The Miracle of the Yellow Pocketknife

The Miracle of the Yellow Pocketknife

by William "Bill" Evans Hughes

(Introduction by, Bill's wife, Jeriann Hughes-Marks) - My dear children, I don't know if you got a copy of this but even if you did I hope you will pass it on to the Grand Children. I hope they will file it in their Genealogy. I believe this was the beginning of Heavenly Father's direct influence on your Dad's life. I believe that for every one of us there is a point at which we start to pay more attention to the subtle influence of the Spirit. I remember mine. I was twelve years old and Aunt Viola had taken us to visit with Aunt Barbara. One of my cousins, Judy or Kathy Palmer and were outdoors playing and I heard a baby crying. I felt it was more than just an ordinary cry and we went to see where it was coming from. We ran into a small girl to asked her and she told us her baby sister was crying. I asked her where her Mother was and she told me she didn't know. She took us to see if we could quiet the baby. The baby was not very old and somehow I knew that baby was hungry. Her bottle was empty and smelled sour. I looked through the house to find milk and I don't remember what milk I found but I cleaned the bottle and replenished the milk. I was so young that it never occurred to me to call the police or to do anything about it. But I have never forgotten how upset I was and how it affected me as a young girl. It was the beginning of my desire to love and care for my own family and never let my children be alone or hungry. I also knew that Heavenly Father had prepared me in a way to recognize and fulfill the need of this tiny little baby. I hope this causes you to think back to a point at which you decided to seek God’s help for a situation that became a catalyst in your desire to be closer to God and know what you wanted to do with your life. Below is Dad's story.

Remember, neither one of us had been raised in the Church. Dad lost his mom at childbirth of his little brother (three years younger),  and mine left my three brothers and me, which later ended in us being separated and raised without biological parents or our own siblings. It was something you cannot ever understand unless you actually go through it. Just remember it was very difficult and many, many tears were shed in the years before your Dad and I were married). Love, Mom

Now for Dad's story, “The Miracle of the Yellow Pocketknife” - 

A miracle is something that is astonishing and something that you never would have guessed. Miracles bring us closer to our Heavenly Father than any other event we experience in mortality. Miracles occur in our daily lives that go unseen and unnoticed, but occasionally, a spectacular miracle, such as those recorded in the scriptures occur. As a young boy, I was blessed to witness such a wonderful and very personal miracle.

After my parents died, I went to live with an Aunt and Uncle. My Aunt was my Mother's older sister (she was “Mom” to me, but in reality she was my Aunt – my Mother's older sister). My new parents had three boys of their own and I fit in the middle and blended in quite well. Being young (between three and four years old), I quickly adjusted to my new family and soon referred to them as Mom and Dad and their sons as my brothers. Dad was a bit rough and crude and often punctuated statements with expletives and strong, loud, language. His gruff nature was very intimidating and most of the time I was fearful of him even though he was never mean, physical or abusive. Dad was a hard-working laborer with a difficult factory job that didn't pay very well. With four boys to feed and clothe, money always very tight. Christmas and birthdays were always remembered with gifts, but most often the gifts were simple. Later in life, I learned that these gifts represented a significant financial sacrifice for my parents.

We lived in a predominantly Latter-day Saint community but my parents were not active in the Church. Most of my friends were active Latter-day Saints, so I attended Church with them and became involved in Church related activities. Although I wasn't baptized and wasn't an official member of the Church, I attended regularly and learned about a loving Heavenly Father and about the goodness and kindness taught by His Son, Jesus Christ. I learned about the importance of being good to others and following the commandments. I also learned to read Scriptures, to listen to Primary teachers and to rely on the Lord. (Mom: Dad was not baptized until in his teenage years).

I spent most of my time with my friends, playing and attending school, Church and related activities. Several of my friends and I often played in the wooded foothill area about a mile from my home which we called "the hills.” Western movies were popular at the time and my friends and I would go to the hills and play Cowboy and Indian games; acting out the adventures that we saw in the Saturday matinees.

As my tenth birthday approached, my parents asked me what I wanted for a birthday present. I tried to think of something that would be practical, useful and especially inexpensive. I had longed for a yellow-handled pocketknife that I had seen in the window of a nearby sporting goods store. I wasn't sure how much the pocketknife cost but I hoped that it wasn't too expensive. I timidly asked for the yellow-handled pocketknife for my birthday. I didn't really expect the knife but as my birthday approached, all I could think about was having that pocketknife.

