Pioneer Trek—A Symbol of Faith

Recently I watched a movie about the rescue of the Martin-Willey Handcart pioneers of 1856. These pioneers suffered great hardships because they were late starting their trek across the American plains and got caught in early snow before they finished their journey.

This familiar story is a Mormon[i] legend of faith triumphing over hardships and is commemorated [ii] by leaders and youth making their own four-day wilderness trek. This modern-day trek of approximately 30 miles across the wilderness pulling a handcart is prepared for weeks in advance both spiritually and physically. This is a difficult journey and is symbolic of the trek those handcart pioneers of years before traveled.

The youth of our congregation returned from their pioneer trek last summer and talked to our ward about their experiences; I was very touched as I listened to them. I have had several of my children as youth and as adults go on these treks, but I had never before realized what these treks accomplish.

The youth are divided up into separate groups or families, with a “Ma” and a “Pa” as leaders of their family. The Ma and Pa are a married couple, and all the youth in their family are considered their children and are to act as a family for the four days of the trek. Everyone wears pioneer clothes, including long skirts, aprons and bonnets for the girls.

Our stake was able to go to Wyoming to the site of the original handcart company journey and travel across the actual pioneer trail, including the crossing of the Sweetwater River, which was one of the most difficult crossings of the Martin-Willey company. For the original pioneers, the last crossing of the icy Sweetwater River in snow seemed insurmountable, but some of the young men who had come from Salt Lake to render aid carried many of the weakened pioneers across.  The 16 to 18-year-old young men among our local trekkers committed to carry the rest across the Sweetwater River in memory of those original rescuers and to remind them to bear each other’s burdens and rescue others.

One of the comments I was impressed with as the modern trekkers told their story was the resemblance some of their stories were to that of some of the pioneers. One young man about the same age as my grandson has an auto-immune disease similar to my adult daughter, Diana, who as a healthy 18-year-old suddenly became very ill.

Now, 18-years after the onset of her illness, which caused damage to her eyes, extreme joint pain, intestinal damage and wreaked havoc on her life, I can see the maturity and growth she has received through this trial. She became so ill she had to drop out of college as she suffered for months before they identified her disease as a form of ankylosing spondylitis/ rheumatoid arthritis. During the time of her active disease as I saw her fight to make a life with crippling pain and disability, I cried and prayed for faith to know how to help her.

As this young man told how his whole family prayed for him for weeks that he would be able to go to trek and not have any problems, I thought of Diana and her struggles. This young man testified that his health was better on trek than it had been in a long time and he was able to do all that was required, including carrying the stake president over the Sweetwater River.  

Many may be skeptical of such “miracles” but I have seen what I call “minor miracles” make Diana’s life better. After months of debilitating illness, when Diana was finally beginning to respond to medication and improve enough from her illness, she had the opportunity to fly to London. I realized that the emotional boost that she would receive from this would help her get her life together and decide if she could go back to school. But she was terrified of sitting on the plane that long—her joints would freeze up and cause tremendous pain in cramped conditions. But she prayed and felt the Lord would bless her to be able to do it. As it turned out, the airlines had booked too many tickets; they were “bumped” into first class and it was far more comfortable for her joints and she didn’t have any trouble.

Later in London, Diana became very ill and was rushed to the hospital, but her older brother gave her a priesthood blessing on the way that healed her and she was able to continue her trip.

Diana at the hospital in London

life better; I know prayer brings for the blessings of heaven. These are only two of the many "minor miracles" that have blessed Diana's life.

Each person on the trek chose one of their pioneer ancestors who had crossed the plains to “take on the trek with them.” They were to think about that pioneer and what their life was like and what his trials had been and compare them with their own trials.

I recently visited Denmark where my one pioneer ancestor left behind family and friends to come to America. This family was not wealthy in Denmark, but I doubt they realized the depredations they would face coming to what they called “Zion.” My ancestor, Ingeborg, had a husband, a 16-year-old daughter, a seven-year-old son, and nine-year-old stepdaughter when they left Denmark. She was 51-years-old, but determined to join the saints in the Salt Lake Valley.

