Pioneer Stories - John & Maria Linford

John Linford was born on August 28, 1808 in Eltisley, England approximately sixty miles north of London. He grew up on a farm until as a young man he bagan an apprenticeship to become a shoe maker. When his apprenticeship was complete he started his own business in Graveley, England just a few miles from where he was born. He married Maria Bentley Christian on June 24, 1833.

During this time period the people of England were being prepared to hear and accept the gospel. Several apostles were sent to Great Britain as missionaries. Between 1837 and 1852 there were 57,000 convert baptisms.

John can be described as being a “seeker”.  A seeker is someone who believes in Jesus Christ and knows the Bible and its teahings. They drift from church to church in search of the ordinances and organization that existed during the time of Christ. [2] It is not surprising that when John heard Elder Joseph Fielding preach he was greatly impressed. John and Maria were baptized on December 9, 1842.

John was persecuted for this choice especially from his relatives. They said, “If we cannot persuade him to give up Mormonism, we will starve him to it by withholding our work”. [3] Indeed they did this and his business suffered greatly. He remained faithful and served as a counselor then president of the Graveley Branch. The Linfords saved for years in hopes of gathering to Zion. The establishment of the Perpetual Emigration Fund made it possible for the Linfords to emigrate.

John and Maria had six children. They emigrated with three sons, ages 11, 14, and 17. Two other children had died in infancy, and an older son, James, did not emigrate until 1861 because he was serving a mission at the time. Leaving him behind was especially hard because the family had been promised that if they emigrated, he would be released so he could go with them. "However," James later wrote, "when my parents received their notice of the time the ship would sail, my name was not on the notification. The only thing the family could do was to give up going or leave me to be a missionary. . . . It was a great disappointment to all of us, [but] I think I see the hand of the Lord in what occurred, for had I gone with my parents I might have died on the journey, as I was never healthy and strong and undoubtedly could not have withstood the hardships suffered by the handcart company."

The Linfords sold what they could and headed to Liverpool. They traveled to New York aboard the ship Thornton. The voyage from Liverpool to New York was mostly uneventful however they did experience some sea sickness. John kept a small black leather diary. One entry referenced his calling to be responsible to distribute food to his company. He  said, “I was called to take Part of this ward to see that they had theire water, Pork, Beef, &c. UnExpected to me as I am the same here not Ambisious. You will believe me if I say I did not ask for an office. I am well & All my family. and we enjoy ourselves first rate.”

The Linfords made the journey from New York to Iowa City without too much trouble. They became part of the James G. Willie company. In Iowa City they had to endure daily thunderstorms without shelter, poor living conditions and extreme temperatures. John became sick and never recovered.

Although sick he still endeavored to fulfill his responsibilities. John was called to be a tent leader. “The tent captain was expected to give all his time and attention to his company, to make sure that all allotments of one pint of flour for each person were given every twenty four hours and to equalize as nearly as possible all labor, or to act as the father over his family.” He wrote the names and ages of those in his tent in his diary.

His condition worsened and eventually he had to  be pulled in the handcart. As the company reached the Rocky Mountains snow began to fall. The snow was intense and they suffered greatly. His son Amasa recalled, “while father was sick and just before he died of starvation, Levi Savage emptied his flour sack to make him some skilly as it was called; after eating this he died.” John Linford died at 5:00 am on October 21 on the banks of the Sweetwater River. The rescue team would arrive later on that day.

Before he passed away, John’s wife asked if he was sorry they had undertaken the journey. He said, “No, Maria, I am glad we came. I shall not live to reach Salt Lake, but you and the boys will, and I do not regret all we have gone through if our boys can grow up and raise their families in Zion.”

John Linford died near the Sixth Crossing of the Sweetwater, but Maria and their three sons who accompanied them on the journey arrived in Utah safely. The Linfords were taken to Centerville to recuperate. 

In July 1857, Maria Linford married Joseph Rich, father of Apostle Charles C. Rich. He was kind and devoted to her and her sons, whom he called his own. In 1859, Maria was sealed to her deceased husband in the Endowment House by Brigham Young. Joseph Rich acted as proxy for John Linford. 

In 1864 the Rich family was called to help settle the Bear Lake Valley. Joseph, Maria, and her two youngest sons moved to Paris, Idaho, where they lived in a wagon box the first winter. Soon afterward, Joseph suffered a stroke. He died in 1866, leaving Maria a widow for the second time. During her nearly 20 years in Paris, she served as Relief Society president and helped organize the Primary. 

 Maria died in 1885 in North Ogden while visiting her son George. In 1937 her descendants had a special headstone placed at her gravesite in the North Ogden cemetery. Elder George Albert Smith attended the ceremony and dedicated the marker. Before offering the prayer, he spoke to the family about their ancestors: "[Maria] was filled with love, sacrifices, and devotion to family and church and great hardships endured for them. She never lost her faith as long as she lived. . . . My soul is stirred when I see all these younger generations. Will you live true to the faith of your ancestors? There is royal blood in your veins. Do strive to be worthy of all the sacrifices your ancestors have made for you."  

The Linfords' children remained true to their patent's legacy of faith. John Linford's great great grandson, Mark Empey Linford said, “John and Maria’s decision to be baptized set the course for literally thousands of Linfords…To this day, most of John and Maria’s posterity is Mormon. This religion has been passed along from generation to generation.”

As I read the Linford's story today I was struck by the enduring legacy they left for their children and all their posterity. It reminded me of a quote I read recently in Sheri Dew's book, "Women and The Priesthood". While this quote is aimed specifically at women, I think the principle can be applied to both women and men alike. Sister Dew writes, "If it ever was easy or comfortable being a Latter-day Saint, those days are likely over. But as latter-day women of God, we do have an especially noble calling and a work to do. We have not been asked to store wheat, as were our sisters of yesteryear. We have not been required to pull handcarts over Rocky Ridge. But we have been asked to store faith. We have been asked to be pure in a world that increasingly mocks purity. We have been asked to increase our capacity to receive revelation and pull down the power from heaven that God has granted his endowed sisters. We have been asked to model how women of God look and act—not only as beacons for the rising generation but for all of the house of Israel. We have been asked to stand tall and stand together in speaking for what we know to be true and right and divine. Our influence today can be greater than the influence of any group of women in the history of the world. The time has come for us to do things we have never done before. It is time to live up to the confidence that our Father demonstrated in us by sending us to earth now, when everything is on the line."

I LOVE this quote. I have confidence in you young women (and young men) that you ARE ready to stand tall and live true to the faith.

Have a great week!

Sister McHood

Handcarts (from "Remember the Journey")

Pioneer Stories - Patience and Tamar Loader

I've shared with you the stories of the James and Amy Loader, and I thought today it was worth sharing a few specific experiences of two of their children, Patience and Tamar.  

Tamar (22), was very much grieved when she left England because she had been unable to convert her sweetheart and he remained.  When she was only 100 miles into the 1,300 mile handcart trek, she became so ill that she had to be carried on a cart for the remaining 170 miles to Florence, Nebraska.  There she received a blessing from President Franklin D. Richards that she would walk again before the journey's end, which she did.

