Happy Thanksgiving weekend, everyone! This has been a great few days for my family. We managed to get a few things done around the office, catch a movie, enjoy good food with relatives, and—one of the highlights—my youngest daughter and I spent time working on our family history.
Thirteen years ago, when my wife’s grandmother passed away, I became the custodian of many family documents and photos that had been stored for decades. There were journals, talks, school report cards, and diplomas. The photos were even more fascinating: faces of relatives I never met, their homes, their hobbies, and moments captured only on fading paper and in memories.
Over the years, I’ve worked to scan and preserve many of these items. But there was one photo album—one I’ve touched, moved, stored, taken out, and put back countless times over 13 years—that I had never finished. Some of the people in those pictures were complete mysteries to me, and I honestly wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to identify them.
Then came this weekend.
I asked my daughter if she’d help me, and although she agreed with some reluctance, we sat down with the photo album and our genealogy program and got started. Before long, she was identifying people I’ve stared at for years, making connections I had missed. In just three hours, we made more progress than I’ve made in years.
Later that day and into the next, I kept scanning and uploading photos. I attached pictures to profiles in our family history database—many of which had no images at all until now—and watched as our family tree grew richer and more complete. Soon I realized there were only a few pictures left.
Then I picked up one photo, flipped it over, and noticed something I had overlooked for years: names written on the back. I searched for the mother’s name in my family database and found her, but there were no children and no husband listed. Curious, I went to another database to see what I could find. A few searches later, I came across the 1950 census showing this woman, her husband, and their children.
Excited, I added this entire family to my tree and uploaded their photo. When I finished, I sat back and realized something meaningful: I had just found a family that had never been recorded in the worldwide family history system I use. They were not connected to anyone—until now.
As I thought about that discovery, a scripture came to mind: the prophecy of Elijah that “the hearts of the children shall turn to their fathers.” I felt that happening. This work is real. We truly can find and document our families so they are never forgotten.
As a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I believe that families can be together forever through sacred covenants made in temples. Family history helps us identify our ancestors so that, at the right time, these ordinances can be performed on their behalf. These covenants are never forced on anyone—living or deceased. Heavenly Father honors our agency. Our responsibility is simply to provide the opportunity.
This Thanksgiving weekend has been a blessing. Finding family members long overlooked—and finding them with my daughter—has been a gift I will treasure forever.