One young woman in our ward trek told how on the handcart company one out of every six people died on the trip. To illustrate this, they called out the names of two members of each family to cross the river barefoot and then walk back to the camp alone—they would represent those who died. This young woman had been the first to “die” in the company. She said she felt discouraged to think that they would think she would be weak enough to die.  

I thought of my ancestor, Ingeborg and her family of five. They had many hardships along their journey, even though they hadn’t come by handcart. Ingeborg’s husband died near the Platte River half way to the valley. A short comment in a pioneer journal marked his passing,

“Sunday, July 24. A quarter of a mile’s travel brought us to plenty of water. This morning Hans Andersen Pill passed away, and at noon M. Christian Jensen’s wife bore a son.”

Was Ingeborg’s 16-year-old daughter resentful to leave Denmark, or was she thrilled at the adventure? By the time they arrived in the Salt Lake Valley, was the Danish-speaking Ingeborg struggling to get along in this new, rough, English-speaking country?

I am older now than Ingeborg was when she arrived in the valley, but I am about the age she was when she died out in the Nevada Desert—trying to grow cotton in what was called the “Muddy” Mission, not far from Las Vegas.

Remains of the settlement on the "Muddy"

In the March 1997 Ensign, an article called, “Courage—the Unfailing Beacon,” describes the area, “Few settlements faced harsher circumstances than those established to raise cotton in the Muddy Mission in southeastern Nevada in the late 1860s. Those who know the story say that it stands as “an ordeal beyond compare.” ¹¹ The forbidding landscape of near-barren mountains and mesas provided scant supplies of grass for livestock and wood for fuel or building. Summer temperatures often reached 120 degrees Fahrenheit, and there was little rainfall. “Oh, what a place it was!” wrote one settler. “Nothing but deep sand and a burning sun.” ¹²

 In my mind I can see Ingeborg standing in the sun in in the dry, hot desert remembering the green hills of Denmark, but I think her faith kept her helped her meet each of her challenges, just as I look at my trials and know that the Lord understands my heart and I will accept his will. (But I would definitely have a hard time dealing with living in Southern Nevada).

The youth trek took so much planning and preparation; and all those who prepared were rewarded. Sometimes, we don’t even know why we are doing what we do, and we are still rewarded. This was mentioned by one of the other lady leaders, whose son’s asthma had been good for so long she didn’t even think to bring his asthma inhaler with her. She wasn’t even thinking when she saw it on the table, and grabbed it and threw it in her bag as she was running out the door. But as they were pushing their handcarts up Rocky Ridge and the dry dust was swirling and she began to cough, she suddenly thought of her son. She grabbed the inhaler in her handcart, and located her son, and learned that he was in a full-blown asthma attack. She gave him the inhaler, it took care of his asthma and they continued on their way.

Many times in my lives I didn’t know why I prepared in advance for something that I later realized I needed to meet the challenges of that day. My children are spread very far apart in ages, which can be difficult. I don’t know how many times when some of my children were little, I’ve gotten them all ready to go somewhere only to get a phone call from another older child saying he needed to be picked up or needed something—IMMEDIATELY.   I was all ready to go, and could leave immediately rather than waste time getting ready to go. It was a small thing; I hadn’t known where I was preparing to go, (maybe I was just thinking of going shopping) but then I was needed by my children instead and I was prepared.

Years ago when I was a child, our family lived 12 miles outside of Moab in a house without a phone  

Aunt Ingeborg

or electricity. My mother’s sister who lived in Brigham City was dying of cancer and my mother prayed and prayed that she would be able to know of Aunt Ingeborg’s death in time to get up to Brigham City in time to help with the funeral arrangements. It was a long 10 to 12-hour journey and my parents had four children so there was a lot of last minute preparation involved. Mother told me that she woke up in the middle of the night and her sister Ingeborg was standing in the room. Ingeborg simply told her that she had died and disappeared. My mother immediately got up, started packing and getting everything ready for the trip. When someone drove out from Moab the next morning to let the family know about Ingeborg’s death, they were all packed and ready to leave.

