I Heard a Little Voice

I want to come to earth. I need to come to earth. Please help me. I seemed to hear those words in my mind that bright and humid August morning as the nurse wheeled me to the car where my husband waited. The baby we had both yearned for had miscarried, and my heart was broken. Sleep would not come that first night in the hospital, and morning brought no relief.

My husband and I were not religious people, although we both felt there must be a God. We had rejoiced over a daughter born four years earlier, and it had taken so long to begin our dream of adding a son that we were disheartened by the loss of this baby.

Once home, my physical body began to heal, but my spirit was deeply troubled. A little voice, which seemed to be that of a child, continued to pass through my mind. I had heard of women who had emotional problems after the loss of a pregnancy. Was I losing touch with reality? My early religious background had taught me that existence began with the formation of our physical bodies. How could a child be crying out to me when it did not exist?

Days turned into weeks. The idea of a voice was with me when I went to bed at night and when I arose in the morning. It was with me during quiet moments and pushed its way into my every activity. I needed help, and I needed it soon. But to whom could I turn?

One night as I lay in bed, I thought of Mark, a relative. Mark was a loving person, and I had never heard him speak harshly of anyone. Though I had heard some people jest about his newly acquired Mormon beliefs, I had noticed an increase of peace and family unity come into his life. Feeling desperate, I called Mark, and he came to pick me up.

It was hard to talk about my experiences, but once I began I felt the weight of a hundred sleepless nights being lifted from my weary shoulders. As I poured out my story, Mark sat smiling and nodding his head. When I finished, he began to teach me a doctrine that was to change my life—something about a premortal existence. He explained that we lived as spirit children of our Father in Heaven before coming to this earth and that evidently there was an unborn spirit who wished to come now to my home. He suggested that I try again to have a baby.

I soon became pregnant. The voice was suddenly gone. The pregnancy was difficult, and I spent many months in bed. But on a hot and dry summer morning, my little son was born. I will always remember the joy I felt as I held that little baby whose spirit had cried out to me from a world I had never even heard of.

My husband and I were baptized into the Church when our son, Aaron, was four months old. When the missionaries taught me the lesson on premortal life, I felt an overwhelming gratitude to Heavenly Father for a son who, through the events of his birth, brought to our home the glorious news of the gospel.