“Someone Was Calling My Name,” Ensign, Sept. 1995, 64–65
Tears blinded my eyes. I was saying good-bye to our home of fifteen years in Cadiz, Philippines, to return with my husband and children to Sagay, my childhood home. I dreaded going back, for I had many painful memories of my childhood, and I wondered why things beyond our control seemed to be forcing us to move there. I was leaving behind not only a place where I’d been happy but also the place where the most memorable event of my life took place: baptism into the true and living church. It was hard to leave. I missed attending church there, I missed the Saints, and I missed my friends.
The bus let us off on the national road in Sagay, and we walked about a kilometer to my parents’ house. My first night there I hardly slept because the house was so oppressive and tomblike. I hated it.
The next day many friends and relatives came to see me, and I felt a bit better. But I wondered why my cousin and best friend did not come. I was informed she had just suffered a miscarriage and had to stay home.
That night I kept thinking about my cousin. I decided to visit her after church the next day. In the morning my daughter and I awoke early to walk to where we could catch a bus that would take us to the nearest meetinghouse. All the way to the bus stop I thought about our ward back in Cadiz. Suddenly I heard someone calling me by my nickname. I turned to look, but no one was there, so I continued on. Seconds later, I again heard a voice calling me. This time I stopped and looked behind me, but I still didn’t see anyone. I stood there puzzled, wondering if it could have been the Spirit, when I clearly recognized my cousin’s voice!
I told my daughter I needed to go back to the house. Quickly I sent her on to church and hurried home expecting something unusual, but when I got there everything seemed normal. Puzzled, I knelt down and prayed for understanding. I remained kneeling and pondering when suddenly I saw as in a vision my cousin, very pale and dying, lying on her bed with no one by her side.
The impression hit me so strongly that I jumped to my feet and hurried from the house. We had no phone, so I ran two kilometers to the nearest hospital, where I found the resident physician and begged for an ambulance and an attendant to go to my cousin’s isolated farm.
When we reached the farmhouse I was amazed to see her lying in bed, dying, just as I had seen! She was hemorrhaging badly. While the attendant quickly prepared her for transport, I called my brothers and asked them to go to the hospital and donate blood immediately. Later, when the doctor needed blood for transfusions, my brothers were already there waiting. The physician was not hopeful, however. My cousin’s condition was so serious, he said, that only divine intervention could help her. I tightly closed my eyes and fervently pleaded for help.
We waited through the long night and all the next day. It was six o’clock the next evening when my cousin finally opened her eyes. I knew then she would live, and I thanked Heavenly Father for saving her life. After nine days she went home.
Later she asked me, “How did you know I needed help?”
“The Spirit told me,” I replied.
As she recovered, we began to share fun times together as we had done as children.
I finally began to understand one reason why I had to come back to my hometown. I know that our Father in Heaven is mindful of all his children, that he loves us all, and that he uses one to bless another.