When my birthday finally arrived, my parents presented me with a small, gift-wrapped box. I anxiously opened it and inside the box, wrapped in white tissue paper, was the exact yellow-handled pocketknife that I wanted so badly. I took the knife out and carefully examined each blade and marveled at the bright, sharp and shiny blades. In the eyes of this very happy boy, the craftsmanship was magnificent. My birthday gift was absolutely beautiful and all I had hoped for. I was anxious to show my friends and to try my new knife out on some carving and whittling.

I rushed outside looking for some of my friends but none were to be found. Undaunted, I started off for "the hills" where I could put my new knife to the test by carving into every tree on the hillside. The way to the hills took me across the street in front of our house, through the neighbor's yard, over several open fields and orchards that were covered with weeds, brush and trees. Each field was separated with barbed wire fences and usually a wide, deep irrigation ditch. In the springtime, before the spring planting of the fields, the ditches carried no water but were full of weeds that were even taller than those in the open fields. Some of the weeds and brush were as tall as I was, but I had a mission and nothing was going hold me back. I thought to myself, "I could use my pocketknife to hack through the tall weeds if necessary." When I got to the hills, I immediately started cutting branches and whittling anything I could find that was made of wood. I'm sure I carved my initials in every tree that had a trunk wide enough to hold them – “W.E.H.”. Nobody else was there in the hills that day and as the evening sun stared to set, I had carved on most everything that I could find so I started towards home. I climbed over the fences and jumped the ditches again, too tired to worry about the tall weeds.

As I came to my front yard, I reached into my pocket to get the knife and was startled to find that my new knife wasn't there. Panicking, I quickly searched my other pockets but there was no pocketknife to be found. I stood there, with my hands in my pockets, scared half to death. How could I face my parents when I had lost my new pocketknife on the very day I had received it? I knew they had sacrificed to get it for me and I was terrified to go into the house and face my father. I didn't know what to do. The sunlight was almost gone and I knew I would never find the knife in the fields, with all those weeds, and in the dark of the evening. I couldn't wait until the next day because I'd have to go in and face my parents tonight. I even thought about running away or going up into "the hills" and hiding overnight until I could get up the next morning and search for the knife in the daylight. But I knew my parents would come hunting for me and what would I say when they found me? My explanation would only hurt and disappoint them. I was sure that the knife was somewhere in those weed-covered fields or in one of those ditches. In utter despair I thought to myself, "How will I ever find it?"

Feeling scared and lost, I tried to think what my best course of action should be. As I stood there, I remembered a lesson on Prayer that my Primary teacher had taught me. She had told us that if we had a serious problem that we could talk with our Heavenly Father in Prayer and that He would hear our prayers and would answer us. I thought to myself, surely I had a serious problem - serious enough that I thought I could take it to my Heavenly Father. I decided that I would pray for the Lord's help to find my knife. Then I would get a flashlight out of the garage and I would go back up to "the hills" that night and search for the knife - with the help of the Lord.

I shared a bedroom with my three brothers and it offered no privacy for me to kneel in prayer. My brothers would be at home and at least one of them would be in the bedroom. I didn't want to go through the house anyway because I feared the certain confrontation with my parents. They would question me and I didn't want to answer them, especially right then.

I looked around for a secluded place where I could kneel in prayer. I remembered a giant lilac bush in the yard. The bush had grown so large that the limbs hung out far enough to almost touch the ground. With the springtime leaves already on the branches, it made it a perfectly secluded area where we had often played games of hide and seek. The shrub was also in the backyard, hidden from any windows in the house and not visible from the street. This was an ideal place where I could be alone and think through my problem, plan a course of action, and most importantly pray for the guidance to help my plan be successful. I hadn't been in the backyard that day, or for several days for that matter. The only thing I wasn't sure of was whether the backyard sprinklers had been turned on or whether it would be too wet around the lilac bush to get under there without getting all muddy. But I thought I'd go around the house and at least check it out.