While crossing the plains, Tamar became discouraged both because of poor health and because she missed the young man she had left in England. At her lowest point, she had a dream that forecast a remarkable event. The next morning she told her mother that she had dreamed that her sweetheart came and stood beside her and he seemed so real. But he was not alone. Another man was with him . . . In the dream the sweetheart finally faded away but the other man remained. When Tamar first saw Thomas E. Ricks in the rescue party, she took her mother by the arm and said, ‘Mother, that’s the man.” She did marry Thomas Ricks (after whom Ricks college was named).

Patience also had spiritual experiences on her trek. She relates that one day as she was pulling the handcart through the deep snow, a strange man appeared to her: “He came and looked in my face. He said, ‘Are you Patience?’ I said, ‘Yes.’ He said, ‘I thought it was you. Travel on, there is help for you. You will come to a good place. There is plenty.’ With this he was gone. He disappeared. I looked but never saw where he went. This seemed very strange to me. I took this as someone sent to encourage us and give us strength.” The Loader family was met by rescuers at camp that night.

Patience also wrote: ‘We did not get but very little meat as the bone had been picked the night before and we did not have only the half of a small biscuit as we only was having four oz. of flour a day. This we divided into portions so we could have a small piece three times a day. This we eat with thankful hearts and we always as[k] God to bless to our use and that it would strengthen our bodies day by day so that we could perform our duties. And I can testify that our heavenly Father heard and answered our prayers and we was blessed with health and strength day by day to endure the severe trials we had to pass through on that terrible journey before we got to Salt Lake City. We know that if God had not been with us that our strength would have failed us . . . I can say we put our trust in God and he heard and answered our prayers and brought us through to the valleys.”

I am consistently impressed with the amazing faith of those pioneers and the remarkable fortitude they possessed.  Today I re-read Elder Oak's talk from the Oct General Conference, and I loved this quote from it:  "We should remember our first priority- to serve God - and like our pioneer predecessors, push our personal handcarts forward with the same fortitude they exhibited."  Something definitely worth striving for.

So many great lessons to be learned from the Loader family! 

Have a great week!

Sister McHood

Pioneer Stories - Amy Loader

                                                           

James Loader had died nearly a month before the last crossing of the Platte, leaving his wife, five daughters, and 10-year-old son to endure the most difficult part of the trek on their own. Telling of the family's trials on October 19, his daughter Patience wrote: "We came to the last crossing of the Platte River. [We] had orders from Captain Edward Martin to cross the river that afternoon and evening. . . . We started to cross the river and pull our own cart. The water was deep and very cold, and we were drifted out of the regular crossing and we came near to being drowned. The water came up to our armpits. Poor mother was standing on the bank screaming. As we got near the bank I heard [her] say, 'For God's sake, some of you men help my poor girls.' Mother said she had been watching us and could see we were drifting down the stream. Several of the brethren came down the bank of the river and pulled our cart up for us, and we got up the best way we could. . . .We had to travel in our wet clothes until we got to camp. Our clothing was frozen on us, and when we got to camp we had but very little dry clothing to put on. We had to make the best of our poor circumstances and put our trust in God our Father that we may take no harm from our wet clothes. It was too late to go for wood and water. The wood was too far away. That night the ground was frozen so hard we were unable to drive any tent pins and the tent was wet. When we [had taken] it down in the morning it was somewhat frozen, so we stretched it open the best we could and got in under it until morning."

The Martin company moved to Martin's Cove on November 4. To get to there, they had to trudge two and a half miles through the snow. Worse, they had to cross another river in wintry conditions. The pioneer trail's nine crossings of the Sweetwater River did not normally include this one, but Martin's Cove was off the trail, and the extra crossing was necessary to get there. Although the Sweetwater was not as wide or deep as the Platte, John Jaques wrote that "the passage of the Sweetwater at this point was a severe operation to many of the company. . . . It was the worst river crossing of the expedition."  

Recalling the last crossing of the Platte River two weeks earlier, many felt that they could not face a similar ordeal at the Sweetwater. Men and women shrank back and wept. Patience Loader said that when she saw the river, "I could not keep my tears back. I felt ashamed to let those brethren see me shedding tears. I pulled my old bonnet over my face so they should not see my tears." John Jaques provides the following account of a man who had a similar reaction: "When [we] arrived at the bank of the river, one [man], who was much worn down, asked in a plaintive tone, 'Have we got to go across there?' On being answered yes, he was so much affected that he was completely overcome. That was the last straw. His fortitude and manhood gave way. He exclaimed, 'Oh, dear! I can't go through that,' and burst into tears. His wife, who was by his side, had the stouter heart of the two at that juncture, and she said soothingly, 'Don't cry, Jimmy. I'll pull the handcart for you.'" As it turned out, rescuers carried both of them across. 

This crossing of the Sweetwater was the site of great heroism by some of the rescuers. Seeing how traumatized the people were by the prospect of wading through another freezing river, the rescuers carried many of them across. John Jaques identified four of these rescuers as David P. Kimball (17; son of Heber C. Kimball and brother of William Kimball), George W. Grant (17; son of Captain Grant), C. Allen Huntington (25), and Stephen W. Taylor (22).  By the time everyone was across, darkness was beginning to fall and these men had spent hours in the river. Recalling this service, Patience Loader wrote: "Those poor brethren [were] in the water nearly all day. We wanted to thank them, but they would not listen to [us]." Patience also reported that David Kimball "stayed so long in the water that he had to be taken out and packed to camp, and he was a long time before he recovered, as he was chilled through and [afterward] was always afflicted with rheumatism."

For many years before emigrating, Amy Loader had been in delicate health and was unable to walk even a mile. When she learned that she was expected to walk 1,300 miles—and to pull a handcart as well—she was understandably distressed. As a result, her voice against pulling a handcart is one of the strongest on record. Once she began the journey, however, she became a stalwart example of strength. After Amy Loader had walked more than 600 miles, her husband died. Looking ahead, Amy saw another 700 miles without a man to help pull the cart. The miles would be the most sandy, the most rocky, the most hilly—the most difficult even in favorable weather. They would include at least a dozen dreaded river crossings. Although Amy had already far exceeded what she thought she could do, she knew she would have to do even more. Besides bearing an increased burden of physical labor, she would be the sole parent in caring for her six children—all while grieving the loss of her husband. That three of her daughters were adults did not make their illnesses and struggles any less taxing for a loving mother. Amy Loader could have murmured or despaired. She could have told her adult daughters and even her younger daughters and 10-year-old son that they would have to pull her through. Instead, as conditions deteriorated, this 54-year-old woman of delicate health was one of the most resilient, resourceful, and hopeful people in the company. Patience Loader tells of her mother finding ways to keep extra socks and underskirts dry while crossing the rivers so her daughters could have some dry clothing afterward. Patience also tells of her mother finding creative ways to feed her children. But the depth of Amy Loader's love and influence is best revealed in the story of her dance at Martin's Cove. Patience recalled: "That night was a terrible cold night. The wind was blowing, and the snow drifted into the tent onto our quilts. That morning we had nothing to eat . . . until we could get our small quantity of flour. Poor mother called to me, 'Come, Patience, get up and make us a fire.' I told her that I did not feel like getting up, it was so cold and I was not feeling very well. So she asked my sister Tamar to get up, and she said she was not well and she could not get up. Then she said, 'Come, Maria, you get up,' and she was feeling bad and said that she could not get up." At that point Amy Loader would have been justified in raising her voice and desperately asking her daughters, "Do you want to die? Do you want me to die? Are you just going to lie there and freeze to death? Are you going to get up and do your part?" But there was no anger, no impatience, no frustration, no imposing of guilt—only this remarkable incident: Mother said, 'Come, girls. This will not do. I believe I will have to dance [for] you and try to make you feel better.' Poor, dear mother, she started to sing and dance [for] us, and she slipped down as the snow was frozen. In a moment we were all up to help [her,] for we were afraid she was hurt. She laughed and said, 'I thought I could soon make you all jump up if I danced [for] you.' Then we found that she fell down purposely, for she knew we would all get up to see if she was hurt. She said that she was afraid her girls were going to give out and get discouraged, and she said that would never do. . . . We [had never] felt so weak as we did that morning. My dear mother had kept up wonderfully all through the journey."

