During many summer vacations as a child, my family drove the long distance from our home in northern California to visit relatives in Utah. As a true city boy looking for adventure, I especially enjoyed our trips to my grandmother’s farm in southern Utah.

On the farm, my brothers, sisters, cousins, and I climbed to the tops of towering haystacks and then jumped off, flying down to a soft cushion of hay below. Next, we took turns on our uncle’s old tractors, grabbing the steering wheel and pretending we were racing across the field. After that, we balanced like tightrope walkers and made our way across the top of the rickety old fence rails that kept the cows corralled. The best fun, though, was riding old Blaze.

Blaze was a gentle, old, brown horse that loved kids to ride on her. When I was younger, I rode double with one of my older brothers or sisters. However, the summer I was about nine years old, I announced to everyone that I was old enough to ride Blaze all by myself. My parents agreed, so with a boost onto her back and some last-minute instructions from my uncle, I was riding Blaze all on my own like a real cowboy.

As I slowly guided Blaze into a partly fenced-in field, my family could see that I was handling Blaze as well as any professional cowboy. They left me to my fun and went inside Grandma’s old farmhouse. Holding the reins loosely in my hands as I sat atop the gentle horse, I felt like I was king of the world.

However, only a few minutes had passed when Blaze suddenly broke into a mad gallop. I pulled gently on the reins to slow her down, but she kept up her fast pace. I pulled harder on the reins and yelled, “Whoa!” But Blaze seemed to just go faster and faster. I kept tugging at the reins but didn’t dare pull too hard for fear that she would rear on her hind legs and buck me off.

I pulled again and again on the reins, but Blaze just kept on galloping out of control. My cries for her to stop turned into screams of panic as she raced from the safety of the field and away from the farmhouse while I bounced and jerked wildly in the saddle.

At a terrifying speed, she headed straight for an old tractor, swerving just in time to miss it. Racing like lightning, she headed next toward a wooden, railed fence. I thought for sure that we’d crash right into it, but Blaze swerved away again just in time.

No matter what I tried, I couldn’t control her at all. Eventually she galloped off the farm property onto the rarely used country road. With tears streaming from my eyes, I realized my situation had just grown considerably worse. I couldn’t stop her on my own, and it might be hours before anyone who could help me might venture this way. I could end up lost, miles away from my grandma’s farmhouse, before Blaze ever came to a stop or threw me off her back.

At that moment, I realized that there was only one thing left for me to do. I prayed with all my heart. I prayed in my mind, and I prayed out loud. I knew that Heavenly Father would hear my prayers and that He could help me.

It wasn’t long after my prayers that an old truck came barreling down the road. The man driving it saw right away that I needed help. Driving alongside the galloping horse and me, the man yelled from his truck window, “Pull on the reins!”

I pulled, but Blaze kept running. The man yelled for me to pull harder. Even though I was still afraid that Blaze might rear back, I pulled back even harder on the reins than I had tried before. Blaze kept on racing.

“Pull harder!” yelled the man.

I was afraid to pull any harder, but I realized that the man knew more about horses than I did. So, gathering all my strength, I pulled as hard as I could on the reins. Blaze didn’t stop at first, but with the man’s continual urging, the horse finally slowed to a complete stop.

The man in the truck pulled off to the side of the road and hopped out. My whole body shook as he helped me down off the horse. When I told him that Blaze was usually a mild-mannered horse, he explained that even the gentlest horse might break into a run if its rider holds the reins too loosely.

After thanking the man for his help and assuring him that I was OK, I started the long way back to the farmhouse, leading Blaze by the reins. As I walked, I realized that some people might say that the man coming by when he did was just a coincidence. But I knew differently. It was a direct answer to my prayers. Heavenly Father knew ahead of time that I would need help when I did. He inspired a man who knew a lot more about horses than I did to drive his truck down a lonely county road. I know with all my heart, that Heavenly Father answered the prayers of a terrified young boy who couldn’t stop a galloping horse on his own.

