If a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step,
how do you start a journey of the heart?
A few months ago I got an email asking me if my wife and I
would like to participate in a Pioneer Trek as “Ma and Pa.” We would be given
eight to ten teenagers, that we didn’t know, and hike through the mountains of
Arizona for three days pulling a large handcart. We would sleep under the stars
and could only bring the bare essentials. Everyone’s personal belongings would
have to fit in a five gallon bucket. No air mattresses or cots. No makeup. No
electronics. The irony of sending me, a commercial pilot, an email about such a
journey made me chuckle.
If you don’t know the story of the Mormon pioneers, I
recommend you take some time to research their saga in American history. In
1844, an angry mob murdered the prophet, and leader of the church, Joseph
Smith, but that wasn’t enough to satisfy their anger and hatred. So, in
February of 1846 the Mormon pioneers left their comfortable homes and farms in Nauvoo,
Illinois, and began their westward trek to escape further persecution. The
first group entered the Great Basin of the Salt Lake in July of 1847.
The church started a fund to assist in the migration its
members, but as resources became scarce, they switched from companies of
covered wagons, to handcart companies. Equipped with a small wooden handcart
full of provisions, members of those companies would leave western Iowa and
trek 1300 miles through modern-day Iowa, Nebraska, and Wyoming. At best the journey
was arduous and exhausting. At worst it was deadly. However, until the
intercontinental railroad was complete, it allowed thousands to migrate to the
safety of Zion. More importantly, the difficult journey served as a crucible of
faith.
Today we learn from the courage and strength of those early
pioneers. We study their journals. We repeat their stories of courage and
faith. We give thanks for the miracles they beheld. But we don’t stop there. We
actually try and simulate the experience, with other people’s teenagers no
less.
I replied to the email and volunteered us as Ma and Pa.
It was over a hundred degrees in the valley when we loaded
up the busses and headed for high country. The air conditioning on the bus was
struggling, and I was already wondering what I had gotten us into. We piled off
the busses into the dusty meadow of the Arizona high country and divided into
families. My wife and I had nine children assigned to us – four boys and five
girls. We got the introductions out of the way, and started assembling our cart.
It was a six by three foot wagon bed with short wooden rails, oversized metal
wheels, and a metal crossbar out front for pulling. We stopped to eat a dinner
of chili and cornbread and then took great care as we loaded the cart in order
to balance the load. At seven o’clock in the evening we organized as companies
and hit the rocky trail.
An hour later as we trudged along in the dark eating the
dust of a dozen carts ahead of us, I began to wonder why we put ourselves
through such things. Do we really gain anything by making ourselves suffer? In
a world where technology has made my life easy, what is the purpose of discarding
it all and torturing ourselves?
The learning process is different for everyone, but the more
senses you involve, the more likely it is that learning will occur. Great sport
figures study game films in addition to practicing. Great chess players replay
games move by move to improve their performance. The military prepares for war
through realistic exercises. Pilots learn through lifelike simulation. Our
pioneer trek was a simulation designed to help us develop the same faith and
courage of those early pioneers.
We got to camp after nine o’clock under a bright moon and
picked a spot to throw out our tarps. While we ate a small snack, I gave a
short devotional on faith. Nobody complained or whined about the night’s
journey or about the rocky ground, and we slid into our sleeping bags to stave
off the coming cold and tried to get some sleep.
If I slept longer that ten continuous minutes that night, I
would be surprised. The cold air nipped at the top of my head and ears. The
rocks underneath me gnawed at my spine. I worried about the next day. As the
moon dipped low on the horizon, I peeked out of my warm sleeping bag and gazed
at the Milky Way so bright that I felt like I could reach out and touch it. It
made me feel so insignificant to see the innumerable points of light scattered
across the heavens. Who was I in such an infinite space? A shooting star
streaked across starry night. How ironic it is that a sky of stars can make you
believe in God and question your own insignificance at the same time.
I was glad to feel the sun come up. As lay there working up
my nerve to get out of my warm sleeping bag, I heard laughter from the camp
next to ours and it lifted my spirits. I knew it was going to be long day, and
yet the sound of laughter lightened my load. I crawled out into the cool
morning and loosened my weary bones.
We loaded up; formed up; and began pulling our cart down the
trail at 7:43. I was already tired and we hadn’t even started. The metal wheels
of the cart sang in harmony with our metal cups hanging off the back of the
cart as we bounced along the rocky ruts. We rotated often and worked together
to move the load up and over several hills. We sang songs, told jokes, and
played a memorization game to pass the time. Everyone was in good spirits. Then
we passed a company that had stopped for mock burial and were reminded how
fragile life on the trek could be.
After pulling all morning, our lunch of beef jerky, cheese,
bread, and apples was delicious. My wife and I constantly hounded the kids to
drink, but one of them still suffered from heat stress and dehydration and had
to visit the medic. The afternoon would get very long if we didn’t stay
hydrated. After lunch, we pulled for about forty five minutes and then stopped
for a rest. While we rested, the scenario took an interesting twist. A rider
approached dressed in a cavalry officer’s uniform and recruited all the men to
fight in the Mexican-American War (a very real historic event). This meant that
the women would be left to push the carts by themselves.
The boys and I hiked up the ridge and waited out of sight.
We watched as the women and girls labored to get the carts up that rocky hill.
