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.