My name is Alan Matthews.* I’m nine years old and have listened to many lessons in church and family home evening. None ever taught me so much about Heavenly Father’s love for me as the lesson I learned through our ducks.

I’m an animal lover. I have a huge collection of small plastic animals from all over the world, and I’ve read nearly every book on animals that our school library has to offer. The fact that I love animals so much is what makes what happened to me so amazing.

My parents, my brothers, and I live in the state of Washington. We have a huge yard with trees, a pond my dad made, and our own little hill. Last spring, my parents surprised us by coming home with two baby ducklings, Samson and Delilah. We raised them in the house until their adult feathers grew in and it warmed up a bit outside. They were cute and cuddly, and we loved to sit and hold them. But once they were old enough to set loose in the backyard, it was pretty hard to catch them when we wanted to hold one.

One day I found myself sitting by the edge of the pond, watching them dive for bugs and bathe themselves. The longer I watched, the more bored I became and the more I wanted to catch one of them to hold. I circled the pond several times, trying to get them to come out of the water. But they knew exactly what I intended and swam away from me. Finally, tired of going in circles, I sat down to try to come up with another idea.

That’s when I came up with what I thought was a foolproof plan. I began to toss small stones into the water beyond the ducks. The splash startled them and made them instinctively swim closer to me. With each stone, I became more confident that I’d soon have a duck to hold. Then the unexpected happened: I looked down to pick up a stone, and there were none left.

Fearful that the ducks would retreat to the other side of the pond, I quickly searched behind me for another rock. I spied one a little way off. Without taking my eyes off the ducks, I grabbed the rock. My fingertips barely had time to feel its smooth edges before I hurled it into the water.

In my hurry, my aim was a little off. Everything would have been fine except that Samson, spooked by my sudden movement, jerked around and headed right into the stone’s path. With a small thud, the rock hit him squarely in the head. For a moment, I sat frozen, shocked at what I’d done and afraid that he’d been badly hurt.

Delilah started beating the water with her wings and screeching at me. Samson jumped out of the water and ran straight across the yard to a little hut we’d built for them. I was relieved that he seemed to be OK, but my heart was beating so hard that I went to lie on my bed for a while.

Two days later the scene came back to haunt me. Mom was out feeding the birds and found Samson nearly drowned at the edge of the pond. Scooping him up and hollering for one of us to get Dad, she rushed Samson into the house. Delilah, who normally set up quite a wail when separated from her mate, followed and stood patiently on the back porch next to the door.

Samson was very cold and could not stand or control his wings very well. Dad wrapped him in towels and put him in a tub under a heat lamp. He showed no sign of improvement after an hour, so Dad brought in Delilah. She nestled right up to Samson.

The next few days, I spent a lot of time by the side of the tub, cleaning up after the ducks and feeding them. I found little comfort in helping them. Everyone tried to guess what had caused Samson’s illness. I felt terrible, knowing what was wrong and that it was my fault.

A week passed. We had seen little change in Samson. It was a warm spring day, and we were all outside enjoying the sunshine. I walked around aimlessly, hitting the ground with a stick that I’d picked up somewhere. I didn’t hear my mother walk up behind me. I jumped as she gently placed her hand on my shoulder.

“Alan, your father felt that I should ask you about Samson.” When I didn’t respond, she continued. “Sometimes we do something we’re not proud of, and it can make us very unhappy inside. It can make us so unhappy that it is like carrying a huge boulder around with us everywhere we go.”

I turned to face her. Tears began to well up in my eyes. I wanted to cry out, “Yes, that’s just how I feel!” but I remained silent.

“When that happens, we need to confide in our Heavenly Father and ask for His forgiveness and for the burden to be removed,” she said.

Finally I mustered up the courage to speak. I asked, “Is that all I have to do?”

“No,” Mother said. “We need to confess our sins, do whatever we can to make the wrong right, and promise that we will never do it again.”

