“Are All the Children in?”
There is an old story about a devout mother, who had a large and busy family. This family, composed mostly of boys, lived in the country; and in most seasons of the year that meant the children were constantly out of doors, coming and going about their work or play—checking in at mealtimes, but off again at full speed afterwards. But as twilight drew its curtains across the end of each day, the mother would begin to count her brood, concerned when not all could be found within the shelter of the home. “Are all the children in?” she would ask her oldest son. And as the darkness grew, so did her anxiety if any were missing. “Not all in? Go! Ring the bell again!” she would exclaim. She could not rest easy until she was assured that all were safe within. I told that story at my mother’s funeral, years ago—for she was just such a mother, and I knew it had been her concern for years that all her children be gathered safe against the night, within the bosom of the Savior she so loved. “Are...