers funeral. He was a nervous wreck. But he did it well, and did it only because that was what his brother had asked him to do. I think I did get him to bless the food a time or two on Thanksgiving or Christmas at my home........but I had to ensure him that short and sweet would be fine and let him know that it didn't have to be a Grandpa Andersen Prayer.

Mom probably instructed me in nightly prayer as a small child, but I don't remember for sure. She was a primary teacher and went to church with me sometimes. She did her best to lead me down the straight and narrow path, but at times it was difficult for her to do. Her allegiance was always to her husband first. She was a good mom and a dedicated wife. I'm am afraid that I only followed her wifely example for a short while. One of the biggest mistakes I probably made in my 38 1/2 year marriage was that most of the time my boys came first.

Grandma and Grandpa Andersen were the ones who taught me most about prayer. They prayed at every meal, they had family prayer, they knelt together in prayer each night before they went to sleep.

Some of my fondest memories of them comes from spending the night at their house as a child. Their bedroom was upstairs in their 150 year old farm house. There was no bathroom upstairs, but grandma always kept and empty coffee can nearby in case of a night time bathroom emergency. She would make me a bed near their bed by placing two chairs together seat to seat and adding blankets for padding. I was always invited to kneel with them for night time prayer. They would take turns every other night and they both offered the most beautiful prayers. After prayer they would kiss me good night. Then I would watch as they first said 'I love you' to each other, then 'good night', then a short sweet kiss on the lips. Who wouldn't have sweet dreams every night after that?

I, on the other hand am a little like my dad in the praying department. I am very uncomfortable praying in public. I remember when I was a pre-teen. It seemed that every time I went to Sunday School I would be asked to offer the prayer. They figured that since I hadn't been there for a while that it was my turn. I stopped going to Sunday School because I hated giving the prayer. To me prayer is still something very private, between me and the Lord.

In spite of my uncomfortableness, as an adult I prayed in public when asked (usually short, sweet and to the point). I prayed with my children often and taught them the importance of prayer. On most days my children and I had scripture study and prayer, we prayed before meals, we had family prayer at weekly family meetings and home evenings. I knelt with them as small children as they offered thanksgiving each night for their family, friends and possessions. Oh how I do love to listen to the humble prayers of a little child.


For me the importance of prayer became most evident during times of trial. I remember when we lived in upstate New York. I was in a shallow hole of depression that was growing deeper day by day. I kept getting prompted to pray throughout the nights and days for over a month. Stubborn as I am, I kept refusing.


Things had not been going like Mark and I had planned, I was very bitter, we had not received the orders that we were expecting in order to move to California. Money was very tight at the time and the Bishop kept asking me to go on a week long temple trip to Washington D.C. That, was NOT in our budget. Two of our three children were suffering from learning disabilities and not getting their needs met at school, and our third child was an overly intelligent BRAT. It was just an over all discouraging time in our lives.

One night after Mark and I had went to bed, I layed for what seemed like hours tossing and turning......I kept hearing what seemed like a whisper saying "Pray". Finally I gave in, and loudly said "OK". I knelt alone by our bed and offered a short and silent, very humble prayer asking my Heavenly Father what it was that he wanted me do. Very quickly I heard a soft whispering voice tell me "Go to the temple, the money will be provided for you". I said 'amen'. I climbed back in bed and the moment my head hit the pillow, Mark said, "Well, what did He say?". I repeated what I had heard, Mark told me that I better call the bishop first thing in the morning and tell him that I would be going to D.C. after all. We went right to sleep and we both slept better that night than we had in weeks.

The Bishop was notified, there was one spot left on the temple bus and it was mine. Only 7 days remained before the bus would leave for Washington D.C. In that seven days people called continually asking me to babysit. To cut, perm, or color their hair. To do sewing and mending for them. After each task was finished they would leave a few dollars on my kitchen table. By the time we were to leave for D.C. I had collected $267.00, the exact amount, to the penny, needed for the trip, meals and motel included.

Our friends had volunteered to keep our children for the week as Mark was going to be TDY the same time that I would be gone. The orders for California arrived just before I left, and my oldest son was set up for testing at the University of Vermont so that we could find out just what his learning disabilities were and how to help him. The local college had also contacted me offering to put both the boys in a free reading and testing program for the learning disabled. It would train students who were studying in the field of special education to diagnose and educate students with reading difficulties. This program led to an understanding of my second sons reading issues and helped us learn what needed to be done to help him as well. Talk about blessings!

I went on that temple trip. The miracles that happened while I was in the Washington D.C. temple are just too spiritually incredible to share with you in this post. It was a glorious experience that I will never forget. One noteworthy of a page or two in my blue denim binder.

In the few remaining months that we were able to spend in New York my family had received blessings more numerous than I had ever dreamed possible.

