One Sunday morning when I was bishop, I was seated on the stand.  Sacrament meeting had begun.  As I looked out over the congregation I realized that one of my flock was missing.  Sister Mensing, a widow in her sixties, wasn’t in her usual place.  That struck me as odd.  Many other people had missed church before, and I hadn’t done anything about it, but this time something inside me impelled me to check on her.  I rose, and walked out of the meeting to my office where I telephoned her.

There was no answer.  That was even odder.  I felt a sense of alarm rising within me.  I hadn’t told anyone what I was doing, but suddenly this one sheep was more important than the 99 sitting safely back in the chapel.  I left them and drove to her apartment.  I knocked on her door.  There was no answer.  I felt sure that she had to be there, so I looked up the manager and expressed my concerns.  He got a key, and accompanied me back to her door.

We let ourselves in, and I called out, “Is anybody home?”  There was no answer.  I started looking around, knocked on the closed bathroom door, got no response, tried to open it, and found that something was lodged against it on the other side.  I pushed harder until I could stick my head in.  The “something” was Sister Mensing.  She was lying there unconscious on the floor.  I forced my way in, determined that she was alive, and called the ambulance.  I don’t recall what her problem was, but several days in the hospital got her back on her feet.  She was in her usual place at church the next Sunday.  She and I were both very grateful for the intervention of the Holy Ghost which prompted her bishop to go check on her.