I thought about what she had said. I knew that she was right, and I knew what I had to do. I looked up at her, unable to hold back the tears any longer. “Mom, I hit Samson in the head with a rock. I didn’t mean to hurt him, and I don’t want him to die.”

She pulled me close to her and hugged me tightly. “That surely has been a heavy burden to carry around all this time.”

I nodded. Then, pulling out of her comforting arms, I said, “I need to go to my room for a few minutes.”

She nodded in understanding, and I ran inside.

As I knelt beside my bed, I told Heavenly Father that I’d done something very wrong and that I was very sorry. I explained that despite our efforts, Samson was not getting any better, and I asked Him if He would help make things right. I asked for His forgiveness and promised that I would try to never again do something so careless. Closing in the name of Jesus Christ, I arose, amazed at how much better I felt inside already.

For the first time all week, I joined in the dinner conversation and played with my brothers. I now understood what my mother was saying about the weight, because I felt as light as a feather.

When I awoke the next morning, I hurried to check on the ducks and to get their food and water. As I went around the corner, the first sight that met my eyes was Samson, standing up and preening his feathers! He looked his old self again, and he started quacking for his breakfast. He had been healed! Excitedly I ran to tell my parents the good news. I had been forgiven, and I knew that Heavenly Father had helped make Samson better.

That evening I sat on my bed, writing in my journal:

“I know that I am a child of God, that He hears and answers my prayers, and that even a nine-year-old is important enough for a miracle.”

“Do you see her yet, Okorie?” Bernice asked.

Eight-year-old Okorie stood on his tiptoes and peered down the sandy Nigerian road. No motor could be heard over the rustling palm trees and the calls of the birds in the nearby rain forest. He strained his eyes to look as far down the road as he could, hoping to see a cloud of dust signaling the approach of their mother’s car.

“No, Bernice. Nothing yet,” Okorie said as he sat next to his little sister in the shade of the school walls. “I’m sure everything is all right. Maybe she is just busy with baby Ikechi.”

Bernice nodded. “Or maybe she went to the market. I hope she brings home lots of yams again. They’re my favorite.”

Okorie’s stomach growled at the thought of yams. He hoped Mum would hurry—it wasn’t like her to be this late picking them up. Everyone else had gone home long ago. The school compound was many kilometers from the nearest village of Owerri, and with nobody but his sister around, Okorie was starting to feel a little scared.

“Okorie! Look what I found!” Bernice held up a worn leather ball.

Okorie grinned broadly. Here was one way to help time pass! Eagerly he joined his sister in kicking the ball around the yard.

They were having so much fun they didn’t notice the approach of their car until their mother parked it across from the school yard. As she got out of the car, the two children ran to greet her.

“Okorie! Bernice! I am sorry you had to wait such a long time for me!” Mum said, hugging them close. “I was trying to do too many things in one day, and the time slipped away from me. Now we need to hurry! I’ve left baby Ikechi with Sister Anya’s daughter much longer than I planned. Ijeoma is only three years older than you, Okorie, and it is probably hard for her to watch a baby so long by herself.”

The two children jumped into the old car. “Look at all those yams!” Bernice squealed in delight as she peered into her mother’s woven shopping basket.

Mum smiled. “If we hurry, we can have dinner ready before your father comes home.” She turned the key to start the engine.

Click.

Their mother’s smile faded. She turned the key again. Once more there was only a click instead of the familiar roar of the engine. She tried without luck for several minutes to get the car to start—but they were stuck.

“What’s wrong with it, Mum?” Bernice asked. “Are we out of fuel?”

“No, no—I filled the tank only an hour ago.” There was concern in her voice. “But I did drive many kilometers today. Perhaps the engine has been working too hard and needs to rest a few minutes.”

“What should we do while we’re waiting?” Okorie asked.

“Well, I do have my Book of Mormon here. Should we read our scriptures now?” their mother asked.