Did I learn a lesson from this experience? Yes I did. I learned that no matter what place I am in during my life and no matter what struggles I am trying to muddle through, even at times when I have totally given up, my Heavenly Father loves me. No matter what I have done to mess up my life He will answer my prayers. If I follow the direct guidance He gives me, my life will be blessed.

I have a testimony of prayer. It need not be out loud, the words do not need to be biblical or fancy, you don't have to be at church or even in a private setting. He listens, rather you are loudly pleading to him from a jail cell, talking to Him while driving down the road, or just thinking thoughts in your mind directed toward Him. He is there. He will give you answers and He will always lead you in the direction you need to go. The answers may not be loud, they may not come to you directly, and they will most likely come when you least expect them.......but I promise you, they will come.

I offer sweet prayers for all of you in hopes of a better tomorrow!

With Love,
Grammy Pammy Grahammy

On Patience.

Some say that I am a very patient person. Others say that I have an acute case of Pollyanna syndrome. I am not sure if I agree with either opinion. What is patience anyway?

Pa-tience ˈpāSHəns/ noun
1.the capacity to accept or tolerate delay, trouble, or suffering without getting angry or upset.

After looking at the definition, I realize that most of the time I have the capacity to accept delay. I believe that I have been able to tolerate trouble and suffering. But.....that without getting angry or upset? Definitely questionable.

My boys have always taken great pride in being 'Mama's Boys'. Most of them at some time in their lives have referred to me as 'The Meanest Mother in the World'. As they have grow up and become husbands and parents, that phrase has changed to 'I am so glad that I had the meanest mother in the world!'

I married my soul mate and childhood sweetheart 11 days before my 17th birthday, and 3 days after his 18th birthday and with our first baby already on it's way. Against all odds we were married 48 1/2 years. July 19, 2012 he suddenly died from a blood clot lodged in his heart. A shock to our whole family. A time for pondering the wonderful memories of our lives together.

The week before we got married we joined the Air Force in order to provide for our family, yes, I said we. When your spouse joins the military, like it or not, so do you. We had good times and not so good times. He loved his family and was a good provider. However, let me just say.....in our lives there was never a dull moment.

Mark was a Boom Operator on a KC-135 most of his 20 year career. He loved to fly and enjoyed serving his country. He traveled often, He would be gone weeks or months at a time. He would return home, only to pull alert and have to stay at the facility on base for a week at a time. Then, of course, he would travel again. Fortunately for him he was able to see the world. He was able to experience the joy of seeing the American flag flying for the first time in months after an overseas tour of duty. I on the other hand, I win the prize in the being fortunate department. I had the opportunity to stay home and form the minds and bodies of four wonderful and awesome boys!

Being a married single parent was not an easy task. My heart goes out to all single parents. It was raising those boys that taught me most of the lessons I have learned in this life. Especially patience.

Remember back when your first child was born. The smell, the softness, not wanting to put them down or let anyone else hold them. I remember believing that my child was absolutely perfect. No baby could ever be loved as much as he was......then I found out I was expecting number two! How would I ever be able to love a second baby as much as I loved the first? Would I have the patience to raise two little ones and be there for their father as well? Could I learn to be patient when both of them, or all three of them needed me at the same time? I was so afraid that I wouldn't be able to give them each what they needed.

As each child came into my life my love grew and grew and grew. There was never a shortage in the love department. The more I gave, the more I received. As for patience? I realized very early on that I was fortunate to have been born with that gift. Each child that came into my life helped me to perfect that God given talent and allowed me to teach by boys and their father the value of patience!

With love and patience all things are possible!

I'm All About That Blog, 'Bout That Blog, No Journal!

Why blog? The idea to start a blog came to me while relaxing in the bathtub after a long three days and nights with my brother at the hospital. You see........life has given me an over abundance in the blessing department. So many blessings that many friends have assured me that I have earned my spot in heaven. Some have told me that I need to write a book so that others can benefit from my experiences.

Over the past 58 years I have started that book too many times to mention. Those notes, paragraphs, phrases, poems and pages are assembled in an old blue canvas binder that I lovingly call "My Journal". Oh, there are a few real journal entries as well, mostly written during early trials of marriage, parenting and military life. Then of course there are carbon copies of a few letters that I managed to find time to write (by hand) and occasionally even mail to friends and loved ones. Let's not forget the "Graham Cracker Chronicles", a compilation of yearly holiday newsletters summarizing the year of each member of my family in a short paragraph.

I have never seemed to be able to find the time to journal.....so there is no way I could ever make a book happen. Not to mention, the fact that English was never my best subject. The book would also have to be in volumes more lengthy than the "Harry Potter" series and not nearly as interesting or exciting to it's readers.

Now that we live in this wonderful time of technology......why not blog?

My hope it to share life experiences that you will enjoy, that will make you think, make you laugh, and maybe even make you cry.

So let the blogs begin!