What a hectic day it had been! Teaching my elementary school classes had been a frustrating experience on this difficult Friday. It seemed like everything that could go wrong had gone wrong. I was really looking forward to the reprieve of a weekend.

Juggling the books and papers in my arms, I searched my purse for the house keys. As I unlocked the front door, I saw a large manila envelope on the floor under the mail slot.

I sank gratefully into the recliner in the living room and opened the envelope. As usual, my daughter Sally had done a good job of compiling and editing this year’s family history.

My thoughts turned back to how it had begun. Three years before, Sally had returned from a Brigham Young University study tour of Israel with, among other things, a burning desire to have her family write histories covering the past five years of their lives.

I had laughed. "That is impossible. How can we remember everything?"

Sally was insistent. "I know writing about these years will be hard, but it can be done. Next year will be easier because we’ll only have to do one year."

"What?" I cried. "You want us to do this each year?"

"Yes, Mother," she said undaunted. "We are going to have a record to leave to our posterity."

The rest of the family was reluctant too, but Sally would not give up. She coaxed, begged, and entreated us to begin. She became the family conscience.

A miracle occurred that December when four households of the Chapin clan presented their histories to Sally so she could compile them and make copies for the whole family. The completed booklets were a big success. The histories contained stories, pictures, and even a family tree Sally had made. She immediately began campaigning for the next year’s histories.

"Oh, no!" groaned the rest of the family. But the fire had been kindled, and somehow that year’s work was easier. Now it had become a tradition and an important record for all of us.

I rose from the recliner and reached for the book of earlier family histories. I carefully inserted the new pages for the past year into their proper place. Then I turned to the first page and was caught up in reading it again as memories flooded back:

It was a beautiful spring day in April. The family had traveled to be at the BYU Marriott Center for Kathy’s graduation. As my daughter approached the podium and received her diploma, my heart filled with joy. She had worked so hard to reach this day. She looked beautiful; a glow of happiness radiated from her. Her fiancé, Anthony Day, had received his degree that morning too. And the next day, a radiant Kathy was sealed to Anthony. I recalled with love the young couple standing and smiling on the steps of the Manti Temple.

The history continued: New grandchildren. Jean’s Manti Temple marriage to Ed. Trips to visit each new family. Norm’s return from the navy with his family, and the joy we felt as Norm and Becky took their children to the temple to be sealed for time and all eternity.

I saw in the pages the pattern of change in my family: the triumphs and tears of growing families, the heartaches over job losses and moves from place to place, my adjustment to an empty house as my children left.

Yes, Sally had been right. It was important to have a record for reminiscing and to help future generations know and understand our family.

My weariness and frustration had disappeared. I had found peace. Bless you, Sally, I thought as I closed the book and gently put it away.