“Danger behind the Door,” New Era, Oct. 1997, 49
I was ecstatic when, just after high school graduation, my uncle offered me a summer job working as his secretary in California. Eager to earn money for college and escape the sweltering heat of my home in Arizona, I accepted my uncle’s offer and moved to Los Angeles for the summer.
One weekend after I had moved in with my uncle’s family and started my job, my aunt took my two young cousins for a three-day visit to Grandma’s house. That Friday evening I arrived home from work before my uncle and was slightly disturbed to see the garage door left open. Thinking my aunt had forgotten to close the door, I pulled my car into the garage and got out.
On the bottom floor of the house was the garage, a short hallway, a small bathroom, and my bedroom. As I walked into my bedroom, I was surprised to see my empty suitcase lying upon my bed and my dresser drawers pulled open. I shrugged this off, thinking my aunt must have been looking for something.
I then walked down the hallway toward the bathroom. As I gripped the handle to open the bathroom door, what seemed like a small voice inside my head urged, “Go check the mail!” I didn’t question this unexpected thought, but immediately changed my course, turned from the door, and walked out through the garage to the mailbox. Mail in hand, I was walking back toward the house when I saw the hallway light suddenly turn off. It was then that I realized that something was wrong. Heart pounding, I dropped the mail right there in the driveway and ran to the neighbor’s for help.
Twenty minutes later, I was numbly walking with two policemen through the upper floors of my uncle’s ransacked, burglarized house. Couches were overturned, drawers were pulled out onto the floor, a stereo system and other valuables were missing. When we came to the bottom floor, I nearly fell over when I saw my bedroom closet door and my bathroom door, both of which I had left closed, standing wide open. At least one burglar had been hiding behind each door! It wasn’t until then that I fully understood the grave danger I had been in. That night, I fervently thanked my Heavenly Father that I had been prompted to turn away from the bathroom door.
Later I reflected on my patriarchal blessing, which urges me to always follow the promptings of the Spirit of the Holy Ghost. One promise of my blessing stood out in particular: If I would promptly do the things the Holy Ghost would place in my mind, I would be protected from crippling harm or injury.
How grateful I am for that quiet voice which whispered, “Go check the mail!” What a real and powerful influence the Holy Ghost can be.
Although I will always remember how I was protected from possible physical harm that day, I am most grateful for the great spiritual protection and guidance the Holy Ghost has given me throughout my life.