Another comment was made was about the sacrifices everyone made to attend trek. Whenever we sacrifice, whether it is time, material means, or service, we are rewarded far more than the sacrifice we made! I think of the times I have given what I felt was a sacrifice, and was blessed far beyond my expectations. One of my most difficult callings was years ago in the mid-1970s when we lived in central Texas. I was called to be in the Stake Primary Presidency in the Austin Texas Stake. I had three small children, ages 7, 6, and 4 years of age and our stake stretched from above San Angelo to Waco to College Station to Brownwood—all of central Texas. There were 11 wards and branches in that area and we were committed to visit each primary (when primary met in the afternoon) and the ward conference of each ward/branch. We three members of the stake presidency drove together the long distances to these meetings. The stake primary president did not have a driver’s license so she couldn’t drive; the other counselor and I took turns driving.

I hated and was terrified of driving, but through hours of prayer and faith that if I was supposed to do it, I would be able to do it, we drove to each primary and ward conference. I felt so inadequate in my calling because I had never been a ward Primary president; how could I tell Primary presidents what to do when I had never been in their places? My husband was a battery commander who was often out in the field on field exercises or in El Paso to fire missiles—he had to be gone a lot; how could I fulfill my calling when he was gone and could not take care of our children? I prayed more in that calling than any other calling I have ever had.

When I was released three years later, I became pregnant with my middle daughter, Diana, even though the doctors had told me that I couldn’t become pregnant again. I have always felt Diana was my “reward” for sticking with that calling and trying to magnify it when I felt it was impossible to do it.

I think one of the most important things all those on the trek learned was “With the Lord, I can do hard things.” What a wonderful blessing to realize this! I know that many times in my life the Lord has asked me to do hard things, and with his help, I have accomplished them. I could write pages and pages of the hard things he’s helped me through, but I’ll only share one.

When Ed left for Vietnam the second time, I had a one-year-old, a two-year-old and was pregnant

Me with my three small children

with our third child. I lived in an upstairs apartment in Bountiful. My mother had died right after Ed and I married, and my two younger sisters lived back east. My father lived in Bountiful, but he worked swing shift at Hill Field and I felt like I couldn’t call on him to help me. My mother-in-law lived in Idaho and wasn’t available to help at all, either. I felt all on my own.

I had a very difficult delivery with Marc, that baby; I hemorrhaged and was very anemic; they kept me in the hospital a week. I remember coming from the hospital feeling totally overwhelmed. When my aunt and uncle stopped by to visit and then left, I remember putting the three children to bed. Then I knelt down and prayed with all my heart that I’d be able to take care of these three children and make it through the eight months left of Ed’s tour in Vietnam. I prayed until I felt peace. I knew that with the Lord’s help, I could do it! I learned that year that “With the Lord, I can do hard things.” Or as a plaque I made to put on my wall says, “With God All Things Are Possible.”

 I have never gone on trek and now in my old age, with my bad knees, bad back and sore feet, I never will; but I admire those who do go on trek. I admire those who plan trek. I feel like this program is an inspired program that strengthens both the youth and the leaders who attend and bring them together. It is symbolic of the sacrifices, struggles, and efforts made by those pioneers of old, and the sacrifices, trials and determination so many make today to serve the Lord.

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[i] Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints

[ii] A “stake” is equivalent of a Catholic, Anglican or Episcopal diocese. What Mormons call a “ward” is the equivalent of a parish or neighborhood congregation; five or six wards (or parishes if that word is more familiar) combine to make a stake. The leader of the stake is not a bishop, but a stake president. 

Trains, Planes and Compassion

Sometimes a lot of pain and suffering can be taken away with a kind word or thoughtful deed—even when the two (trial and solicitous service) are not connected in any way. A trial loses its sting when tempered by someone’s charity. 

I recently learned this personally when my husband and I had one of those “worst days of your life” when everything went wrong; then, a compassionate act made at the end of the day seem a funny tale to tell instead of a bitter memory.