After being accused of apostasy for his family's objections to traveling by handcart, James Loader had declared his faith by vowing to pull a handcart even if he died on the road doing so. He ended up paying that price, dying near Ash Hollow, Nebraska. After thinking she could not walk even one mile, much less pull a handcart, Amy Loader walked nearly a thousand miles, riding in a wagon for only a brief time after her husband died and again after leaving Martin's Cove. James Loader's death left Amy with five daughters and a 10-year-old son to finish the most difficult part of the journey on their own. Amy could have become paralyzed by grief or bitter with resentment. After all, she had known better than to try this. Instead, she led and cheered even her adult daughters through times of starvation and frozen stupor. Largely through her faith and determination, she and all her children survived.

As we look at Amy Loaders story, as with all the pioneer stories, I see many lessons of faith and cheerful obedience. Her story made me think this week of the following quote by Elder Ballard:

And how will we feel then, as we stand shoulder to shoulder with the great pioneers of Church history? How will they feel about us? Will they see faith in our footsteps? I believe they will, particularly as they view our lives and experiences from the expanded perspective of eternity. Although our journeys today are less demanding physically than the trek of our pioneers 150 years ago, they are no less challenging. Certainly it was hard to walk across a continent to establish a new home in a dry western desert. But who can say if that was any more difficult than is the task of living faithful, righteous lives in today’s confusingly sinful world, where the trail is constantly shifting and where divine markers of right and wrong are being replaced by political expediency and diminishing morality. The road we travel today is treacherous, and the scriptures tell us it will continue to be so until the very end. But our reward will be the same as that which awaits worthy pioneers of all ages who live faithfully the teachings of the Lord Jesus Christ, make right choices, and give their all to build the kingdom of God on earth.

I hope that as I face challenges in my life I can be as resilient, resourceful and hopeful as Amy Loader and that as I stand one day shoulder to shoulder with her she will indeed see faith in my footsteps. I see that as a worthy goal to strive for!

Have a great week!

Sister McHood

Pioneer Stories - James Loader

For 35 years James Loader worked as a gardener for Sir Henry Lambert, a wealthy English nobleman who owned a large estate in Oxfordshire. During most of that time James was foreman of the gardeners and was provided a comfortable home on the estate. There he and his family were treated well and lived in a setting that one of his daughters described as enchanting—a thatched-roof home, a veranda covered with roses and honeysuckles, beautiful gardens, red-brick walkways, and a playground full of amusements. Most of the Loaders' 13 children—nine daughters and four sons—were born on the estate.

The Loader family met the missionaries in 1848. Amy was baptized that year, but James hesitated because Sir Lambert said he would lose his position if he joined the Church. Despite this threat, James was baptized in 1851. Hoping James would reconsider this decision, Sir Lambert gave him one year to give up his new faith. When James declined to comply, his furnishings were moved out of the home, and he was dismissed. James left the estate with great regret, having loved his work, his home, and the people he worked for.

After the Loaders were forced to leave their home on the Lambert estate, they lived for a few years in a small house that one of their adult sons rented for them. Then in December 1855 they went to Liverpool and sailed for America on the John J. Boyd.

James Loader was 56 years old when he left England, Amy 53. Traveling with them were their daughters Patience (age 28), Maria (18), Jane (14), and Sarah (11); their sons John (34) and Robert (9); and John's wife and two children. One daughter had emigrated the previous year, and two others, Zilpah and Tamar, would come six months later. Zilpah was married to John Jaques and had a baby daughter.

Leaving England had its sorrows for the Loaders. The four children who had not joined the Church stayed behind. And 22-year-old Tamar had to leave a young man whom she had hoped would join the Church and come with her. She would have to endure not only a heavy heart but also physical infirmity during the handcart trek; however, she would be blessed in a remarkable, revelatory way for her sacrifice.

Compared to the Horizon six months later, the John J. Boyd had what Patience Loader called "a terrible, severe voyage." The Saints on the Horizon thought their five-week voyage was long, but the Boyd took nine weeks, crossing the Atlantic during the stormy winter months. Whereas only five people died on the Horizon, Patience reported that 62 died on the Boyd. Among them was John Loader's one-year-old daughter. "It did indeed seem very hard to roll her in a blanket and lay her in the big waves and see the little dear go floating away out of sight," wrote Patience, the girl's aunt.

The storms were so bad that the passengers on the Boyd feared for their lives. During the worst storm, Patience had an experience that helped her realize she was remembered of the Lord. She wrote:

"It really seemed sometimes that we would never see land again. One night when we had a bad storm, we could not sleep as we had to hold on to the berths to keep from being thrown out. We were all in the dark. My poor mother was fretting and thought we would all be lost and drowned in the sea. . . . Just when the ship was tossing and rolling the worst, I opened my eyes. We were in darkness, but in a moment . . . a beautiful, lovely figure stood there. . . . The light was so bright around him that I could see the colour of his eyes and hair. . . . As I looked at him, he said, 'Fear not. You shall be taken there all safe.'"

The ship reached New York a few days later.

The John J. Boyd left England three months before the first ship carrying handcart Saints—and six months before the ship that carried most of the Martin company. The story of how the Loaders eventually joined the Martin company takes many unexpected turns that could have broken the family apart but were finally resolved through a declaration of faith. The Loaders expected to travel the first part of the overland journey by train and the last part by wagon. After arriving in New York, they rented rooms and began working so they could save enough money to buy a wagon outfit. James worked as a gardener, some of the daughters sewed in a cloak factory, and some did housekeeping and tended children. After a few weeks in New York, the family received distressing news. Their son-in-law, John Jaques, wrote from England, saying they would be expected to travel by handcart rather than wagon. Patience immediately sent her brother-in-law a letter expressing the family's objections. She felt that pulling a handcart like draft animals would be humiliating. Being limited to only 17 pounds of luggage on the handcart was also objectionable, because it would require the family to leave behind most of their clothes and other possessions. Finally, Patience was emphatic that it would be physically impossible for the family to travel by handcart: "Father and mother think this cannot be done, and I am sure I think the same, for mother cannot walk day after day, and I do not think that any of us will ever be able to continue walking every day. . . . If we girls were strong boys, then I think it might be done, but father is the only man in our family. I don't feel myself that I can go like this. . . . Mother, I am sure, can never go that way. She says herself that she cannot do it."

