“Ancestors at My Fingertips,” Ensign, July 1995, 39
Ancestors at My Fingertips
The clear, moonless night was filled with stars. As I gazed into the sky, I was aware again of spiritual promptings that had come to me at various times throughout my life. I sensed my Swedish ancestors were there, somewhere, waiting for me. I had wanted to find them since I was sixteen years old, but at that time there were not many helps for beginning researchers.
As I stood there, I thought, Maybe I should try again to find my Swedish ancestors. After all, I do have a cousin in Sweden who could help me. So I decided to try one more time.
Before long I had the opportunity to go to Sweden, and I found myself in the village church in Sibbo, part of the Karlskoga Parish. My cousin and I followed the old, white-haired Swedish minister down a narrow flight of stairs. The minister unlocked the door, and we followed him into a small room. Rows of brown leather-covered volumes lined the shelves from floor to ceiling.
My cousin translated for me as I told the minister my grandmother’s birth date. He pulled a book from the shelf, opened it, and pointed to an entry. It was my grandmother’s birth record. With mounting excitement, I watched as he pulled other books from the shelves showing the records of my grandmother’s and my great-grandparents’ families. In five minutes, I had in front of me information that I had not been able to find in ten years.
The minister smiled at me, said I could stay and copy the records, and then left. My cousin helped me translate some Swedish words, then left too. The minute I was alone, I began copying as fast as my fingers would allow. My heart was singing. My pen flew across the page.
I quickly copied all the records the minister had found for me. I wondered what I should do next. I knew I had only a short time to work in the church. I picked up the book for the next five-year period. What appeared to be an index was in the front, but I could not figure it out. I turned the page to where my family had been in the other book. They were not there. I flipped through the book, trying to find some kind of pattern. With mounting panic and desperation, I gazed at the books lining the shelves. Here at my fingertips were the records I had been wanting for so long, and I didn’t know how to use them! Each book was too thick to go through page by page. I opened the book again and flipped over a few pages. What could I do? I simply sat there, numb with disappointment.
Gradually, I became aware of the book that I had just opened. The names on the page looked familiar. Despair gave way to joy as I recognized the names of my great-great-grandparents. There were 417 pages in the book, but completely at random, I had opened it to the one page that had the records of my family.
I looked again at the index. Now it made sense to me. Now I could use it, and others like it in all the other books. I paused long enough to give silent thanks and then began copying again.
As I copied the precious information, I remembered those star-filled nights. I had known then that someone was waiting. Now they would wait no longer.
Photo of girl by Steve Bunderson
Photo by Steve Bunderson
Photo by Steve Bunderson