Ed and I were on a once in a lifetime, 50^th year anniversary family history trip to Europe. Our schedule was as tight as a rubber band, with no time for error or waste. We were traveling from Manchester, England to Dublin, Ireland on a Sunday morning early morning flight. We had been traveling on the train a lot on our trip, including into the Manchester Train Station. We knew that the train went from Manchester to the airport about every five to ten minutes, so we arrived at the train station about two hours earlier than our flight was due. It was a short trip on the train to the airport and we thought there was no problem. 

However, we didn’t realize that on Sundays the trains only run every 45 minutes to an hour, and we’d just missed the last one. We still didn’t worry. However, when the train we were on had engine problems, we began to worry. Normally the distance between the train station exits and airport entrances were close or had shuttle service, but not in Manchester—it was a long, winding distance between them. As we finally reached the airport, we saw taxis dropping people off right off at the airport gates that had taken us ages to reach. Ed said, “We should have taken a taxi and been here hours ago.”

We contacted handicapped assistance which we had arranged for in advanced in all the

airports because of Ed’s emphysema and lung transplant which makes it difficult for him to walk fast or very far; they had no record of our requesting it, but they said they could arrange it. That took longer. By then we knew we’d missed our flight and we had. 

They booked us on the next available flight to Dublin which was 12 hours later and would cost us $360. What choice did we have? Nothing more fun than hanging around an airport for 12 hours. What they didn’t tell us was that there was a lounge especially for handicapped passengers where we could have sat down in comfortable seats, at least. So we walked around with our entire luggage and stopped in at cafes for hours. Ed had had problems at times on our trip with nausea and this was one of those days. So he didn’t dare eat anything and only sipped at bottled water. He read from my kindle and I read my kindle book on my tablet. It was one time it came in handy to have both. 

Finally it was time we could check in our luggage anyway, and not be burdened down with it. We went back to the gate and they weighed our luggage (which I had used my portable weight to keep it down to .4 kilos within the 20 kilo limit). Then they informed us that this airline only had a 15 kilo limit (and only 8 kilos for carry-ons) so our luggage (which we had paid for in advance) was overweight and would cost us $150 each more for overweight charges. We left the gate and were wondering what to do when the lady at customer service suggested we go downstairs and purchase a small $15.00 duffle bag in one of the gift shops. It folds up into the size of 12 inch book and yet holds a lot. We could then put the five kilo excess luggage from each of our bags, plus, our excess carry-on in it and pay for an extra bag, which was less than $70.00. We did that and rearranged our luggage. We must not have been the only people unprepared for the unusual weight limits as there were long shelves there for “repacking and rearranging luggage.” 

Finally at 8:00pm, we climbed aboard a small airplane and headed for Dublin. The seats were so close together that although Ed is a small person, his knees were touching the seat in front of him. Ed was finally so weak from not eating that I was happy when he ate some crackers and did not get nauseated. 

As we disembarked at Dublin, we asked if there was someone from Handicapped Assistance to put Ed in a wheelchair and take him through the terminal to the exit. Everyone we talked to said, “No.” Finally after everyone departed the plane, and no one was left, we began the trek through the long, lonely, deserted terminal. For some reason (probably his weakness), Ed was having problems with walking very far with stopping to rest. Even though he leaned on my shoulder to balance and make it easier to walk, I began to count in my head, walk 10 steps, rest; walk 10 steps, rest. It took us well over an hour to get to customs, who barely looked at our passports and waved us through. We never saw anyone who could help us or who we could ask for Handicapped Assistance.

Everything was so deserted.

At the luggage carrousel our luggage had been taken off and placed by customer service so it was easy to pick it up and get a taxi to our hotel. 

It was about 10:30pm or later when we arrived at our hotel and we were totally exhausted. We had gotten up at 3:30am to get ready for our flight and with all the problems, we were emotionally as well as physically wiped out. I was relieved to find we still had a room (I was waiting for some last cosmic jinx that had somehow interfered with it). 

We got our keys and were ready to go, when the manager (who was having trouble

speaking English) said, “Wait. We have a voucher for you.”

I looked at him strangely and said. “We didn’t pay for a voucher.”

“Yes, it gives you two full meals in our restaurant with appetizer, main course, desert and a

bottle of wine.”

“We didn’t order that,” I again denied.