The children agreed. Okorie liked listening to Mum’s voice as she read the scriptures. Sometimes the words confused him, but if he listened very carefully and tried to understand what the words meant, he always felt good inside. Mum said that this feeling was the Holy Ghost and that if he always tried to do what Jesus Christ would have him do, he could have that feeling all the time.

They started reading in Ether chapter 12 about several different prophets who were able to do wonderful things because of their faith in Jesus Christ. They read about Alma and Amulek, Nephi and Lehi, and Ammon and his brothers. Okorie remembered most of those names from his Primary class. One story—about the brother of Jared moving a whole mountain by faith—especially caught his attention.

“Mum, did the brother of Jared really make a mountain move?” Okorie asked.

“It was not the brother of Jared who moved the mountain. It was Heavenly Father, who was answering that prophet’s prayer. I am certain that the brother of Jared had a good reason to move that mountain. He knew he couldn’t do it himself, so he prayed to Heavenly Father. Heavenly Father knew that what the brother of Jared was asking was good and that he truly believed Heavenly Father would help him. So Heavenly Father answered his prayer.” Okorie thought about that as his mother finished reading.

“It’s been a really long time,” Bernice said. “Should we try to start the car again?”

They all held their breath while Mum turned the key. When the engine failed to start, she put her head in her hands.

“What are we going to do?” Bernice asked quietly.

Mum shook her head. “There is no one to help us for many kilometers, and it’s too far for you children to walk. It will take hours for me to walk there and return with help. Poor little Ijeoma—I have left her so long by herself with the baby!” Tears began to trickle down Mum’s cheeks.

Bernice and Okorie glanced at each other with wide eyes. What could they do?

“Mum,” Okorie said quietly, “I know what we can do.”

“What?” she asked.

“Let’s say a prayer! Heavenly Father will make the car start—just like He moved a mountain for the brother of Jared!”

“Prayers aren’t always answered right away, Okorie,” Mum sighed. “Someone will need to fix what is wrong with the engine before it will work again.”

“But if Heavenly Father can move a big mountain, don’t you think He can make our little car work?”

Mum looked at Okorie. She could see he was very serious.

“All right, my son, we will pray. Who would like to offer the prayer?”

While Okorie and Bernice talked, Okorie saw his mother bow her head and close her eyes, saying her own private prayer. When Mum opened her eyes, the two children told her they had decided they would each say a prayer.

Bernice went first. “Heavenly Father, we are stuck out here all alone because of our broken car. Please bless baby Ikechi to be safe until we get back. And please teach Ijeoma so she will know how to take care of her. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”

Now it was Okorie’s turn. “Heavenly Father,” he began, “please bless the car to start. We know Thou canst do it. Everybody else has gone home—there is no one else to help us. Please, Heavenly Father, help us start the car and get home safely so Mum can take care of us and the baby. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”

“Amen,” Mum said. She got in the car, and with a flick of her wrist, she turned the key.

Rrrruuuummmm! The engine sprang to life as if nothing had ever been wrong with it. Bernice and Okorie bounced up and down with joy.

“Okorie! You did it! You did it!” Bernice exclaimed.

Okorie stopped his celebration long enough to shake his head solemnly and say, “No, I didn’t do it—Heavenly Father did.”

Mum hugged her children tightly. “Yes, Okorie, Heavenly Father did it. But I think it was your faith that really pulled us through. You never doubted. Both of you have made me a very happy mother.”

They said a prayer of gratitude and then drove home, singing all the way.

Hiking into the foothills and onto the mountain east of Manti, Utah, was a favorite activity for me when I was growing up. One crisp fall day when I was about ten years old, my friend and I decided to go for a hike.

My mother carefully wrapped two peanut butter and jam sandwiches and pieces of raisin pie in waxed paper and put them and an apple apiece in brown paper bags for us to take for our lunches.

I enjoyed the cool, fresh air and the smell of the fields and orchards as we made our way past the outskirts of town, past one neighbor’s farm and through another’s apple orchard. The trees were loaded with delicious red apples.

