His Hands on My Head

By Anna-Greta Malm

Because World War II was just over, I was very happy. We had recently married and our first-born child had arrived. I love my husband very much and felt myself growing in the warmth of his love for me. Then, in the fall of 1946, a drastic change occurred. My husband came home, beaming, and told me that he had found a treasure more precious than all others—the gospel of Jesus Christ.

I was miserable. I would not listen to his explanations. When he was baptized on 7 January 1947, I felt that an impassable gulf had opened between us. The next nine months were almost unendurable.

Then, one morning, I woke up particularly unhappy. Somehow I knew that I had been wrong, that my husband had been telling me the truth, and that I must join his church. Despite my confusion, I knew I must be baptized, and on 8 November 1947, my husband brought me into a new life. It was the happiest day of my life, filled with a joy I cannot describe.

In 1957, we were sealed in the Swiss Temple with our children. It was a wonderful experience for us—and a very important one. My husband was ill. After two difficult operations, we were told that he could not live.

Yet those last days of his life were, in spite of everything, almost happy. There were times when we felt pure joy at having been able to receive the gift of the gospel, times when we rejoiced with tears of gratitude that his coming death would not separate us forever.

But there were also times when I felt overcome by grief and worry. How could I manage without my husband’s companionship? How could I fulfill the responsibility of raising my children with their own strong testimonies? How would I manage financially?

On one occasion when these worries were depressing me, my husband asked, “Anna-Greta, would you like me to give you a blessing?” He sat up in bed, put his frail hands on my head, and in the power of the priesthood blessed me with the ability to handle all of my responsibilities capably. This blessing has been with me in a very real way during all the years since his death. Sometimes, facing a difficult problem, I have thought to myself: “You have received a blessing from your husband that you will be able to take care of these problems,” and I have again felt those frail but powerful hands upon my head. I have always been able to overcome the difficulties.

My children are now responsible fathers and mothers of a new generation of Latter-day Saints, serving their Heavenly Father with profound joy. And I share that joy. How grateful I am that the Lord did not tire of me because I failed to listen to him! How grateful I am for the link of the priesthood that will reunite me with my beloved husband, and that has kept us close throughout the years of separation.