Praying for Rain
By Brandon Boey

Editor’s Note: This is the first in a series of missionary columns that will explore the joys and rewards of missionary work. The name of this column comes from John 4:35, when the Savior said, “Behold, I say unto you, Lift up your eyes, and look on the fields; for they are white already to harvest.” If you have any missionary experiences you would like to share with Meridian readers, please send them to Brandon Boey at (web address). 

This first column tells a story that takes more than half a century to unfold. It is a strong reminder that conversion is a process, and that seeds that are planted can lie dormant for years, and even for decades, before they grow and bear fruit.

Around fifty-five years ago, a young man in China, barely out of his teens, searched for truth during the off-hours from laboring at the docks in the city which he lived. Around the same time, a number of churches had sprung up in the area. One hot summer afternoon, he found himself wandering into the cool shelter of one of these chapels. The quick refuge from the sweltering streets led to a meeting with the pastor of the parish, and soon the spontaneous visit evolved into regular returns.

The young man felt drawn to the teachings of a Savior who had come to redeem the people of the world. His understanding was basic, but he soon found himself contemplating baptism and joining the pastor’s church. Even still, there remained a nagging uncertainty whether the things he was learning about Christ were true or if they were simply the product of fanciful contriving constructed to satisfy the gaps in human understanding. As taught by his new Christian instructors, the man turned to prayer for an answer.  Thus began his communication with God, and a deep testimony in the efficacy of it. He described feeling a soothing peace, as refreshing as the calm shade of the sanctuary — a stark contrast from the bustle of the Shanghai city outside the doors. He soon felt it was the will of God that he receive baptism.

“I’ll never forget that feeling,” he said, years later. “I prayed to know whether Jesus was who they said He was, and I received an answer.” In gratitude, Mr. Jun Ying Ren was baptized shortly after by the pastor.

Within months, he found himself on a boat much like the ones he’d worked around at the port. He was headed across the Strait to a new life in the country of Taiwan. It was only a matter of time before he met his wife at a dance. She was beautiful and he impressed her with his manner and knowledge of the world. The sleek couple was married shortly after and had three daughters.

Over the years, Mrs. Ren became somewhat interested in the Christian faith her husband frequently mentioned. His daily habit of vocal prayer and reading of the Bible, while merely amusing and endearing to her at first, soon began to cause her to wonder about the source of his deep commitment. But it also struck her as odd that he never attended church. 

She started to investigate the Christian churches in Taipei, and prodded her husband to take her to a Sunday service. He refused, and explained that he felt conflicted by the idea of attending any other church outside of the one into which he had been baptized.  He told her that he feared that doing so would offend God. Yet at her persuasive insistence, he finally relented and ended up chaperoning her to several churches in the neighborhood. Each time, he returned home dissatisfied, longing for his first church across the sea.

The Church with the Peculiar Name

Shortly after, Mrs. Ren met a pair of female missionaries from a church with a peculiar-sounding name. They informed her that they were representatives from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Her husband, while supportive, carefully steered clear of the eager sister missionaries as they taught her the basic tenants of the gospel of Jesus Christ. Mrs. Ren was taken with the way they were able to direct her to specific sections of the scriptures to answer her questions, and was particularly moved by how each truth and point of doctrine seemed neatly circumscribed into one great plan of God. Within months, to the delight of the missionaries, Mrs. Ren was baptized as a member of the Church.

With a new set of scriptures and her daughters in tow, Mrs. Ren faithfully attended sacrament and Relief Society meetings. However, as she became more deeply involved in striving to live the new things she was learning, she began to yearn to be joined by her husband. The concept of an eternal family beckoned her to the temple, and she emerged with an even greater resolve to bring him into the joys she was experiencing.

Scores of missionaries visited the Ren Family home. Each time, Mr. Ren politely listened but declined any further involvement with the Mormon Church. His heart was somewhat softened at the concern of so many members and missionaries to help him, but he felt this was a personal matter between God and himself, and he could not allow himself to be swayed despite their persistent efforts.  He became a perpetual “investigator” — someone who would be visited year after year by each new set of missionaries in the ward. As he related the events of this period, he described not being able to feel any desire to read the Book of Mormon.  This, coupled with never being able to have a replication of the strong feelings he’d experienced so many years ago in his original prayer, made it so that he particularly couldn’t perceive any need to join his wife’s faith, and certainly no reason to be re-baptized.

The Proposition

Many years later, while serving in the area the Ren Family lived, my companion and I decided to visit each home of every member in the ward we didn’t know. Working our way down the list, we set up an appointment to visit Sister Ren and her husband, who was now in his mid-seventies. The elderly couple welcomed us into their home and gave us juice.

“There are two things I believe in,” he told us bluntly, “— the Bible, and prayer.”

I thought about it for a moment. “So you believe in God?” I asked.

He nodded resolutely. Then he added, clarifying, “I believe in Jesus Christ.”

“This Jesus you believe in, do you believe He answers your prayers?”

“Of course,” he said. “He has in the past. That’s why I was baptized in China in the first place.”

“Let me make a proposition,” I invited. “You believe in Jesus and you believe He has the ability to answer prayers. Why don’t you pray to your Jesus in your own way and ask Him if what we’re telling you is true?”

