In the temple, I put all my senses to work searching for Her. A painting on the wall depicting a woman holding a giggling child in the air above her. The chandelier in the celestial room with the flowers on the table below it. The scent of fresh laundry on my rented temple clothes, and I thought of all the women’s hands gathering, washing, folding and distributing. I got tired and rested my chin on my chest while I sat quietly and felt that someone understood. I listened, and listened, and listened through the words that were spoken, through the racing thoughts of my own mind, through my questions; I listened and the quietness spoke back, a quietness that got louder and louder, until as I walked down the stairs back to the dressing room, the words pressed themselves into the palms of my hands and soft places of my heart—“Spread my name like wildfire.” When I got to the dressing room, I stood looking at myself in the mirror, my eyes pretty and deep like a still lake beginning to ripple before rain, a strength in them I had never noticed before.