“Markson gave it to you,” he insisted.

I looked at Ed puzzled and said, “Markson?”

He pulled out an envelope and gave it to us. Inside was an elaborate voucher. 

The manager was grinning all over that we finally understood. “Markson called and paid for it. We expected you here earlier and were all prepared to serve you a special meal.”

We then realized he was talking about our son, Marc, in Washington, D.C. who had called and made the arrangement. I felt like crying that even though we were half a world away, without a cell phone (because it was not compatible), our children were thinking of us on Mother’s Day and wanting to make it special for us.

That one act from our children wiped out all the frustrations of the day; I will always remember that as one of the most special Mother’s Day of my life.

The Patience of a Saint?

The dictionary defines patience as:

1. the quality of being patient, as the bearing of provocation, annoyance, misfortune, or pain, without complaint, loss of temper, irritation, or the like.
2. an ability or willingness to suppress restlessness or annoyance when confronted with delay: to have patience with a slow learner.
3. quiet, steady perseverance; even-tempered care; diligence: to work with patience.

Everyone praises patience as a great and admirable quality, but few possess it. In fact it has been said to be the quality of a saint. One of the most difficult aspects of our time here in Los Angeles awaiting Ed’s lung transplant has been our lack of patience. We expected the wait for a new lung to be two weeks to a month and we have been here over three months.

Therefore after the priesthood session of general conference a few weeks ago, I laughed when Ed called me and said, “President Uchdorf spoke directly to me in his address on patience!(see talk at http://www.lds.org/conference/talk/display/0,5232,23-1-1207-20,00.html ) Everything he said I needed to hear.” However, when I read President Uchdorf’s talk about patience, it really hit home and I began to think about our stay here in Los Angeles and what we have gained from our wait.

When we arrived here the 4th of January, Ed had gained some of the weight he’d lost last fall but he was still 20 pounds underweight; the doctors told him he must gain weight. They said that people who undergo lung transplant surgery who are underweight have far more complications than anyone, even those who are overweight. He was given dietary guidelines and diaries to chart his food intake.

Ed started on a respiratory therapy program at the hospital gym three times a week and a yoga therapy two days a week. He had been doing respiratory therapy at the University of Utah in Utah, but this was a better program with other respiratory patients that he grew to know and to relate to. Some patients had had lung transplants, some had had lung reduction surgery, some like Ed were waiting for surgery, and some were not planning on surgery. So Ed had the chance to find out what to look forward to when he had surgery, and the other alternatives. They also discussed places to eat in Los Angeles and things to do, which Ed shared with me.

At the conclusion of the program, Ed and I were invited to join a respiratory patient support group of those with respiratory problems, including past transplant patients, and other respiratory surgical patients.

His improvement during this three-month waiting period was also evaluated: Ed has gained 17 pounds since we arrived here and his respiratory improvement has been 30%. He can now walk 45 minutes on the treadmill at 1.4 miles per hour. Physically, Ed is far more ready for surgery NOW, than he was when we arrived in January (when he wanted surgery IMMEDIATELY). He will recovery from surgery better now, than he would have in January. Meanwhile, he is enjoying life more now. He still needs the surgery, but he is compensating better without it at least temporarily.

We have made many friends here in the ward and the area—even the friends he has made at therapy are unique and have enriched his life. We have learned a lot about Los Angeles, its history and culture, and its wonderful food by eating at a different ethnic restaurant each week (strictly to help him gain weight, you know—for no other reason!).

Helen Keller said it better than I could, “Everything has its wonders, even darkness and silence, and I learn, whatever state I may be in, therein to be content.”

Bring on the surgery—we are ready NOW!

Close Every Door to Me

“Close every door to me,
“Keep those I love from me,
“Children of Israel
“Are never alone.
“For I know I shall find
“My own peace of mind,
“For I have been promised
“A land of my own.” 1

This song from Joseph and His Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat2 has always been a favorite of mine. It was brought to my mind last Sunday when our adult Sunday School class which is discussing the Old Testament this year talked about Joseph of Egypt being in prison. The teacher reviewed how Joseph as a young man had visions of being a great leader and ruler over his father and brothers, but instead had been threatened with death by those brothers, then sold into slavery into Egypt where he worked as a slave until he displeased his master and was thrown into prison.