We were each carrying a large burlap sack, as we hoped to find pine nuts. As we took the narrow trail through the sagebrush and into the junipers, we found a piñon pine tree here and there, and a few pinecones.

We put the cones, sticky with fresh pine gum, into our burlap sacks, with the knowledge that each hard, green cone contained a number of pine nuts locked tightly inside it. I loved pine nuts then; I still do. The Indians liked them, too, but they gathered them for survival. They made a pine-nut bread that was half pine nuts and half grasshoppers. I preferred my pine nuts straight.

My friend and I climbed higher until we came to a maze of flat, white rocks laid out so that they formed a huge letter “M” visible throughout the valley below. At the top right side of this letter, we found a large, flat rock and sat down to rest. Taking our shoes off to cool our feet on this smooth rock, we enjoyed looking down on Manti, out across the fields and valleys, and beyond. The air was clean and clear, and we could smell the mixture of sage, juniper, and pine. It was good to be alive!

So that we could roast some of our pine nuts, we gathered dry brush and limbs and started a fire. It was soon blazing quite high—too high!

The flames caught onto a nearby clump of sagebrush, then another and another. It looked as though it would soon spread to the whole mountainside and be a forest fire. We had learned to put a fire out by pouring water on it, but we had no water, so we tried to beat it out with our burlap sacks, but every time we beat at the fire, it seemed to fan out and spread more. In desperation my friend said, “I’ll go for help.” He pulled his shoes on and took off running down the mountain.

I was alone! I went to my knees in prayer. “Father in Heaven, help me put this fire out.” This is all I remember saying. I don’t know what I expected. There was not a cloud in the sky, and it didn’t suddenly start to rain. I didn’t hear a voice telling me what to do, but He answered my prayer.

Before I’d even gotten off my knees, I was impressed to start throwing dirt on the nearest burning bush, and then on the next one. I threw dirt on another, and another until I had encircled the entire fire and had it under control and only smoke was left blowing up on the mountain where the fire had been.

I had not heard a voice saying, “Throw dirt on the fire,” but I had felt strongly impressed to do it. In some way Heavenly Father had conveyed that intelligence to my mind. If I forgot to thank Him then, I have thanked Him many times since then!

I am grateful, too, for the way He answered my prayer. He didn’t put the fire out. He could have, but I’m glad that He didn’t. I would have been embarrassed. Instead, He allowed me the dignity of putting the fire out, which boosted my self-confidence and helped me realize that I could solve difficult problems with His help.

I learned many lifelong lessons from this experience, the first being to not start a fire next to brush with a breeze blowing. More important, I learned that the prayer of a small boy on a mountain would be heard and answered. I also learned that Heavenly Father will generally not do for us what we can do for ourselves but will prompt us to use our own intelligence, our own strength, and the materials at hand, such as the dirt under our feet.

I have a very deep and strong faith in the power of prayer, and I developed that testimony when I was very young. Although in my early childhood my father was not active in the Church, my mother taught my brothers and sisters and me about prayer. In Primary, I also learned about the importance of prayer. Later on, my father began to attend church. In fact, he was called to be our branch president. Prayer became an important part of our family.

I remember very clearly an experience I had when I was about twelve years old. It was a Saturday, and my father and I were at the meetinghouse, preparing the building for meetings the next day. All of a sudden, my father stopped. “I feel that we need to go home,” he said. So we locked up the building and left.

At home, Dad took a shower and put on his suit. Almost immediately the phone rang. My mother, who had left earlier in the day to attend a Primary leadership meeting, had been in a terrible car accident. She and the other sisters in the car had been taken to the hospital. The doctors didn’t expect my mother to live.

My father left immediately for the hospital. I had a paper route and left to deliver my papers. I didn’t understand exactly what had happened, but I knew that my mother was hurt very seriously. During my route, I stopped and knelt in a secluded area. I poured out my heart to Heavenly Father, asking Him to bless and help my mother. I felt a strong assurance that she would be all right.

