I am a deep sleeper. I know as a mother, that is usually an oxymoron. Mothers are typically not the deep sleepers. Mothers will wake at the sound of a slight cough, while fathers will sleep through the earthquakes and thunderstorms.

It hasn’t always been this way for me. When my babies were small, all it took was a little stirring in the newborn crib, and I was up, rushing to their side. If someone so much as sighed in their sleep, it woke me up.

Not so much anymore.

I find that when my head hits the pillow, I am OUT. I often barely wake as the Husband is heading out the door for early morning flights or going into the office (a fact which does annoy him to no end). I love my sleep. I NEED my sleep.

Me and the sunrise? Not good friends. We’ve never actually met.

And it is that fact which makes this experience all the more amazing to me.

Last night, probably around two or three in the morning, I sat bolt upright in bed. I was awake and conscious, but was not sure what had woken me up. I then felt the strong need to go into my boys’ bedroom.

There, in the middle of my two sleeping sons, I saw that their lamp was on, and the shade was tilted, resting on the hot light bulb. There was smoke rising from the lamp, as the heat from the light was burning a hole in the side of the lampshade. I immediately went over and pulled the smoldering shade off, and unplugged the lamp. Not even recognizing the significance then, I went back to bed. Even as I crawled back under the covers, the what-ifs still had not hit me. Like a lug, I was back to sleep in an instant.

It was only when my eyes first opened this morning that I realized and thought about what might have been. What could have happened, had I not been pulled from a deep sleep, and directed into their room. Today, in the light of day, I have a pit in my stomach as my imagination has run wild with the horrible what-ifs.

I know that lamp was off when we went to bed. We always tuck the kids in, turn off their lights, and pry books out from under their heavy arms. Always. The only thing I can think of is that one of the boys must have gotten up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom, and turned on the bedside lamp in the process.

So, why did I wake up? There were no smoke alarms going off, no bright lights in my eyes. No noise from stumbling kids. Why?

Well, I’m a dummy if I don’t know why.

I do know why.

My Heavenly Father woke me up, directed me to their bedroom, and helped prevent anything bad from happening to my sweet boys.

Simple as that.

What isn’t so simple is why sometimes bad things happen without such intervention. I can’t answer all those whys. But still, I cannot deny the overwhelming feeling of love and protection that I had in my heart after this experience. In this great big world of ours, Someone is aware of me. Someone is aware of my family. Someone is watching over us. He really is. Even in the middle of the night, when a simple lamp shade is turned too far the wrong way.

This experience awakened much in me, things I sometimes forget. I am grateful. I am grateful to remember that God loves me. That He is aware of me. He is watching over me, and my sleeping angels. Even though I swear sometimes. Even though sometimes I complain about having to go to church on really pretty Sunday afternoons. Even though I get annoyed with my kids. Even though sometimes I tuck my spirituality away, and pretend it’s not there. He still loves me. He still loves us.

I just wanted to share that with you, in case, like me, you had forgotten, too.

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Saturday, four buses were waiting for us when we arrived at the temple at 5:45 a.m. It was a glorious day. The baptistry was filled with youth. One of the boys was Benjamin who will soon submit his mission papers. Two years ago, he set a goal to do 1,000 baptisms for the dead before he entered the mission field. He comes every week to the temple — sometimes twice — and is getting close to completing his goal. His countenance glows. When I see youth like him I don’t worry about the future of the world, or the Church.

Hermana G. was at our “greeting station” Saturday morning. A woman arrived who seemed to be hanging back from entering. Hna. G. began to talk to her and learned that this sister purposely tries to go into the temple last so that she could sit in the back of the endowment session because she is embarrassed about the brown birthmarks on her hands. Hna. G. assured her that the temple is a place of love and acceptance. Then she showed the sister her own hands.

This dear sister was burned by her mother as a child, and one of her hands is very deformed. It was the perfect answer, and she was the perfect person to give it. It is another testimony that the Lord is in charge of his temple.

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