Mr. Ren thought about this. His wife looked over towards him, hopefully.  Yet years of observing his stubborn behavior told her not to get her hopes up. After a few more moments of meditative silence, he finally spoke.

“Okay.  Why not?”

“Does that seem like a fair proposal?” I inquired, making sure he felt comfortable.

“Sure.”

“Can we kneel to pray?” I asked.

We knelt down in prayer on the spot, surrounding the coffee table.  I couldn’t help but feel a little guilty as I saw Mr. Ren slowly place a pillow underneath his wobbly old knees, but felt compelled by the Spirit to allow him to do it anyway.

Mr. Ren’s prayer was simple and sincere. A peaceful feeling filled the room. He mentioned what we had taught about the priesthood and authority. “These men say that I must be baptized again, but I have already been baptized, haven’t I?” he reasoned. “But I will do thy will.”

“How do you feel?” I asked after the prayer was over. His eyes were moist.

“I feel better about it,” he replied. A door had been opened.

Typhoon Miracle

A week later, my companion and I stood outside a neighborhood restaurant watching a violent wall of heavy rain pour down onto the street, causing swirling pools of rushing water around our parked bicycles. It had been an entire week of tropical typhoon weather, but when we left our apartment that morning the sky was clear and cloudless and so we assumed the storms had passed.  Now, only hours later, we were wishing we had erred on the side of caution and brought our raingear with us.

I looked at my watch. Ten minutes until our appointment with the Ren Family. This was going to be an important meeting.  Their home was a couple of minutes away from where we just had lunch, but I knew if we arrived to their home sopping wet, there was no way the elderly couple would allow us to teach them without getting changed and dried first, which would’ve left us with not enough time to cover all that we’d planned.

“What do we do now?” Elder Millar asked, stony-faced.

“I don’t know. Start praying?” I retorted, annoyed by the whole matter.

My companion snorted, chuckling. Although I had meant it as a joke, it suddenly struck me as strange that we thought the idea of praying for help as a laughable concept. If praying for the rain was so ridiculous to us, what in the world were we doing on a mission? In all truth, being late or wet to the appointment probably wouldn’t have made a big difference, yet to us it was important and I believed that by virtue of that it was important to Heavenly Father too. From the look of the dark clouds, bulging with fullness of the dense rainwater, I knew the storm was going to last for at least the rest of the afternoon.

I turned to Elder Millar. “I bet you no one else in the area is praying about the weather right now.”

“So what does that mean?” he asked.

It had been raining all week. There was no drought or shortage of water. I could not perceive any conflict of interest. It seemed reasonable to request a five-minute pause in the rainstorm, just long enough to get to the Rens’ home. We were the only ones in several square miles on the Lord’s errand, and it seemed fair to ask for some help. Elder Millar listened to my line of reasoning for a few moments and agreed.

“Okay. Let’s try it,” he volunteered.

We huddled under the corner of the canopy and began to pray aloud.  The deep booms of tumbling thunder rolled across the darkening sky, drowning out my voice. As we prayed, we became aware that we were asking for something beyond the reach of our own powers and abilities. We explained our position, and acknowledged that there were probably other things of greater significance that needed His attention, but that right now this meant the world to us. Five minutes. That’s all we were asking for. Just for the rain to stop for five minutes.

We ended the prayer and watched the street at the sign of any change.  The fat droplets of rain splashed around until they abruptly began to thin out until they vanished completely. Elder Millar and I looked at each other in stunned silence, as if afraid that we’d somehow break the spell of the moment by talking.  I felt a lump form in my throat. I couldn’t believe it.  Without another moment’s waste, we clamored onto our bikes, and began to ride breathlessly back to our apartment. We sped down the street and rounded the corner, our balding tires sliding in the slick streets, and finally skidded to a stop at our apartment building. No sooner did we step under the covering of the entrance did the swollen clouds immediately break open into a thundering torrent, making a sound as if the sky was gasping for breath.

Answered Prayers

Two weeks later, Brother Ren was standing in white in the baptismal font. In his talk following the ordinance, he recounted his history of prayer. He shared how the prayer he had with us was the first time since his original prayer as a young man in China that he felt so moved. In that first prayer, he asked to know whether Jesus was the Son of God and he received an answer. And now, more than fifty years later, his second prayer was about which church was true and had been similarly answered.

My companion and I knew we had witnessed a fulfillment of the promise of the kind of relationship Heavenly Father wants to have with His children. “Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you.” (Matthew 7:7)

My ears perked up as Brother Ren then recounted the day we surprised them by showing up for the appointment as scheduled despite the typhoon. He said that as we entered, there seemed to be a light beaming from our faces, which remained for the length of the visit. His wife stood up and recounted the same detail as she joined his side, and told the congregation that they would’ve done anything to bask in that light even a little longer.  As I listened, I couldn’t help but feel gratitude for the miracle my companion and I had experienced that day ourselves — unbeknownst to them. The words entered my mind: “What man is there of you, whom if his son ask bread, will he give him a stone? Or if he ask a fish, will he give him a serpent? If ye then know how to give good gifts unto your children, how much more shall your Father which is in heaven give good things to them that ask him?” (Matthew 7:9-11)