The buzz of a travel alarm barely registered in my weary brain. Only when I heard stirrings of life around me did I bother to swat at the off button, and a squinting glance at the clock face confirmed my deepest fear: it was 2:45 a.m. Time to rise. My last evening at the MTC had included a devotional for departing missionaries and a final photo session with my district before heading off with my two companions to pack. Though my head hit my pillow at 12:45, my thoughts kept swirling for another full hour.

With zombie-like movements, my group and I managed to dress, eat, and tidy the room enough to pass inspection, just in time for our 4:15 checkout. Luggage was hurriedly tossed into a van by someone with far too much pre-dawn energy, then we were rushed to the Salt Lake International Airport. All that hurry, just so we could sit in a sleep-deprived stupor for several hours before our families arrived for an emotional sendoff.

The four hour cross country flight to my mission field should have been ample time for napping, but my adrenaline kicked in as we lifted off and my mind seemed to be racing the airplane to its destination. After landing, I felt great relief seeing the friendly faces of my mission president and his assistants. They chauffeured their new arrivals to the mission home, and I eagerly drank in my new surroundings.

After stowing bags in the basement bedrooms and sitting drowsily through an orientation session, we were ushered into the dining room and sat down to a feast. Don’t ask me what was on the menu, I only recall spending most of the meal trying to prevent my head from flopping onto my plate. Long before the meal ended I was fantasizing about a nap on the nearest horizontal surface.

Imagine my surprise when President Swinton cheerfully announced that we would adjourn to the living room for a testimony meeting. Not that I didn’t have a testimony, but my bleary brain was struggling to access it at that moment. The testimonies shared were filled with all the emotions of young people, far from home, embarking on a serious adventure. A closing prayer was offered, then our President surprised his sleepy missionaries again. “Out to the van,” he ordered. “We’re going for a little drive.” Peering into the February dusk, I tried to imagine where he could take us at that time of night. He wouldn’t say.

Minutes later, I stared out the van window as my adrenaline kicked in for the second time that day. I imagined my life as a missionary—all that would be required of me. In my state of exhaustion I was nearly overwhelmed at the prospect of mission life, feeling utterly inadequate. The drive was long enough to allow my thoughts to edge toward panic. I was fighting back tears when suddenly a miracle appeared in the darkness. The fully lit Washington DC temple, almost blindingly white beyond the bare trees, loomed ahead like a vision.

Until that moment, I had not fully understood the depth of my feelings about the temple. To my weary, worried mind it symbolized everything beautiful and solid and familiar to me. My family. My Savior. The beauty of His plan. On that long ago evening, the temple represented all the reasons I had responded to strong promptings to serve a mission, to share the gospel which taught me about covenants and eternal connections.

As the van drew closer to that holy place, my heart was filled with the “peace…which passeth all understanding.” (Phil.4:7) I was still the same weak, silly, inadequate girl who had been on the verge of panic only minutes before, but I was a weak, silly girl who had been called and set apart to do the Lord’s work. What a tender mercy the mere sight of the temple was to me that night.

A decade later, while serving as stake music chairman, I was asked to prepare a children’s choir to sing for our stake conference, in anticipation of the dedication of the Mount Timpanogos Temple. I decided to write a new song for the children, and as I reflected on my feelings about the House of the Lord, a vivid image flashed into my mind: a magnificent temple, glowing against the darkness of a winter night. Words flooded my heart:

“I see the light of the temple at night.

As it shines, it reminds me…”

I wrote two verses and a chorus, then gathered children from every ward to form a choir to sing the new song to their parents and leaders—a plea for the adults to teach the children about the temple and the eternal possibilities it symbolizes. A decade later, while preparing a musical project for young women, the thought came to me that this simple song was for the youth as well. I expanded the original song slightly to the version shown below, including a one line bridge with harmonies, and a key change before singing the chorus a third time.

Teach Me About the Temple (From the album “Lift Your Mind Higher”)

Words and music by Lynne Perry Christofferson

I see the light of the temple at night.
As it shines, it reminds me
I must prepare if I hope to go there,
but I need someone to guide me.

(Chorus)

Please teach me about the temple.
Please show me how to prepare.
Then all of my life I will try
to be worthy to enter there.
Please teach me about the temple.
I want to know so that someday I may go.

I see the light of the temple at night,
and its glow is a symbol
helping me think of the safety and peace
that come from the holy temple.
(Repeat chorus)

I want to claim the blessings that lie in store.
I want to go beyond the door.

(Repeat chorus)

It is my great wish that as parents and leaders within the church we will teach our little ones and our teenagers to understand the blessings of the temple, so when they “see the light of the temple at night” they will be filled with the great comfort and hope I experienced decades ago as an anxious new missionary.