At a later time Patience explained further why her mother thought the journey would be impossible for her: "My poor mother [was] in delicate health. She had not walked a mile for years." How, then, could Amy Loader not only walk 1,300 miles but pull a handcart? Joining a wagon company seemed the only possible way to complete the journey to Zion. When John Jaques received the letter from Patience, he wrote an indignant reply to his father-in-law, James Loader.  President Franklin D. Richards published both letters in the Millennial Star, feeling that the reply could serve as "an excellent and pertinent rebuke" to others who had reservations about the handcart plan. Word got back to the Loaders that some people who read the letters thought the family was apostatizing. Recalling her father's reaction to this news, Patience wrote:

"One day T. B. H. Stenhouse came from President [John] Taylor's office [in New York]. He said, 'Did you know that your name is in the Millennial Star, Brother Loader? You are thought to be apostatizing from the Church. It says that Father Loader has brought his family out of one part of Babylon and now wants to settle down in another part of Babylon.' This hurt my poor dear father's feelings very much. He said to mother, 'I cannot stand to be accused of apostasy. I will show them better. Mother, I am going to Utah. I will pull the handcart if I die on the road.'"

Within a few days, all family members quit their jobs in New York and started for Iowa City. Soon after the Loaders arrived in Iowa, the large group of Saints who sailed on the Horizon with Edward Martin arrived. Among them were the Loaders' daughters Zilpah and Tamar, as well as Zilpah's husband, John Jaques. The Loader and Jaques families would travel to Utah together as part of the Martin company; however, the Loaders' oldest son, who had already lost a baby daughter at sea, remained in Iowa City because his wife was due to have another baby. It would be another 10 years before his family completed the journey to Utah.

The Loaders were right about the problems they would face. After 100 miles, 22-year-old Tamar became so ill she could no longer walk. Her brother-in-law, John Jaques, pulled her in his handcart the rest of the way to Florence, a distance of 170 miles. By the time the company arrived in Florence, James Loader was also getting weaker and could hardly walk. His daughter Patience recalled: "My poor dear father's health began to fail him, and before we got to Florence he became very weak and sick. His legs and feet began to swell. Some days he was not able to pull the cart, and when we arrived at Florence we put up the tent, made the bed, and he went to bed. We did not think he could live. [He] said he wished to be administered to, and Brother Richards and three other brethren administered to him . . . and told him that he should get better and continue his journey and get to Salt Lake City. This seemed to give him new strength and courage."

When the company left Florence one or two days after this blessing, James Loader tried to help his daughters pull the handcart. Patience recalled the following exchange: "I said, 'Father, you are not able to pull this cart today.' He said, 'Yes I am, my dear. I am better. The brethren blessed me and said I should get well and go to the Valley, and I have faith that I shall.' . . .That afternoon we had not traveled far when my poor sick father fell down and we had to stop to get him up on his feet. I said, 'Father, you are not able to pull the cart. You had better not try to pull. We girls can do it this afternoon.' He said, 'I can do it. I will try it again. I must not give up. The brethren said I shall be better, and I want to go to the Valley to shake hands with Brigham Young.' So we started on again. We had not traveled far before he fell down again. He was weak and worn down. We got him up again, but we told him he could not pull the cart again that day. So my sister Maria came and worked with me inside the shafts, and Jane and Sarah pulled on the rope until we got into camp."

Early the next morning Zilpah Jaques, the Loaders' daughter who was married to John Jaques, gave birth to a son. Soon after sunrise, Captain Martin came to tell the family to prepare to leave with the rest of the company. Zilpah and her baby lay on quilts on one side of the tent, and Tamar lay on the other, neither of them able to move. "Put them up on the wagon," Captain Martin said, referring to the wagon that carried the sick. Patience asked if one of the sisters could ride with them to help, but Captain Martin denied the request. "[Then] we will stay here for a day or two and take care of our two sick sisters," Patience told him.

The Martin company moved out, leaving the Loader and Jaques families behind. That evening James Loader and John Jaques built a big fire and kept it going all night to keep the wolves away. "I never heard such terrible howling of wolves in my life," Patience recalled. The next morning these families, still weak, packed their handcarts to try to catch up with the company. John Jaques could no longer carry Tamar on his cart because his wife and two small children needed to ride. So Tamar rode on the cart that Patience and her sisters pulled. These women who had been so sure they could not walk across the plains, much less pull a handcart, were learning more each day about what they could really do.

They would have some unexpected help that day in catching up with their company. The fire that had kept the wolves away was so bright that emigration leaders could see it as a nightglow on the sky from the vicinity of Florence. Some of these leaders went to investigate, and one of them was moved by compassion when he saw the condition of this beleaguered family. Historian Wallace Stegner relates: "William Cluff . . . was so troubled to see the frail father and the women pulling the two sick [women] and two small children that he hitched on with his lariat and gave each of the two handcarts a long boost along the road before he had to ride back. Twenty-two miles from [Florence], at two in the morning, after being threatened by five Indians and frightened by coarse squatters and by the wolves that howled all that moonlit night, this family of the ill and the incompetent caught up with the rest of the company, went to bed on a supper of water gruel, and rose after two or three hours of sleep to tug their carts through another day of Platte valley sand."

James Loader's health improved slightly for the next two or three weeks, but then it began to fail again. On September 23 he walked 17 miles. At camp that night he couldn't even raise himself to go into the tent. The next morning while Patience was preparing him some gruel, she heard an urgent call from the tent: "My sister Zilpah called, 'Patience, come quick! Our father is dying.' When I got into the tent, my poor mother and all our family [were] kneeling on the ground around him. Poor, dear father, realizing he had to leave us, [was] too weak to talk to us. He looked at us all with tears in his eyes, then he said to mother with great difficulty, 'You know I love my children.' Then he closed his eyes. These were the last words he ever said."

James Loader fell unconscious. A leader in the company said to put him on a sick wagon, but again the family's request to ride on the wagon to care for a loved one was denied. Instead of separating themselves from him, the Loaders carried him on their handcart that day. Patience recalled: "That was a terrible day never to be forgotten by us, and poor father dying on the handcart. He did not seem to suffer much pain. He never opened his eyes after he closed them in the morning. It was a great comfort to us all that we had him with us on the cart. . . .The brethren came to administer to Father in the afternoon. They . . . knew he was dying. They said, 'We will seal Father Loader up to the Lord, for He alone is worthy of him. He has done his work, been a faithful servant in the Church, and we the servants of God seal him unto God, our Father.' To our surprise, my dear father said 'Amen' so plain that we could understand him."  At 11:15 that night, September 24, James Loader passed away, fulfilling his vow that he would pull a handcart even if he died on the road. He had traveled 381 miles—a full month—since those unsteady steps from Florence.

