Parable of a Pig


It was not an uncommon request.  Missionaries live in the back end of my home and so I am frequently asked to accompany them on a visit to teach.  A visit to serve.  A visit to bless and inspire others.

Except this day I would be the one who was taught . . . and inspired.

Servie was pacing in the front yard when we pulled up.  One hand on her hip – the other shading her face against the bright desert sun.  Looking – searching – calling out for Penny to return. 

Pig finds itself on my Easter dinner table every year, but in this home Penny the pig is a treasured pink pet. 

A pink pet that has no business wandering the Arizona desert.  A gate accidentally left open and she was off. 

This little piggy went to market.

Servie grabbed at her heart.  “Thank goodness you are here!” 

We all spread out.  Frantically searching the yard.  Surely in this desert landscape I would notice a pink pig running through the cactus and shrub. 

Searching the house just in case -

This little piggy stayed home. 

Where do pigs hide?  Under beds?  In closet corners?  Nothing.

Servie had already called the neighbors.  No answer. 

“We need more help,” she said.  “Come with me and let’s drive to the main gatehouse and get support.”  The missionaries piled into her car.

I would follow in my own car.  Perhaps I could slowly trail behind and watch for a sign of anything . . . pink. 

I started my car.  My mind raced through images of all predators in the desert who would love to find Penny first.  We must hurry.

Servie's car was blocking my exit.  Why weren’t they moving?  Then I noticed. 

Bowed heads and closed eyes.  They were praying.

Praying for a little pink pig.

I quickly bowed my own head and opened my heart.  “Heavenly Father – I’ve never prayed for a pig before.  But today we need to find Penny.” 

We learn about prayer from parents.  From teachers at church.  Told there is no prayer too small.  We understand the connection to a greater power.  Scriptures and prophets testify of its potential. 

We believe and we hope.  And we muster all the faith within our soul as we make reverent requests.

They sped off down the road.  I slowly followed along for a bit.  Eyes fixed on the landscape. 

Believing that He had heard. 

I made a turn around the bend then noticed something in the distance.  Squinting to focus on the impossible. 

Three missionaries dressed in skirts sprinting up the road toward me.

Chasing a little pink pig.

And this little pig was screaming –

Wee . . . wee . . . wee . . . all the way home.

We came to teach Servie.  She is a new member of our Church and is interested in learning more.  She moved to Arizona from Zimbabwe in Southern Africa. 

This day we sat in her home and listened as she taught us.

She pointed to her heart and explained the pain that she was feeling earlier.  Desperation.  Fear. 

“Then I saw your car.”  A tender mercy. 

Sure that we had been sent to help.  Missionaries live what they teach.  Service – prayer – unwavering faith.

“What is the date?” she asked the missionaries.  “I will write this in my journal so that I will never forget this miracle.”

I nodded my head.  Yeah . . . I’ll write this up too.

Prayers and a little pink pig.  A nursery rhyme come to life.

With a little help from above.