Melissa Leilani Larson

A week ago tomorrow my maternal grandmother passed away. Tomorrow morning is the funeral. The part my mother asked me to play in things was to help put together the program for the service, and to blow up and print one of my grandparents’ wedding photos. I scanned in the original, which was a slightly damaged 3×5. My friend Melanie who is a genius with these things took my scan (in which I successfully blew up the photo so that we could print a non-blurry 8×10) and not only cropped it to the right size but cleaned up the damage so it looks like new. All the family folks are asking for prints of it.

Late last night I was looking for a scripture to go in the program, below a photo of Lola, which will be on the left side of the program while all the service information will be on the right. I was trying to find a verse that went well with the grandmother I knew and the things I grew up learning from her.

The huge thing about Lola (the Tagalog word for “grandmother”) for me, watching her since childhood, was her faith. She was a very faithful Catholic before she felt sorry for the missionaries on a rainy day and became a very faithful Latter-day Saint. Lola was rock solid in her faith. Her fun outing every week was serving in the Provo Temple, working in the laundry. She adored going to the temple. She never had any doubts about what she knew to be God’s will. Sometimes I was a little afraid of her and her faith; it was pretty intimidating. Lola was definitely a force to be reckoned with. She wanted to talk to everyone about Jesus and how much she loved Him. And if you didn’t really want to listen, that just made her want to tell you more. And she did.

But finding the perfect scripture was tough, because of course I had to find the very perfect one. There are so many great scriptures to choose from, and I let myself get absurdly picky. And, as usually happens when I’m presented with too many choices, I got overwhelmed, and I couldn’t settle on the right one. So I did something incredibly self-indulgent instead.

I took an old poem of my own, dusted it off, polished it, revised it, and put it in the program. Not to say that these particular verses are anything spectacular, or that they are more poetic than scripture. They are modest, repetitive, perhaps even trite. But I can’t explain why I decided to use them. They just seemed—fitting. A tribute, I guess. I think what makes the scriptures so meaningful when I read them is that so many of them come from personal experience. The prophets and kings of old journaling, for lack of a better word. David waxed poetical. At the time that he did, I don’t think he had any idea we’d be reading his psalms in Sunday School today. So in this instance, I kept things personal. I wrote—well, re-wrote—a psalm. I wrote the first stanza my freshman year, I think. I’m glad I saved it, whenever it first came to be, because now I was able to revisit it and add to it. Forgive the sentimentality, but I think I’m allowed. And if you have a problem with my feeling especially close to God at this time and saying so, well… Go find something else to read.

A Psalm.

Savior of my spirit, keeper of my soul,
Take me to Thy kingdom, let me sin no more.
Savior of my spirit, light along my way,
Take my hand, I’ll follow Thee; do not let me stray.

Savior of my spirit, keeper of my soul,
Take me to Thy kingdom, no greater gift in store.
Savior of my spirit, center of my being,
Guide me with Thine eye, with Thine eternal seeing.

Savior of my spirit, keeper of my soul,
Take me to Thy kingdom, the home I knew before.
Savior of my spirit, guardian of my heart,
I’ll find in Thee the strength to bear the bitter part.