James Loader was buried the next morning. Without time or materials to make a coffin, the family wrapped his body in a quilt. After the Saints sang "The Resurrection Day," the grave was dedicated and the company moved on. Patience recalled the family's grief and hope:  "I will never forget the sound of that dirt being shoveled onto my poor father's body. . . . It did indeed seem a great trial to have to leave our dear father behind that morning, knowing we had looked upon that sweet smiling face for the last time on earth, but not without hope of meeting him again on the morning of the resurrection. . . .Brother Daniel Tyler came to us and tried to comfort us by telling us that our father was a faithful, true servant of God. . . . He said father had laid down his life for the gospel's sake. He had died a martyr to the truth. . . . Of course, this was all very comforting to us, but it did not bring our dear father back to us."

As long as James Loader had strength, he would come into camp at night and begin making tent pins. This may seem a small matter, but it reveals much about James Loader. He made the pins because he anticipated the winter storms. Not certain he would live long enough to help his family through them, he did what he could while he was alive. Thus, when he gave his daughters a full bag of tent pins shortly before he died, they knew they were holding evidence of his love—and a good-bye gift. His daughter Patience recalled: "He said to us girls, 'I have made you lots of tent pins because when the cold weather comes you will not be able to make [them], your hands will be so cold.' By this we knew that he would not live the journey through, and he also grieved to know that mother and we girls would not have anyone to help us make a home or help us to make a living. . . . He had always been a good, kind husband and father."

John Jaques, the ever-reliable record keeper, did not record his feelings about his father-in-law's death. He surely loved his father-in-law and mourned his loss, but he records his death in the same documentary tone he used for others in the company: "James Loader, age 57, Aston Rowant Branch, Warwickshire Conference, died of diarrhea at 11 P.M., buried west side of sandhill, 13 miles east of Ash Hollow."

In the reminiscence he wrote 22 years later, John Jaques paid tribute to his father-in-law: "He was confident almost to the last that he should reach 'the valley,' and his chief solicitude was for his wife, who, he feared, would not be able to endure the journey. But she . . . endured it bravely, although it made her a sorrowing widow. She [is] still a widow, for she could never believe there was a man left in the world equal to her husband."

I loved reading the story of the Loader family this week.  (Part 2  in a few days about the rest of their journey.)  I think James Loader was a great example of obedience.  He knew in his heart that he could not survive the journey by handcart, but when his leaders asked him to be obedient, he was - regardless of the price that his obedience would exact from his family. He was a great example of faith in his leaders and love for his family as well.  Dallin H. Oaks said, "It is not enough to study or enact the accomplishments of our pioneers. We need to identify the great, eternal principles they applied to achieve all they achieved for our benefit and then apply those principles to the challenges of our day.  In that way we honor their pioneering efforts, and we also reaffirm our heritage and strengthen its capacity to bless our own posterity and "those millions of our Heavenly Father's children who have yet to hear and accept the gospel of Jesus Christ." We are all pioneers in doing so."  

Have a great week!

Sister McHood

Pioneer Stories - Elizabeth Sermon

Joseph and Elizabeth Sermon were some of the most unlikely members of the Martin company, and their story is one of the most compelling. Elizabeth joined the Church in 1852 and wanted her family to gather to Zion, even though it meant leaving their comfortable home near London. Joseph did not join the Church and did not want to leave. Nevertheless, seeing that Elizabeth was determined to emigrate, and not wanting her to go alone, Joseph reluctantly agreed to accompany her. Their four youngest children, ages 3 through 8, went with them.  Their oldest son remained in England with a grandparent to finish an apprenticeship. "I never saw him again," Elizabeth later wrote.

    The Sermons sold their home and went to Liverpool. They left England three months earlier than most members of the Martin company, sailing on the Caravan in February Joseph and Elizabeth Sermon Family.    After arriving in New York on March 27, the Sermon family traveled to Iowa City. Because they planned to be part of an independent wagon company, they bought a wagon and team. However, as Elizabeth recalled, "after much discussion and counsel from the Elders, we were convinced (at least I was) that it was God's will that the [wagon] be sold and we buy handcarts so that more Saints could make the journey to Zion."The Sermon family was in Iowa City at least a month before the first handcart emigrants. If they had joined any of the first three companies, they probably would have experienced minimal troubles. But Joseph Sermon was "full of misgivings" about pulling a handcart, feeling that it was demeaning, so he decided not to go any farther. As a result, his family remained in Iowa City for several weeks as each of the handcart companies was organized and then departed. Eventually, knowing that the Martin company provided the last opportunity to finish their journey that season, Elizabeth persuaded Joseph to proceed. "I was faithful, and willing to draw a handcart," Elizabeth wrote. "I hungered for the gospel of Christ."They bought a handcart, paid their ration money, and started across Iowa with the Martin company. Elizabeth recalled: "My heart was happy, and I rejoiced in singing the songs of Zion. My only hope and desire was to reach the Valley, where my children could be raised in the true gospel.""I think I pulled first rate for a new beginner in shafts and harness," Elizabeth Sermon wrote. Not only did she have to pull the handcart but she continued to have to pull along her husband's attitude. When the extra flour was put in the carts at Florence, the children had to walk, which greatly annoyed Joseph and even caused Elizabeth to wonder.  She did not murmur, though, knowing it would only increase her husband's complaints. "I told you how it would be," he said many times.During the journey across Nebraska, Joseph's health began to fail. "His heart was almost broken," Elizabeth wrote, and "he would say, 'What have you brought us to, you, yourself in the shafts, drawing like a beast of burden, your children hungry and almost naked, myself will soon be gone, and . . . what will become of you and the children? You will find out how true all I have told you is, when it is too late.'"    His words finally began to affect Elizabeth. She began to think about how hungry her family was, a hunger made even more acute by looking all day at the bag of flour in the handcart. She was troubled that her children had to walk while others were riding. Feeling that her first duty was to look after her family, she stopped the cart at noon that day, threw the bag of flour on the ground, and told Captain Martin she would not carry it any farther unless her family could have some.    The family's trials continued to worsen, and Elizabeth continued to bear most of the burden. For a while, when her eight-year-old son and husband were ill, she pulled both of them, her two youngest sons, and the family's belongings, assisted only by a young man and later a young woman. Despite this physical burden, the lack of support from her husband, and other challenges, Elizabeth maintained her hopes of a better life in Zion.     After leading her family through countless adversities, Elizabeth Sermon had to dig even deeper into her spiritual reserves as the weather turned colder and the Platte had to be crossed one last time: "Our food was giving out, our bodies growing weak. Cold weather chilled the body. . . . The dead and dying [were] all around us. [The] poor souls would sit down by the roadside. It was not often they moved again until carried into camp by handcarts or by some kind-hearted person. . . . It was a miracle any of us lived."Continuing her recollections of the journey in a letter to her children, Elizabeth wrote: "It was after wading a very wide river [that] the freezing commenced. We had no wood, only sagebrush. I went out and cut the sage to keep the fire all night, covering you all with your feet to the fire and [your] heads covered over, and then I went out and cut more sagebrush and kept the fire as well as I could—my clothes frozen stiff like starched clothing. Well, we got through that night. Next day we moved on our way again, painful and slow. Your father could hardly walk now. . . . [He] would take my arm, walk a little distance, fall on his knees with weakness, then try again."While camped out awaiting rescue at Martin's Cove, Joseph would finally die. After her husband died, Elizabeth Sermon had much to do to care for her four children. Each night she would clear away the snow with a tin plate, gather wood, make a fire, carry her children to the fire, and make their beds. "We went to bed without supper," she wrote, "so that we could have more for breakfast. I found it some help to toast the rawhide on the coals and chew it. It kind of kept the terrible hunger away."Three of Elizabeth's children had severely frostbitten feet. What Elizabeth had to do for those children was unimaginable for a loving mother: "I had to take a portion of poor Robert's feet off, which pierced my very soul. I had to sever the leaders with a pair of scissors. Little did I think when I bought them in old England that they would be used for such a purpose. Every day some portion was decaying until the poor boy's feet were all gone. Then John's began to freeze; then after a while my own. . . . I was terribly put to for clothes to wrap my poor boy's legs in, his feet all gone. I got all I could from the camp, then I used my underclothing until I had but two skirts left on my body, and as such I finished my journey."After all that Elizabeth had endured, after pulling her family through so many trials, after remaining strong through her husband's misgivings, illness, and death, she for the first time yearned for the relief that death would bring: "At last the old handcart was laid by without a regret; we got to the wagons, were taken in, and some days we rode all day and got a little more food. A severe storm came up. . . . My eldest boy John's feet decaying, my boys both of them losing their limbs, their father dead, my own feet very painful, I thought, 'Why can't I die?' My first thought of death."Another setback occurred when Elizabeth arrived in Salt Lake City. She recalled that when people in the city came to take the handcart Saints into their homes, she was left until almost the last: "My case was deplorable; I don't wonder no one wanted [us]. Finally, I saw a young man from my own country passing. I had been raised in childhood with him. I knew him, but he did not know me. How could he? I looked 70 years old, worn out, shriveled, feet frozen, could not walk. My children, too, could not. Who would want us? Oh, I was crushed, but I called to him. He could not believe it was me, but he got a team and sent us to his own home. The Bishop came and provided for our wants—put my feet in tar, which I believe saved them, for the next morning I could move my toes."Soon after Elizabeth arrived in Utah, her brother learned where she was and took her to his home in Farmington. Elizabeth later wrote of this time, "Here we met with kind friends—Bishop Hess and many, many others, and I am ever grateful for their kindness to me and my children in my great trouble."In 1860, four years after her first husband's death, Elizabeth married Robert Camm. In 1868 they moved from Farmington to Cache Valley, settling in Logan. "The rest of my life . . . was not a bed of roses," Elizabeth wrote to her children. "Great trouble came to us later in Cache Valley."Her feelings are perhaps most clearly indicated in the lengthy letter she wrote to her children in 1892, the year before she died. In the letter Elizabeth is occasionally bitter and critical, but her faith prevails:  "My faith [is] still in my Father in Heaven. I have never lost faith in Him. It is as sweet today to trust in Him, and my prayers are that I may always trust Him. He is a Friend and has never failed me when asked. You may perhaps say, 'Why not have asked Him to save you then, when you needed it?' I did, and He spared me through many trials to my family."    Elizabeth Sermon's testimony that God had never failed her did not depend on having her trials removed. She made this declaration of faith despite a lifelong regret over her first husband's death and her sons being "made cripples" by the handcart trek. She also made her declaration despite the difficulties she encountered in the Zion she had sacrificed so much to come to.  She is a great example of remaining faithful through difficult trials. I love that she expressed so clearly that while she HAD prayed to be saved, she willingly accepted the "but if not..." and understood that in retrospect she had been spared in many ways, just not always the ways she was asking for. 

Have a great week!

Sister McHood

Pioneer Stories - Francis Webster

As a young man, Francis Webster had gone to California and spent nearly six years prospecting during the Gold Rush. He returned to England in 1855, having been moderately successful. Soon after returning, he married Ann Elizabeth (Betsy) Parsons, and six months later they sailed for America on the Horizon. Francis had saved about $1,600 in gold and planned to use it to purchase a wagon for the journey and get a good start in Utah. Instead, he sacrificed it to help pay the emigration expenses of the poor. 

Francis and Betsy Webster both survived the handcart trek, as did their baby daughter who was born in Nebraska. They suffered greatly, however. Describing his affliction with dysentery, Francis wrote, "[It was] so bad that I have sat down on the road and been administered to by the Elders and [then] gotten up and pulled my handcart with renewed vigor."

Francis's feet were badly frozen when he arrived in Salt Lake City, but his travels were not over. Two days later the family left for Cedar City, where they would make their home. This one-time prospector who had traveled so far and spent so many years building up savings for a comfortable future—and then had given most of it away—arrived in Cedar City with only a little clothing to his name. Even then, Francis Webster found more to give. He wrote, "I paid my tithing on the little clothing I brought with me."

During his life in Cedar City, Francis Webster became a prominent civic, business, and Church leader. He served as mayor, city councilman, justice of the peace, and representative to the territorial legislature. He also served in leading positions in the Iron County Agricultural Society, the Cooperative Sheep Association, and other business organizations. In the Church he served on the high council, as president of his seventies quorum, and in many other positions. 

Fewer details are known about Betsy's life after the handcart trek. As the mother of ten children, she devoted most of her time to her family. In the Church she served as Relief Society president for seven years.53 She was also a tailor, working from home so she could care for her children. She had the ability to remake worn, shabby clothes so they looked almost new. One of her great-granddaughters wrote, "It was said at one time [that] every man in Cedar [City] was either wearing a coat or suit made by Ann Elizabeth Webster, or had worn one."

Decades after the handcart trek, William Palmer witnessed an unforgettable incident involving Francis Webster. In a Sunday School class in Cedar City, some people were discussing the handcart tragedy. Through their association with Nellie Pucell Unthank, these people had a daily reminder of the long-term physical cost of that experience. William Palmer recalled:  "Some sharp criticism of the Church and its leaders was being indulged in for permitting any company of converts to venture across the Plains with no more supplies or protection than a handcart caravan afforded. An old man in the corner sat silent and listened as long as he could stand it. Then he arose and said things that no person who heard him will ever forget. His face was white with emotion, yet he spoke calmly, deliberately, but with great earnestness and sincerity. He said in substance, 'I ask you to stop this criticism. You are discussing a matter you know nothing about. Cold historic facts mean nothing here, for they give no proper interpretation of the questions involved. [Was it a] mistake to send the handcart company out so late in the season? Yes. But I was in that company and my wife was in it and Sister Nellie Unthank, whom you have cited, was there too. We suffered beyond anything you can imagine, and many died of exposure and starvation, but did you ever hear a survivor of that company utter a word of criticism? Not one of that company ever apostatized or left the Church because every one of us came through with the absolute knowledge that God lives, for we became acquainted with him in our extremities. I have pulled my handcart when I was so weak and weary from illness and lack of food that I could hardly put one foot ahead of the other. I have looked ahead and seen a patch of sand or a hill slope and I have said, I can go only that far and there I must give up, for I cannot pull the load through it. I have gone to that sand, and when I reached it, the cart began pushing me. I have looked back many times to see who was pushing my cart, but my eyes saw no one. I knew then that the angels of God were there.  Was I sorry that I chose to come by handcart? No. Neither then nor any minute of my life since. The price we paid to become acquainted with God was a privilege to pay, and I am thankful that I was privileged to come in the Martin handcart company.'  The speaker was Francis Webster, and when he sat down there was not a dry eye in the room. We were a subdued and chastened lot. Charles Mabey, who later became governor of Utah, arose and voiced the sentiment of all when he said, 'I would gladly pay the same price for the same assurance of eternal verities that Brother Webster has.'"

