Never Alone

This Sabbath day has been designated as a day of thanksgiving, a day of gratitude—even a day of prayer. We pause, we ponder, we reflect on the blessings an all-wise Heavenly Father has bestowed upon us, His children, by bringing peace to the battlefield of war and comfort to the hearts of so many in this wonderful world where we live and which we call home.

Today knees will bow, bells will peal, hearts will swell, and voices will proclaim the glorious message “Thanks be to God.” In the United States of America, a grateful nation and a thankful president will give utterance to the tender feelings felt by all in a world that welcomed peace.

Who among us will ever forget the touching and vivid pictures of husbands and fathers bidding good-bye to weeping wives and wondering children as fond farewells dominated every newscast and printed story. The children cried but did not know why. Wives wept because they did know the danger, the loneliness, the fear that awaited.

With the wave of a hand and a somewhat forced smile, the men and the women of the military went off to war. Their farewell expressions even now ring the conviction of their hearts: “I love my country”; “I’m proud to serve”; “I’ll be home soon”; “Try not to worry.”

But worry they did. Constant bombardment not only by bombs and missiles but by the press and over the television provoked the haunting questions, “Was the downed pilot my husband?” “Was the navigator taken captive my son?”

In her classic poem “The Gate of the Year,” the poetess M. Louise Haskins summed up the feelings of all touched by the conflict and concerned for the safety of loved ones. She penned the comforting lines:

And I said to the man who stood at the gate of the year:
“Give me a light, that I may tread safely into the unknown!”
And he replied:
“Go out into the darkness and put your hand into the Hand of God.
That shall be to you better than light and safer than a known way”
(In Masterpieces of Religious Verse, ed. James Dalton Morrison, New York: Harper and Brothers, 1948, p. 92.)


At last the guns fell silent. Aircraft remained grounded. Mobile patrols halted. A quiet calm settled over the battlefield. The din of war succumbed to the silence of peace.

A scene on the cruel desert sands—and a sentence uttered from the heart—spoke volumes. An American soldier looked down at his vanquished enemy prisoner, touched the man’s shoulder, and reassured him with the words, “It’s all right; it’s all right.”

President Thomas S. Monson