After I finished my paper route, I stopped to visit my younger sister, who was baby-sitting. We knelt together and prayed for my mother. Afterward, we felt a deep sense of peace.

In the months that followed, we relied heavily on those feelings we had received as we prayed. My mother had sustained very serious brain damage, and she was in a coma for weeks. Even after she returned home, she was never the same. Her physical and mental health was fragile, and her memory had been affected. But she had a profound faith and a deep love for us, her children.

That experience strengthened my testimony that Heavenly Father hears and answers our prayers. When I knelt to pray for my mother that first time, I hadn’t known just how badly she had been hurt. In fact, I prayed that her arm would not be broken. But Heavenly Father understood.

That’s the beauty of prayer and the Spirit. The Lord understands our heart, and we don’t have to worry about saying exactly the right thing. We can just relax and pray with a sincere heart, knowing that our prayers will be heard.

My wife and I have taught our children about the importance of prayer. They learned at a very young age that they could turn to Heavenly Father for help and guidance. I remember one experience when our family had just returned from Korea. I had served as a mission president there for three years. Although the experience was wonderful, our family was exhausted. A friend offered to let us use his cabin for a much-needed vacation.

We were excited! We headed up to the mountain and found the cabin. As we got out of the car, we were attacked by mosquitoes. It felt as if they were thick enough to carry us away.

We ran to the door, only to discover that the key we had been given didn’t fit in the lock! We were desperate. We ran around the cabin, trying to find another way to get in. We even considered trying to break in through a window, but we didn’t want to damage the building.

After only a few minutes, I heard my six-year-old son, Steven, yell out, “I’ve opened the door. Come on in, everybody!”

I couldn’t believe it, but as I rounded the corner of the cabin, I saw Steven standing at the door, waving everyone inside. After we’d escaped the mosquitoes, I asked, “Steven, how did you find the key? What happened?”

His answer was simple: “I closed my eyes and told Heavenly Father that we needed to find another key. I opened my eyes and saw a rock lying nearby. I had the feeling that a key was under the rock. And there was!”

I have seen such experiences happen over and over again. When a child or an adult prays in simple faith, his prayer is answered. Two years ago, my granddaughter Sarah started first grade. At first, she appeared to love it. But within only a couple of weeks, she started to cry every morning and beg her parents to let her stay home. They asked what was wrong, but she either couldn’t or wouldn’t tell them. They talked to her teacher, who had no idea what the problem might be. Sarah was well liked, she had friends, and she was doing well in her schoolwork.

One day after Sarah returned from school particularly upset, her father asked if she thought it would help if they knelt in prayer as a family the next morning and asked for Heavenly Father’s help. “Oh, yes, Dad,” Sarah replied. “I think that would help.”

The next morning, the family went through their regular routine, Sarah crying and protesting but eventually ending up in the car, ready to go to school. “Wait, Dad,” Sarah said just before they left. “We forgot to pray.”

Sarah and her father went back inside and knelt in prayer with her mother and little sister. They prayed specifically that Sarah would have a happy day and a good time at school. That afternoon, when her father picked her up, Sarah left the building with her arms raised in victory. “Prayer works, Dad!” she exclaimed. “Prayer works!”

It most certainly does! I know that Heavenly Father hears and answers our prayers. I know that He understands the intent and purposes of our hearts. And I know that He will give us the guidance and help we need to live our lives righteously and return to live with Him.

Eighteen-year-old Annie Smith wrapped her scarf tighter around her neck and looked back across the railroad bridge she had just crossed. It was a beautiful winter day in 1892, a perfect day for their school outing. She and her students had already enjoyed dinner at her house and a sleigh ride. Now, as they carefully made their way across the bridge, Annie paused to watch them. These children from her one-room schoolhouse in Porterville, Utah, were a variety of ages and sizes, with some students even older than she was. It warmed her heart to see the bigger ones helping the smaller ones along the tracks.

