“The Shadow of Death Was on Her Face,” Ensign, Apr. 2001, 69
Some months after our baptism, my husband and I were faced with unexpected adversity. Some of our most distressing trials concerned our children. It seemed as though no week passed without one of them being admitted to the hospital.
These trials went on for almost two years. Our income as civil servants went toward medical bills. The financial strain was so great that my husband and I had to sell many of our belongings just to obtain food. I even had to sell some of my clothing. We lost everything we had worked for. But none of these trials shook our faith. We remained active in our branch in Nigeria and true to our covenants. Even when we did not have money for transport, we walked to church on Sunday mornings.
One December evening in 1997 our daughter, Pricilia, fell ill. She had a high fever, and blood started coming out of her mouth. My husband was not home, and I was confused and afraid. I could see the shadow of death on her face.
As I prayed for help, the Spirit prompted me to take her to our branch president, who lived far from us. Somehow I managed to get her down from our third-floor flat, carrying her on my back, and out to the main road. It was too late to catch a bus, so I desperately tried to get a taxi.
The first taxi driver who came by refused to take us, saying, “I don’t want to carry a dead person in my car.” However, a second taxi driver responded to my pleas and helped us, even though I had no money. When we arrived, the branch president carried Pricilia up to his flat, laid her on his couch, placed his hands on her head, and gave her a blessing. I heard him sigh and pause, then tell Pricilia that it was not yet time for her to go home and that she must fight to live.
Immediately after the blessing, Pricilia opened her eyes and groaned. We took her to the hospital, where we learned she had cerebral malaria, a deadly disease. For the next eight days she remained unconscious in the hospital, and the doctors did not believe she would survive.
The day Pricilia was discharged—healthy and normal—the doctor told me that few people survived who were as sick as she had been. Those who lived were left disabled. “Pricilia is a lucky girl,” he said. But to me luck had nothing to do with her recovery. My conviction was that she had been saved by priesthood power.
Today, Pricilia is a healthy and happy girl. She is everything a parent could want a daughter to be. Furthermore, the sicknesses that so beset our family have passed. We have outlasted these trials and have truly been blessed.