There Joseph had hopes of being released when he correctly interpreted the dreams of a baker and a butler; the baker was executed, but the butler was restored to his butlership as Joseph had foretold. However, even though the Butler had promised to remember Joseph and help get him out of prison, “Yet did not the chief butler remember Joseph, but forgat him.2”

The song I quoted at the top of the page is Joseph’s lament. It is here in prison, where he acknowledges the blows of fortune, the whips of fate, the trials of his life, yet his triumphant praise rings out that despite these, “I know I shall find my own peace of mind, for I have been promised a land of my own.”

Regardless of all the challenges we face in our life, even with our setbacks, the deaths of our hopes we, like Joseph of old, have been promised the same promises he was: 1. A land of our own 2. A way to find peace of mind.

The “land of our own” may not be on earth; it may be in heaven. For many years Ed & I lived an army career and lived in army quarters (almost always duplexes), and I wondered if I’d ever have a house of my own. Of course I did, for which I am very grateful. But sometimes our expectations are not accomplished on earth, but in heaven.

Remember that this earthly life is only one part of our life—a very small part of our life. Our earthly experience is like act II of a three-part play. Act II is always the most difficult, where the most trials and conflict occur. It is only at the end of Act III that all is resolved and happiness is achieved. It is always in Act II that everything is hopeless! Many of our promises will be accomplished here on earth, but always remember that there is more than this life for them to be accomplished. Death is not final or the end.

But even in Act II, even in the midst of the most difficulties, we have a way to find peace of mind. It isn’t new, or miraculous, it is always available, yet it isn’t a button you can push to turn on when you need it!

The peace of mind I am talking about it the peace the savior gives us that he promised the apostles in John 14:27, right before he left them “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you.”

The peace is far more beneficial than all the tranquilizers every made, better than all pastors or mental health counselors combined.

This past week has been extremely difficult for my family. My daughter Diana and her husband have been trying to adopt a child for several years. Last year they came quite close with a beautiful four-month-old boy whose grandparents felt they couldn’t raise their daughter’s child and who were willing to place him for adoption. For a month they worked with the adoption agency, the court and the grandparents to work out all the details, exchanging photos and growing closer to the boy. Then it went to court and when the judge asked the grandparents what they wanted to do, they suddenly and unexpectedly decided they couldn’t give him up! Diana and Jason were not allowed to adopt this little boy they had grown close to.

Three weeks ago the adoption case worker came to Diana and Jason with another adoption possibility—a woman who had gotten pregnant while she was separated from her husband and wanted to make her marriage work so she was determined to give up the baby. Diana and Jason were chosen to be the parents of this little girl who was to be born by C-section last Tuesday. Everything went well and the mother remained adamant that she would not keep the baby. Diana and Jason prepared the baby’s room, had baby showers, and arranged everything. I made reservations to fly to Chicago to help Diana with the baby. The baby was born a day early and the mother wanted to see Diana and Jason before she signed over the final papers to give up the baby on Wednesday. I left Los Angeles Wednesday morning, with a layover in Dallas, planning to arrive in Chicago at 3:15 p.m.

My incoming flight to Dallas was delayed so I missed my flight to Chicago and had to get one 40 minutes later; I got a phone call while I was trying to catch it. Diana was crying and said, “Mom, you have to turn around and go back to Los Angeles.” I immediately thought of my husband in Los Angeles who was awaiting a lung transplant. Had he gotten THE CALL? WAS THERE A LUNG AVAILABLE AND I NEEDED TO GO RIGHT BACK TO BE BY HIS SIDE?

I asked Diana to explain what had happened. “The birth mother decided to keep the baby; you don’t have a baby to come and help with.” I told her I was still coming, and boarded the flight to Chicago.

Someone wrote that losing a baby that you’d planned to adopt is like a miscarriage; losing a baby that you’d planned to adopt on the day you are to bring it home is like a still-born birth. Diana had texted immediate family to tell them what had happened, but very few others knew that the looked for baby had not and would not be coming home. The sun was shining brightly outside, but it was dark and gloomy everywhere we were.