Although Francis Webster's assertion that none of the company ever apostatized is not quite accurate, all available records suggest that it is remarkably close. Like him, most of those who survived the handcart trek stand as a witness that when adversity is faced with faith, it strengthens spiritual commitment and draws a person nearer to God rather than weakening commitment and bringing alienation. 

Francis Webster died in 1906 at age 76. Betsy died the next year. Their influence continues to this day, not only on their posterity but on thousands who have been inspired by their example of faithful endurance.

I loved reading the story of Francis Webster this week.  Alluding to Francis Webster's story, President James E. Faust said: "In the heroic effort of the handcart pioneers, we learn a great truth. All must pass through a refiner's fire, and the insignificant and unimportant in our lives can melt away like dross and make our faith bright, intact, and strong. There seems to be a full measure of anguish, sorrow, and often heartbreak for everyone, including those who earnestly seek to do right and be faithful. Yet this is part of the purging to become acquainted with God."

I know in my own life this has been true. The heartache and sorrow I have faced is what has helped me turn toward my Heavenly Father time and again. 

Have a great week!

Sister McHood

Pioneer Stories - Captain Edward Martin

Today's trek thought is the story of Edward Martin, the captain of the Martin Handcart Company.  I think he is a remarkable man who displayed amazing faith and compassion throughout the trek.  Of particular interest to me is his tenacity to his faith and love for the gospel.  His story is larger than simply the handcart trek of 1856 but extends throughout his life. He consistently wrote of his faith in God and his love for the gospel. He was called upon to sacrifice so much but he did not complain, which I believe made him the perfect person to lead the saints on the trek, as he had previously personally experienced heartache and loss for the Gospel's sake. He was an amazing example both to the saints in his company as well as to us now.  
(The following came from "The Price We Paid")

Edward Martin was born in Preston, England, in 1818. He was among the earliest English converts when he was baptized by Elder Orson Hyde in the River Ribble in 1837. He married Alice Clayton in 1840, and early the next year they left for America. After steaming up the Mississippi River from New Orleans, they arrived in Nauvoo in April 1841 and were greeted by the Prophet Joseph Smith.

Edward and Alice Martin settled in Nauvoo for five years, living in a small home they built down the hill from the temple. Having been apprenticed as a painter in England, Edward helped paint the Nauvoo Temple and the interior of Joseph Smith's store. Edward also played the violin and was an original member of the Nauvoo band. The highlight of the Martins' time in Nauvoo came during the last few months, when they were endowed and sealed in the Nauvoo Temple.

The Martins also knew grief and tragedy in Nauvoo. First came the martyrdom of Joseph Smith in 1844. Then came the death of their oldest child, Lucy Ann, in 1845. Then came the expulsion from the city in 1846. Edward and Alice and their two surviving children, Mary Ellen and Edward, were among the thousands who left nearly everything behind and crossed the Mississippi River in February 1846.

After being driven out of Nauvoo, the Martins toiled for five months to cross Iowa, a distance of 300 miles. In July they finally arrived at Iowa's western border in the area of Council Bluffs, where difficulties continued to multiply. On July 14 their youngest child died. Six days later, Edward left his grieving wife, who was pregnant again, to serve in the Mormon Battalion. 

Edward Martin was gone from his family for nearly 18 months. During all this time, Alice and Mary Ellen stayed at Winter Quarters. There Alice gave birth to the Martins' fourth child, a son who lived only five months. Edward Martin never saw him.

Edward completed his service with the battalion in July 1847 and started for Salt Lake City. After another long march, he arrived there in October, less than three months after the first pioneer company. He immediately began inquiring about his wife and learned that she was still at Winter Quarters. Although it was late in the season, a week later he began the 1,000-mile journey eastward, and on December 10, 1847, he was finally reunited with Alice and Mary Ellen. He estimated that since being driven from Nauvoo less than two years earlier, he had traveled 6,120 miles, most of it on foot, all of it—even the military march for his new country—motivated by his testimony of the restored gospel. "The suffering and privations we had to pass through I say nothing about," he wrote, "but suffice it to say we did it for Christ and the Gospel's sake."

After three years in Salt Lake City, in August 1852 Edward Martin was again called to leave his family, this time to return to his homeland as a missionary. He arrived in England in February 1853. He visited his mother and stepfather in Preston and then went to Scotland, where he labored more than two years. His letters to Alice are invariably positive about his mission. "My whole heart is engaged in this work," he wrote soon after arriving in Scotland, "and I feel determined by the help of Almighty God to do right. I am busily engaged all the time travelling from branch to branch and doing business in the capacity that I am called to act in."

In April 1855, President Franklin D. Richards asked Edward Martin to come to Liverpool to work in the Emigration Department of the mission office. Edward stayed there for a month and then returned to Scotland. His service must have been commendable because the next year he was asked to return to the office for most of the emigration season. During these last few months of his mission, he helped oversee the emigration of more than 4,400 converts, the largest number to that time. When that season's emigration work was finished—and the time away from his family was approaching four years—Edward Martin boarded the Horizon for home.

He had was appointed by Franklin D. Richards to preside over the Saints on the Horizon. The Horizon carried 856 passengers, the largest company to leave England during the emigration season of 1856. The Horizon also carried the highest proportion of passengers who received financial assistance from the Perpetual Emigration Fund. Nearly 75 percent—635 people—received such assistance. By comparison, less than half of the other Saints who emigrated in 1856 received assistance from the fund, and only about one-fourth of those who emigrated in 1855 had received it. The high proportion of Perpetual Emigration Fund passengers is a significant factor in the story of the Martin company. Because the resources of the fund were limited, Brigham Young instructed President Richards to give priority to "those who have proven themselves by long continuance in the Church." The people who received this assistance, then, were not only poor but also generally long-time members of the Church who had proven their faithfulness. Having a large number of such people would repeatedly evidence itself for the benefit of this company during the forthcoming journey.

Edward Martin was 38 years old when he finished the handcart trek. In the 15 years since coming to America, he had personally known more adversity than most families experience in generations. He had endured the exodus from Nauvoo. Six of his first seven children had died. During six of those 15 years he had been away from his family in arduous military and Church service. But none of this compared to what he had just experienced with his handcart company. Raw horrors he could not have imagined were permanently etched in his mind. Even worse than seeing the suffering was being unable to provide any relief to the constant appeals for help.

As Edward Martin entered the Salt Lake Valley for the first time in more than four years, he must have wondered how much more he would be called upon—and be able—to bear. As it turned out, tragedy would continue to stalk him. Two wives and eight more children would precede him in death.

What kind of leader was Edward Martin? During the voyage across the Atlantic, he had looked after the welfare of more than 850 people by visiting every part of the ship six or seven times a day. One of the people under his care, Josiah Rogerson, recalled, "Every deck and its division received his daily surveillance, not as a spy or Boss, but as a brother and friend charged with keeping their safety and welfare."

While overseeing nearly 600 people on the handcart trek, Edward Martin was equally vigilant. Josiah Rogerson recalled: "If he ever gave any thought as to his health or fatigue, we fail to remember it. . . . To the end of our fearful journey . . . he was everywhere [that] he was needed and responded to every call of sickness and death. When our company was traveling, he was in the front, in the center, and in the rear, aiding, assisting, and cheering in every instance needed."

An incident that is perhaps most revealing about Edward Martin's leadership is his showing of empathy toward Elizabeth Sermon. During one of the most bleak, bitter days in Wyoming, she had shivered out a question to him. Her husband was near death, and her sons' feet were so frozen they would have to be amputated. Her question was one that hundreds must have wearied him with: Is help coming? Edward Martin's answer reveals his anguish, his compassion, and the hope that he somehow kept alive:
"It makes me very sorrowful to see such sickness and distress that the Saints are enduring," he began. "There are a great many frosted feet from lack of shoes, and from six to ten are dying daily. I almost wish God would close my eyes to the enormity of the sickness, hunger, and death among the Saints." But then he continued, "I am as confident as I live that [President Young] has dispatched the relief valley boys to us, and I believe they are making all the haste they can. . . . God bless you, sister, for the dutiful kindness to your husband and sons in this dark hour of trial."

Edward Martin died in Salt Lake City on August 18, 1882, at age 64. Of his 21 children 14 or 15 had preceded him in death. He was survived by his wives Eliza and Rachel, who both remained widows for more than 30 years. In his patriarchal blessing, Edward Martin had been told that he would lead thousands to Zion. In the midst of adversity that would have broken most men, he dedicated many years of his life to fulfilling this promise.

Trek Thoughts - Still Moving

I read two talks today that I wanted to share.

The first is Sister Gayle M. Clegg from April General Conference in 2004.  It is titled, "The Finished Story".  She said:

"My husband’s great-grandfather Henry Clegg Jr. was a finisher. He joined the Church with his family when the first LDS missionaries went to Preston, England. Henry had a view of his destination in his mind as he and his wife, Hannah, and their two young boys immigrated to Utah. Henry left his older parents, who were too feeble to make such a long and arduous journey, knowing he would never see them again.

While crossing the plains, Hannah contracted cholera and died. She was laid to rest in an unmarked grave. The company then moved on, and at six in the evening, Henry’s youngest son also died. Henry retraced his steps to Hannah’s grave, placed his young son in his wife’s arms, and reburied the two of them together. Henry then had to return to the wagon train, now five miles away. Suffering from cholera himself, Henry described his condition as being at death’s door while realizing he still had a thousand miles to walk. Amazingly he continued forward, putting one foot in front of the other. He stopped writing in his journal for several weeks after losing his dear Hannah and little son. I was struck with the words he used when he did start writing again: “Still moving.”

When he finally reached the gathering place of the Saints, he began a new family. He kept the faith. He continued his story. Most remarkably, his heartache over the burial of his sweetheart and son gave birth to our family’s legacy of moving forward, of finishing....

I have often wondered as I have heard pioneer stories like the one of Henry Clegg, “Could I ever do that?” ....

Do the challenges of others appear more difficult than our own? We often look at someone with tremendous responsibilities and think, “I could never do that.” Yet others might look at us and feel exactly the same way. It is not the magnitude of the responsibility but rather how it feels to be the one in the middle of the unfinished task. ...

“Still walking” is the fundamental requirement in the journey of life. He wants us to finish well. He wants us to come back to Him."

The second talk, with I think fits together nicely with Sister Clegg's thoughts is Sister Virginia H. Pearce, titled, "Keep Walking and give Time a Chance" (April 1997)

“Week after week, they sang as they walked and walked and walked and walked and walked.” ¹ When I think of pioneers, tragic scenes come to mind: handcarts in blizzards, sickness, frozen feet, empty stomachs, and shallow graves.

However, as I learn more about that monumental trek I am convinced that along with those very real and dramatic scenes, most of the journey formost of the people was pretty routine. Mostly they walked and walked and walked....

On a bronze frieze ² in the Winter Quarters cemetery, a detail shows a mother resting her hand inside the wagon as she walked the distance to the Salt Lake Valley. She did this because her small child wouldn’t stay in the wagon unless he could see his mother’s hand. Even as they walked forward, those pioneers knew how to help one another.

So what does all this have to do with us in our current world? I believe it has everything to do with us. Most of our lives are not a string of dramatic moments that call for immediate heroism and courage. Most of our lives, rather, consist of daily routines, even monotonous tasks, that wear us down and leave us vulnerable to discouragement. Sure, we know where we’re going, and if it were possible we would choose to jump out of bed, work like crazy, and be there by nightfall. But our goal, our journey’s end, our Zion is life in the presence of our Heavenly Father. And to get there we are expected to walk and walk and walk.

This week-after-week walking forward is no small accomplishment. The pioneer steadiness, the plain, old, hard work of it all, their willingness to move inch by inch, step by step toward the promised land inspire me as much as their more obvious acts of courage. It is so difficult to keep believing that we are making progress when we are moving at such a pace—to keep believing in the future when the mileage of the day is so minuscule.

Do you see yourself as a heroic pioneer because you get out of bed every morning, comb your hair, and get to school on time? Do you see the significance of doing your homework every day and recognize the courage displayed in asking for help when you don’t understand an assignment? Do you see the heroism in going to church every single Sunday, participating in class, and being friendly to others? Do you see the greatness in doing the dishes over and over and over? Or practicing the piano? Or tending children? Do you recognize the fortitude and belief in the journey’s end that are required in order to keep saying your prayers every day and keep reading the scriptures? Do you see the magnificence in giving time a chance to whittle your problems down to a manageable size?

President Howard W. Hunter said, “True greatness … always requires regular, consistent, small, and sometimes ordinary and mundane steps over a long period of time.” ³

How easy it is to want quick and dramatic results in exchange for a day’s labor! And yet how happy people are who have learned to bend to the rhythm of paced and steady progress—even to celebrate and delight in the ordinariness of life.

Don’t be discouraged. Think of those who reach a hand into the wagon to give you courage. Be the person who reaches out your hand toward others as we all move forward together."

I love both of these talks and their message to "keep walking".  It is a reminder (again) that faith in EVERY footstep is what is required. Spiritual momentum comes in the form of continuing to do the things we know we should: praying, reading the scriptures, attending our church meetings, etc. I also LOVE Sister Pearce's reference to the pioneer mother, with her hand on the wagon, and her note that we should BE the person who reaches out our hand towards others as we all move forward together.