Sure enough the backyard was dry so I crawled under the shelter of the lilac bush and found the privacy that I needed. We didn't normally pray in our home and the only guidance that I had was what my Primary teacher taught me. I hadn't prayed very often and I wasn't real sure of the proper way about it. After all, this prayer was really important; not just a standard prayer that you say just before you go to bed or a blessing on the food at dinner time. I knelt down, folded my arms, and out loud, but quietly, I offered up the most sincere prayer that a ten year-old could muster. I explained my dilemma to the Lord and pleaded for help in finding my pocketknife. I promised the Lord that if He would help me that I would try to be good, try to always go to Church and to be more careful not to ever lose the pocketknife again. I felt nothing - no great inspired feelings - no bright light appeared - and so I prayed even harder and louder - trying to make sure that the Lord heard me. I paused in my prayer anticipating that a good plan for searching for the knife would suddenly come into my mind - but nothing - no plan came to mind. I was crying now and all the more desperate and my eyes were filling with tears that ran down my cheeks. My simple Faith was starting to dwindle so I repeated my prayer again, hoping that the inspiration would come. Then I thought that maybe the inspiration would come to me later on that evening so I closed my prayer in the Lord's Name, as I had been taught in Primary, and said, “Amen.”

I opened my eyes, it was darker now under the limbs of the lilac bush. But through my tears, looking at the ground in front of me, lay my yellow-handled pocketknife. Right there on the ground in front of me! It was laying there in such a way that it looked as if someone had purposely and carefully laid it in that specific location - JUST FOR ME. It seemed there was a Heavenly Light that surrounded the pocketknife so I wouldn't miss it. I couldn't believe it. I knelt there with my eyes wide open for several minutes, unsure if I was seeing a mirage or if it was just wishful thinking on my part. I was afraid to reach down and pick up the knife for fear that as soon as I touch it, it would disappear. Then I realized that this was an absolute, unmistakable, miracle from my Heavenly Father. I had not been in the back year that day and there was no way that the knife could have been there except through Divine Intervention. No young man was ever more impressed, surprised or happy. In my whole life, no incident has since had this impact on me except for the miracles of the births of my own children.

I kept the Miracle a secret for many years. I think I believed that if I shared this extraordinary moment with anyone else, that somehow the Sacredness of it would be abused. Maybe I kept it a secret because it was such a sacred experience to me. This was just between me and the Lord - my very own Miracle. I was also certain that no one would believe me and I was concerned about what others might think - that somehow others might make light of the Lord or of my prayer. I thought for a while that everyone must have had similar experiences and so, perhaps after many years, I took it for granted. When I understood how unique this miracle was, I naturally questioned how I could be worthy of such a blessing.

From this experience, I gained an unshakable testimony of Prayer. I know that the Lord hears and answers prayers. In mortality, until we experience temporal Death, we are out of the physical presence of the Lord, and it is most comforting to know that He is there and does hear and answer our Prayers. He is concerned with our problems and He listens to us and our sincere pleas for help. It is comforting to know that we have this special form of communication, where we are always close enough to a loving Heavenly Father that concerns Himself with our welfare.

As the years that have gone by, I have often wondered why I had been afforded this sacred experience. This miracle certainly wasn't earth shaking for anyone but me, nor did it contribute to world peace, or define the cure for a dreaded disease. Why was this miracle afforded to this young boy when there were so many other desperate needs in the world? All that I can surmise is that perhaps it was because I desperately needed God's help. It was an undeniable miracle needed to set a foundation for times when prayers aren't always answered the way that self-centered human beings would want them answered. This miracle also helps when prayers are not answered in the time that an impatient mortal might demand. At times, when it seems like my prayers aren't heard or answered, I can look back on this single, simple miracle, because there is no way that I can deny that my Heavenly Father heard and answered the prayer of a heartbroken and scared little boy. He answered in a most miraculous way that day so long ago.

I still have that pocketknife and continually try to keep my commitments to the Lord. I now share this experience with others when prompted by the Spirit. I hope that others will feel and know that if Heavenly Father listened to this simple, ten-year old boy, then perhaps they too will recognize and have Faith in the power of earnest and sincere prayer. Prayers may not be answered as quickly as we would like, but I believe that our Father hears all prayers and knows what is best for each one of us.

When my oldest Son was preparing for his Mission, he had an opportunity to speak at Sacrament service in his BYU Ward. He asked me to be there. I got hung up in traffic and was a little late so I listened from the lobby to the Chapel. Not knowing the topic on which he was going to speak, I was surprised and pleased that his talk was on Prayer. He related his father's story of the miracle of the yellow-handled pocketknife. I felt the power and faith of my now Mission-bound Son. I was extremely proud and moved to tears. I knew I was witnessing another miracle from the miracle that my Heavenly Father had once so graciously given to me as a young boy. A Miracle that had grounded this now outgoing young Missionary in a stronger Faith in the Power of Prayer and the Love that God feels for His Children.

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William E. Hughes | March 20, 1940 – October 16, 2006