“Angie and the Storm,” Ensign, Sept. 1997, 59–60
Angie and the Storm
After months of fierce winds and heavy snowfall, our Idaho winter melted into an early spring with its ever-changing weather of cold and warm. The blue skies of one March afternoon seemed particularly blissful as I walked across the Ricks College campus to teach my one o’clock class.
As I entered the Smith Building, I saw a young woman standing by my classroom door. She introduced herself as the roommate of Angie, one of the students in the class.
“Brother Dearden, have you seen Angie?” she asked. Her anxious voice alarmed me.
“No, I haven’t. Is something wrong?”
She swallowed hard and explained. “It’s Angie’s mother—she died this morning. Her family called about two hours ago. Angie was upset, of course, and was crying a lot. We talked, and Angie seemed to be taking it OK. Suddenly she went still and just sat there staring. When she wouldn’t respond to me, I ran to get our dorm mother. When we returned, Angie was gone. I’ve been looking for her ever since. I’m really worried. I hoped she had decided to still attend this class.”
Concerned, I looked into the classroom, but Angie was not there. Her roommate left quickly to continue her search. As I stood there, I thought of Angie. I could see her face clearly: brown eyes, red hair, and a constant smile. She had come to my office several times, and we had become friends. I learned she was the youngest of eight brothers and sisters and that she had intentionally chosen a school a thousand miles from home to help her develop independence but that she missed her family intensely. When homesickness overwhelmed her, she would do something kind for someone else. Not surprisingly, she had been appointed freshman leader for the service club on campus.
Heavenly Father, please help her wherever she is, I prayed silently as I entered my classroom full of chattering students.
Quite some time into the lesson, I saw Angie hesitantly enter the room, look around, and walk toward a desk at the front. Her eyes were red and puffy.
“Angie, what’s the matter?” one young man said. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost!” As heads began to turn in her direction, I pleaded silently, Don’t let her get hurt anymore. Please guide me in what to do. I sensed how fragile her emotions were at this moment.
Then the noise of hail pelting against the windows surprised us. Unnoticed by us, clouds had gathered to produce a brief squall. Fortunately, the other students were distracted and went to the window to watch hail pile up on the ledge. Grateful for the distraction, I quickly walked to Angie’s side and quietly remarked, “Your friends are looking for you. They will help you.”
She looked up at me. I repeated, “Angie, your friends are looking for you. Please remember Heavenly Father loves you and knows what you are feeling. He is watching over you.”
She blinked, and color began to wash back into her face. Silent tears brimmed, then coursed down her cheeks.
As with spring storms, its intensity soon subsided, and then radiant sunshine again glimmered through the window, producing tiny rainbow prisms in the drops of water clinging to the glass. As the students began to return to their seats, I announced, “I can’t compete with dramatics like that. We’ve come to a good end on the topic anyway. Let’s call it quits for the day. You’re excused.”
By the time Angie was ready to start back to the dorm, she seemed more composed. “I guess I was lost for a while,” she said. “I don’t even know where I’ve been. But I need to go home now and help my dad.”
I knew the timing of the storm had been no accident. Angie was being watched over while she was reacting to the news of her mother’s death.