The Spriit of Elijah

I have been working at the Family History Library in Salt Lake City for just over a year now. I am assigned to the first floor of the library where people, new to genealogy or not, come for help. I have met people from all over the world who come to find their family. Many of those whom I have helped are not members of the Church. My job along with many other missionaries, is to help them one on one. We look for government records such as census data or death certificates or obituaries or land deeds etc. all via the internet. There is so much information available there that it is a miracle. I sit next to the paton at the computer, get to know them briefly, find out what they are looking for, how much time they have, then I teach them how to find records. Many times I sit with them for an hour or more. Some patrons come with lots of information and some come with very little but all come longing for a family connection.

Not long ago I sat with a man from back east who upon seeing the name of his father and family on a census became so overcome that he couldn't speak. He sat tearfully at the computer and after a short time apologetically said that the experience was so powerful that he just couldn't take any more. He gathered his things, thanked me and left. A similar thing happened last week when a man from Boca Raton found his family on a census record. He immediately became tearful and apologetic for it. I assured him that this happened to people quite often and not to feel embarrassed. He continued looking for a little while then left, resolved to get more information from his family records at home. Emotional responses are common at the library. Family history is tender. Families are precious. As I have searched the records of my ancestors, I have come to love them though we have never met here. Records tell a story. They give a snapshot of a family at a given moment in time. When I saw my parents as children on a record it was emotional for me too. In the first one I saw was my father as a 2 year old. In the photo below he is a man. Pictures and words are both storytellers.

At the library, I and others, carry a flash drive on a chain around our necks. It carries our family names and history. We can add to it at the library. I have often pondered the significance and symbolic nature of that little flash drive. It, with the record of all my loved ones safely inside, falls over my heart. That is where they live for me. They are never forgotten. They are precious, they are mine forever. Family is eternal. We all feel it. Yes?