The Lady on the Train

In 1964, while serving as a missionary in the Northern Far East Mission, I had an experience that still evokes strong emotions.

On our preparation day we often visited historical or cultural sites. One day, on the train home from such an activity, I saw a lady sitting across from me and a little to the left. I had the distinct impression I should get up and give her a tract that told a little about the Church and had a map and meeting schedule. I was sleepy, and I excused the impression thinking I’d give her one when we got off. Soon, however, she got off the train and my opportunity was lost. I felt a pang of regret but dismissed it.

That night I had a dream. I dreamed she came to me with a very sad countenance and asked, “Why didn’t you share the gospel with me today?” I awoke with a start, grieving that perhaps she would miss gospel blessings because of my failure. Her earnestness, her downcast expression, caused me to pray then and since that someone would share the precious message with her.

I hope I will never have to answer her question, for I indeed have no excuse. I’ll always feel a sense of regret as I think of that dream, and I pray that neither I nor anyone else will ever again pass by those people the Lord may have placed in our paths. Louise Stone Wrathall, Tucson, Arizona

Illustrated by Stefanie Eskander

“Go Mom, Go Now”

Often on fast Sunday I feel the need to bear my testimony. But month after month I sit and enjoy the testimonies of others, knowing that if I stand I will start to cry even before I begin to speak.

One particular month, my two-year-old became restless during our meeting. I didn’t want to leave the chapel, so I took him to the back, where I tried to rock him to sleep. But he was not tired. He watched the other people bear their testimonies then asked, “Can I do that, Mom?” I didn’t answer him, so as soon as there was a break in the testimonies, he said, “Go, Mom. Go now.”

He was so insistent and firm that I responded to his urgings and carried him to the microphone. Once there, he was too shy to speak himself, but he had helped me overcome my own fear. He had brought me to the pulpit so I could share my deep feelings about the gospel. As I finished I realized that my small son may have had as great a need to hear my testimony as I had had to bear it.

I have since realized that children are as sensitive to the Spirit as adults are. And I am grateful that my son was enough in tune that day to add his promptings to those of the Spirit in urging me to bear witness of the most important truths in my life. Julie Combs, Albuquerque, New Mexico

When Mandy Called

Our third child was just beginning to talk, and I was surprised at how delighted I felt at her progress. Somehow I thought the delight of a child’s growth would wear off as the number of children increased.

One morning I had just awakened and was having my morning prayer, when I heard fifteen-month-old Mandy call out in a little singsong voice, “Momma, Momma.” Those words brought me great joy. I could not keep such happiness to myself, so I asked my Father in Heaven what I thought were rhetorical questions. “Heavenly Father, can you hear her? Isn’t she precious? Do you know how I feel when she calls, ‘Momma’?” Immediately the answer came into my mind. “Yes, that is how I feel when you call ‘Father.’”

I was humbled. I felt very grateful for the times I had called “Father” and included him in my life. And I felt pain for the times I had not called on him. That experience also helped me understand that Heavenly Father takes joy in the tiniest progress of every one of his children. Julie P. Allen, Brigham City, Utah