I lost contact with Luis Calleja nearly twenty years ago. But a few weeks back, he tracked me down on the Internet, and it brought on a flood of memories. Luis was a young man when I first met him – an architecture student. I was a missionary in Argentina, and Luis’ Latter-day Saint girlfriend, Ruth, had laid down the law: Luis could join the Church, or say good-bye to any chance of marrying her. We were happy to teach Luis, and he was a willing investigator. He cheerfully accepted one challenge after another, committing to baptism, the word of wisdom, the law of chastity, tithing, and on and on – with one exception. Luis refused, for one reason or another, to pray. Though we made the invitation often, he wouldn’t pray with us, and as far as we knew, he didn’t pray alone. As such (and as cheerful as Luis was about adopting the lifestyle of a Latter-day Saint), my companion and I were troubled about Luis’ progress. It seemed clear to us that he was more interested in Ruth than in the gospel. Discussions with Luis were full of good cheer and cooperation – even full of determination and commitment – but devoid, it seemed, of the Spirit.
We prayed for Luis, fasted for him, and continued teaching. But the further we went, the more frustration we felt. It seemed possible to us that Luis might very willingly be baptized, without ever having gained any sort of testimony at all. We agonized over it, and as we approached the last discussion, we made a decision: right or wrong, we were going to stop teaching Luis. We met him for the discussion ready for a difficult conversation. Without much hope, we asked Luis if he’d offer an opening prayer. Incredibly, Luis shrugged his shoulders, bowed his head, and earnestly began to pray. It would be difficult to describe what happened next. It sounds hyperbolic, but never before had I experienced or witnessed such an immediate and complete opening of the windows of heaven. The simplest way to characterize those moments, perhaps, is to say that before that prayer, Luis was a willing participant in a belief system that he didn’t subscribe to. After that prayer, Luis had a testimony. There was no doubt of that left in any of us.
Brother Luis Calleja went on to marry Ruth, and has lived for decades now in faithful church service. It was a delight to get in contact with him again. He congratulated me on my calling to our Bishopric. He was just finishing a term of service in a bishopric himself. It was (if I understood his florid Spanish correctly) his sixth.
There are, of course, many elements that come to bear in the growth of a testimony. Obedience, faith, humility, service, and study all play a part in building a vibrant relationship with the Lord. But for Luis, one thing made the difference that has changed his life: simple, fervent prayer.
President Monson speaks pointedly of the power of prayer. In October, 2006, he said the following in General Conference: “How, you may ask, can we most effectively gain and maintain the foundation needed to survive spiritually in the world in which we live? First, fortify your foundation through prayer.” In the same talk, President Monson (quoting William Cowper, the 18th century English poet) said: “Satan trembles when he sees the weakest saint upon his knees.”
Let us, surely, be diligent in all the attitudes and behaviors that building a testimony requires. But let us not forget prayer. Prayer, perhaps better than anything else, is the water that sends the roots of testimony deep into a soul. It can, as we sing so often, “change the night to day.”