As Annie watched, she felt a small hand slip into hers. She looked down into the face of her youngest student, little Hughie. His brown eyes were large with excitement.

“Do we really get to go through the tunnel?” His voice was almost a whisper.

Annie nodded. “I have special permission from the railroad. They assured me that no trains were scheduled for today, so it will be perfectly safe.” She looked at the dark opening in the mountainside ahead. “It’s a long, dark tunnel, Hughie. There are no lights inside, but on the other side is a beautiful view of the rockslide and the valley.”

Hughie gave a little sigh and smiled. Annie’s words had put his fears to rest. Now he tugged anxiously on her arm. “Come on, Teacher. Let’s go see the valley.”

Soon they were all inside the tunnel. It took a while for their eyes to adjust to the darkness after the bright daylight. “Take it slowly,” Annie’s voice echoed in the tunnel. “Keep on the tracks and hold hands so that you don’t trip.”

At first the children were laughing and joking, but they soon grew silent as they concentrated on their footing. The only sound was the grating of their footsteps on gravel and their quiet voices as they guided each other over the railroad ties.

Annie knew they were about halfway through the darkness when she saw a small circle of light ahead marking the other end of the tunnel. “We’re almost there,” she told her students. “See the light ahead?”

As they paused to look, they heard a rumbling noise coming closer and closer, and then a sound that made their blood run chill: a train whistle.

“Teacher?” It was Hughie’s voice. “Did you hear? What—”

Annie hushed him quickly. She stood frozen on the tracks, not daring to believe her ears. But then the whistle sounded again, nearer this time. There was a train rounding the point of the mountain and coming across the bridge. It was coming very fast!

Annie prayed silently for help. Please, Heavenly Father, what should I do? Tell me what to do.

“Teacher?” an older child asked. “Shall we run?”

The tracks were starting to vibrate under their feet.

“No!” The words seemed to spring from her lips of their own accord. “Lie down at once as close to the wall as possible. Don’t move or try to get up until I say that you can. Now, go!”

This last word she had to scream because the sound of the approaching train was loud and unmistakable now. She pulled the nearest child with her to the wall of the tunnel and held him tight. As the train roared into the tunnel, many of the children screamed in terror. Sparks flew from the smokestack in a shower of light, and the smoke almost suffocated them. It seemed to last forever. Annie trembled and tightened her grip on the child, afraid she might lose him in the hot, rushing wind that swept through the tunnel with the train.

When the silence finally returned, she helped the child up and hurried toward the light. She went as swiftly as she could, tripping on stones and bumping into her students, who were also in a panic, crawling to get out of the dark.

Once outside the tunnel, the students helped brush the dirt from each other’s clothing and began to breathe more easily. Then one of the older children asked, “Where’s Hughie?”

Taking some older boys with her, Annie returned to the dark tunnel, afraid of what she might find. The boys ran ahead calling Hughie’s name. Then, “He’s here!” a boy called, relief in his voice. “Lying facedown by the wall.”

“It’s OK, Hughie.” Annie heard another boy comforting him. “The train is gone. You can get up now.”

Hughie turned his face toward them and said in a brave but frightened voice, “Did Teacher say that I could?”

Annie hurried over to him and put her arms around him. “Oh, Hughie,” she said, tears in her eyes. “Thank you for being so obedient. You did the right thing, and you are safe. You can get up now. Teacher says so.”

Hughie got to his feet, and Annie took his hand and led him toward the light. As they walked, Annie silently thanked Heavenly Father for watching over this little boy who had such faith in his teacher. She hoped that she would always live worthy of that trust.

Annie also knew that her trust in Heavenly Father had not been in vain. Her prayer had been answered when she knew what they needed to do to be safe. They had been spared because they had immediately obeyed those promptings. There is safety in obedience. That was a lesson that neither Hughie nor his teacher would ever forget.