October the 11th, 1997 dawned a typical Saturday morning for Joyce. As she went for an early morning walk, her thoughts were of how happy she was, and how blessed. She thought of Max, her beloved husband, and how much they had grown together, and how the last few years had been the happiest of her life.

As the day progressed, Joyce became involved in the normal Saturday jobs. Max was across the state attending an education conference and would be back late that afternoon. She was excited to have him home.

However around 3:45 that afternoon the doorbell rang. When Joyce came to the door, she was met by four close friends and a city police officer. The most awful feeling came over her. She asked them to tell her what she already knew. They explained that Max had been killed in an accident that afternoon.

Joyce said, “My worst nightmare was real. At first I didn’t think I had heard right. How could that be? Things like this didn’t happen to me, but – but to someone else. I remember crying,” she said, “until no more tears would come.”

Calls went out and family and friends gathered. Finally, that night sometime after 1:00 A.M., after they had finally made contact with all the family, Joyce went to bed, but not to sleep. She tossed, turned, cried and wondered if she would just wake up and this would all be an awful dream.

Then, sometime just before dawn, a very special thing happened. Max came to her. She didn’t see him; she didn’t have to. He was there; she sensed his presence.

Now, Max had never been a very good singer, but he did have three favorite songs, one of which was the great anthem of the pioneers, “Come, Come Ye Saints.” A feeling of love and peace came over Joyce as she heard or felt Max sing, “Why should we mourn or think our lot is hard? Tis not so. All is right.”

And so it was. Somehow she was given to know that he was happy, that it hadn’t been his choice to leave. But she also knew that he didn’t want to come back.

Since that sad day, the saddest of her life, Joyce has never felt closer to her Savior, and Max’s presence has been with members of the family several times administering much needed comfort.

Now in closing, and to make my point why I tell this very personal story, may I share an experience?

Not long ago as my family was gathered one evening, we got into a discussion about the second coming of Christ. My older children were peppering me with questions about it, and they were hard. Suddenly, my six year-old daughter, Hannah, who was sitting on my lap, and who I suppose was just a little bored with the present topic, reached up and grabbed my head, and pulled it down where she could speak in my ear.

“Daddy,” she said, “when you die, will you be my guardian angel?”

Well it – it took a minute for me to answer. As I did so, a wonderful feeling came over me.

“Honey,” I said, “there’s no place I’d rather be.”