Pioneer women were tough. At the Captain’s signal, we rushed down and began
pushing the carts with the women. All the women said that they got teary eyed
when they saw us coming out of the woods to help them. After we got to the top
of the hill, we parked and had a short devotional followed by juicy watermelon.
Next, we lined up for “Rocky Ridge” and prepared for the
hardest part of the day. It was a ridgeline with an incline of about 150 yards
of loose rock. You could get a running start, but there was no way to keep the
momentum. It would require a stop or two to make it all the way up the
ridgeline. It would require the best from everyone.
We organized as companies and while we waited our turn, and cheered on other families. It had been a long day already, and I got
butterflies when they motioned us forward, like we were about to go on a roller
coaster. I was at the bar with one of the young men. I had the other three
young men pushing the back. I had four of the girls on a rope attached to the
front bar. Everyone else pushed, pulled, cheered, or chocked the wheels when we
had to stop.
We had to cross a significant dip before we started up the
incline. When I gave the signal, we eased the cart off of the roadway and down
into the dip. At first we held back, not wanting the cart to get away from us,
but as soon as I thought we could keep the speed under control, I shouted, and
we cut loose. We ran to keep up with the cart for a few feet, and then we hit
the rocky slope. We pulled and pushed for all we were worth and made it up and
over the first small rise and around a couple of trees before we had to stop
and catch our breath. The girls chocked the wheels for a minute, and we made
the second big push.
We rounded the corner and could see all the way to the top.
Difficult challenges become much easier when you can see the end. We stopped
about fifty yards from the top and looked straight up at the challenge ahead.
We caught our breath one more time. Then, with a rebel yell we made the metal
wheels sing as they flew over the loose rocks. When we started to slow down,
several of the company personnel lent a hand. With the top of the ridge in
sight, we dug deep and kept the cart moving. The thin air of almost 8000 feet
burned in our lungs. The cart slowed a bit, but we willed it forward and up the
last ten yards and conquered the summit.
We stopped at the top to catch our breath and get a drink of
water. The view was spectacular, and we were all proud of what we had
accomplished together. We took a photo to remember the moment, drank water, and
then we continued moving our handcart forward to base camp for the night.
The joy and pride of conquering “Rocky Ridge” began to wear
off as we continued down the trail. We had no idea how far we had to go. We
thought it was short. We thought it would be right around the corner. We were
headed downhill, but the trail was rocky and rough. The fatigue of the day
began to take its toll, and since I didn’t know how much further we had to go, I
wondered if I could make it. We had rigged the cart for going up hill, not for
coming down. We didn’t have any brakes, and right about then we needed them. We
groaned and creaked along the rocky crevices for almost two more miles until
the trail became an almost level and smooth truck road and we knew we were
close. I turned the handcart over to our pioneer kids for the last stretch.
We came into camp tired, but happy. We set up camp, which included a tent
for changing, and began to clean up for dinner. We were covered in the fine
dust that is abundant in the high country of Arizona. We didn’t have a shower,
but I used a wet rag and a bar of soap to get as clean as I could. I probably
had enough dirt in my nose to start a small vegetable garden.
Dinner was delicious and even though the kids had enough
energy for a hoe down, I was wiped out. The ground was no softer the second
night, but I slept like a baby out of pure exhaustion. I got up to go to the portpottie
in the middle of the night, and the Milky Way was so bright I barely needed my
flashlight. As I walked back to my warm sleeping bag, I could see that the
mountain meadow was full of bodies, but nobody stirred. It was an amazing sight.
The next day we enjoyed a day of pioneer activities. We shot
black powder rifles. We threw tomahawks. We milked goats. We learned to throw a
lasso. We played games and had fun, but that afternoon, we had our camp
Sabbath. We held a testimony meeting among the pines. We
were exposed to all the elements beneath a clear blue sky and a light wind
rustled through the pine needles. In a setting like that you can hear nature’s
silent testimony of deity loud and clear.
We took some time for silent reflection and each of us found
a spot in the forest to ponder our lives. I took the opportunity to reflect on
my own heritage and the blessings passed on to me by my parents. They didn’t
cross the plains in covered wagons or pull a handcart across the Rocky Mountains,
but they were courageous in their conviction. They taught me to be the same.
That night we all gathered for a fireside, without the fire.
We enjoyed a skit, a musical number, and wise words. At the end of the meeting,
my wife and another Ma got up to lead us in a music medley made up of a male
and female part. They had never practiced leading it together, but they didn’t
miss a beat. The soothing female voices rang out among the pines declaring
their spiritual worth. The male voices countered it with a strong husky melody
declaring boldly of the courage of youth. I sang along with the young men, but
was soon so touched that I couldn’t sing anymore. I had begun this exercise in
hopes that I might help these young men and women in their journey of faith.
Now I stood among them listening to their conviction set to music. As tears
left tracks on my dirty face, my heart felt like it would burst. I realized
that they had helped me along my journey of faith.
If a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step,
how do you begin a journey of the heart? You begin with a desire. You let your
desire lead you on to the path of hope. You follow your hope until somewhere
along the path of adversity and trial, it becomes faith. Then, if you continue
to follow your faith, step by step, not seeing the end of the journey, you will
finally come to your destination. You will stand and boldly declare that your
heart has been changed. You will have a testimony of the truth etched indelibly
on your soul that will outlast all the physical ailments of your journey.
