Last year I finished a five-year project of mine. I published a collection of family stories spanning from the 1600s to the present. I researched stories of my pilgrim relatives and my Native American ancestors. I recorded memories of my grandparents and great-grandparents, learning from both their trials and triumphs. I learned so much about my family by writing this book. I formed a stronger connection to my ancestors than I ever thought possible. It seemed to put a little piece of heaven into my heart. And then, once it was published, sharing this book with my living relatives was a treasure in and of itself.
The day my books arrived!
I'd like to share one piece of my family history with you today: my pioneer heritage.
I am where I am because of my family--literally. I live in Utah, in the shadow of the Rocky Mountains, because of my pioneer ancestors and their faith in Jesus Christ. When The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was new, it was not a popular religion. My pioneer ancestors who chose to join this church risked their long-time friendships, the approval of family members, their homes and possessions, and even their physical safety. Members of the Church were threatened, attacked, and driven across the United States. It got so bad that government officials literally signed laws allowing for the murder of "the Mormons" if they stayed in the state.
So they left. My ancestors fled west, leaving the United States as refugees. Except there was nothing waiting from them in the west but mountains and sage brush.
I can't imagine the courage and strength that these pioneers, my family, had. They were openly hated and threatened with death. Yet they went forward with faith, taking charge of their situation best they could, and established a new home for themselves in what later became Utah.
One ancestor, Patty, came with an early group of covered wagons to act as a midwife. She helped mothers safely deliver their babies far from the comforts of civilization. Others, like Grace and Mary Ellen, left England to join the handcart companies. Equipment failed and the season grew late. They ran low on food, eating rationed meals, and got stuck in harsh winter storms. They watched many, including family members, die around them. They may have never made it to Utah if it weren't for the rescue parties that came to help them finish their trek.
Once in Utah, these latter-day saints found themselves in a unique, oftentimes difficult, but also incredibly beautiful situation. Physically, they were starting from scratch. They had to till hard, dry, caked, and very dead soil and then somehow convince it to grow food. They had to build irrigation systems, roadways, schools, and a new government for themselves. They had no one to turn to if disaster struck--that is, no one except God and the brothers and sisters in their faith.
My pioneer ancestors took courage in Isaiah's prophecy that "the desert [would] blossom like a rose," and then they worked for it.
Spiritually though, they were wealthy. Their faith had been sanctified through sacrifice. They knew God was there and had led them to safety in miraculous ways. He had blessed them with a "promised land", just like the Israelites of old. Now it was time to establish a Zion, to raise up a nation dedicated to Jesus Christ.
Can you imagine what a relief this new life was to that first generation--the pioneers--who previously spent decades surrounded by hateful enemies, by forces who wanted to destroy them both physically and spiritually? They finally had space to be themselves while they built up a fortress of safety for their loved ones.
For many Utah natives, myself and Bryce included, this is our heritage--pioneers who sacrificed everything to embrace the gospel of Jesus Christ.
I am inexpressibly grateful to those who came before--that includes my parents and my grandparents, all the way to my pioneer ancestors, and beyond. I owe them so much more than just my physical location. The communities I live in, the resources I have access to, and the values I hold dear are all fruits of their labors.
One day, I hope to teach my children that--whether by blood or by adoption--they stand on the shoulders of giants. I want them to know that so many people love them, people from both their birth family and their adoptive family. I hope that they can feel that same sense of gratitude. And then, armed with that knowledge, I want to help them go out into the world ready for a "pioneer trek" of their own.
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