How does one deal with a situation like this? How did we deal with the death of our two premature twin grandchildren in Seattle in January and February, one stillborn, and other who lived 20 minutes? How did the pioneers bury their children in the frozen plains and turn westward, leaving them behind on the barren plains? How did the sister President Monson talked about a year ago in April 2009 General Conference3 deal with the death of her husband and all four of her children as she was forced to walk over a thousand miles across Germany in the winter at the end of World War II?

How do we do anything in this world? With faith! Faith in the Lord’s promises; faith in Christ and his redeeming love; faith in priesthood power and priesthood blessings. It isn’t instant and it isn’t easy—but it comes. Prayers have helped us deal with the sadness and the pain. Diana said on the second day that she felt better. I crashed on the third day, but then I, too, recovered and I felt the prayers of those who cared about us, and I know that helped me a lot!!!!

I know priesthood blessings help! I know prayers—ours and those of others in our behalf help. I’ve felt them, when before I could feel nothing but pain and sorrow. I’ve felt them comfort me and drive out the sorrow.

In the June 2009 Ensign magazine, President Uchdorf had a wonderful article titled, Prayer and the Blue Horizon. Comparing gospel principals, and prayer specifically to aerodynamics that enable flight he wrote:

“Lift happens when air passes over the wings of an airplane in such a way that the pressure underneath the wing is greater than the pressure above the wing. When the upward lift exceeds the downward pull of gravity, the plane rises from the ground and achieves flight.”

President Uchdorf then explains that we can do the same when “the force that is pushing us heavenward is greater than the temptations and distress that drag us downward, we can ascend and soar into the realm of the Spirit.”

He then says “Prayer is one of the principles of the gospel that provides lift. Prayer has the power to elevate us from our worldly cares, to lift us up through clouds of despair and darkness into a bright and clear horizon.4”

This comfort through prayer is real, but it is elusive. You must continually strive to maintain it. I remember once when I was struggling with clinical depression, every day was a struggle. Despite medicine, therapy and everything I could do, sometimes it became too much. Those were the times I would ask for a priesthood blessing. When I received a blessing, I could feel the Lord’s love, and the love of my family break through the chains of depression that chained me. It would surround me and wrap me in a robe of warmth and comfort. The next day I would go forth with only the memory of that love to strengthen me and warm me, but the lingering remains, along with the my prayers, and those of my loved ones, would fortify me against the storms of the day.

Another tool I used during that time, and one I still use, is music. When I would need to feel the love of the Lord, when the pressures of the world would begin to be too much, I would get my lawn mower and mow the lawn, singing at the top of my voice the Young Women song “I Am of Worth.” The words of this song, especially the chorus, “I am of worth, of infinite worth, my Savior, Redeemer loves.” Then I could remember, even if I couldn’t feel the love of the Savior at that moment, and know that He did love me and that I was of worth to Him.

This song, and others, like the song from Joseph and the Technicolor Dreamcoat, remind me that “I know the answers lie Far from this world.5”

The answers are as real as the trials we face on the earth, but we are not left alone, “swinging in the wind.” We have resources, and prayer and music are just some that help us get through the storms of life. Even so, even if life throws everything at me, I can be like Joseph of old in prison, singing:

“For I know I shall find
“My own peace of mind,
“For I have been promised
“A land of my own.6”
__________________________

1. Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat is a musical theatre show written by the team of Andrew Lloyd Webber and Tim Rice. First produced on Broadway in January 1982, then produced on video/DVD in 1999 with Donny Osmond as Joseph. It is a family/friendly show frequently produced by high schools and community theaters.

2. Genesis 40:23.

3. Thomas S. Monson, “Be of Good Cheer,” Ensign, May 2009, 89–92 (From personal conversations and from Frederick W. Babbel, On Wings of Faith (1972), 40–42).

4. Dieter F. Uchtdorf, “Prayer and the Blue Horizon,” Ensign, Jun 2009, 4–7

5. Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat

6. Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat,