What Is Our Required Sacrifice?

My ancestors were part of the mass exodus that came from Illinois across the plains to settle in Utah, the desolate desert. My Great-Great-Grandfather lost not only his wife, but his oldest daughter. His daughter died first, and they buried her near the Sweetwater River-- a little over one-hundred miles from their final destination.

Seventy-five miles from that final destination, his wife Caroline died. Before she died, she made him promise to bury her in the valley, and to bring the body of their daughter into the valley to be buried as well.
This man, my Great-Great Grandfather, carried his deceased wife the final seventy-five miles. He traveled night and day to fulfill her final wish. She was the first white woman to be buried here. Not a distinction any of us would want, I think.

After he buried Caroline, he traveled back to his wagon company, rested a day and continued back to where he had buried his six year old daughter, Margaret. However, when he arrived he found the wolves had just finished their ugly task.

Can you imagine?

I cannot.

I have a six year old, and as I think of her laying in the cold ground and the wolves coming, it breaks my heart. The sacrifices my ancestors made... I cannot wrap my brain around them.

Not one little bit.


My daughter will be playing the part of a pioneer girl for this next week. She dressed as a pioneer and packed only one change of clothes. She will be camping under the stars, and hiking through the mountains. She will have no showers, no makeup, no "luxuries" from home. She will have her only "belongings" in a handcart that she will be pushing, and pulling for the next four days and food will be scarce. She will be tired and hungry... much like my pioneer ancestors were.

I can only imagine how hard this is going to be. She will be discouraged, she might even feel like crying or quitting. She will, however, have to keep putting one foot in front of the other. She has to keep moving forward--stay with her company-- or be left behind. (not really.)

When I let my mind wander to what she is experiencing, I am emotional. I have a tendency to swoop in and save my child.  It is a bad habit, and while I am trying to stop that, it's the truth.  I pontificate often on how it is necessary to let your child "fail" or "suffer the consequences" of his choices, and yet when it comes right down to it, I want to save them.

I think all mother's are like that, to some extent.

What mother wants to see their child struggling? Or failing?

Not this mother.

She will be struggling the next few days, and there is nothing I can do to help her. I suppose it is good I am not there. She will have her Trek "Ma & Pa" to lean on, and to offer her their support. The only thing I could tell her, as I hugged her goodbye was: "When it gets hard, don't forget to pray. The Lord will help you! You are strong and you can do hard things!"

I know that is true, it's just hard to remember it sometimes.

My pioneer ancestors were a group of people who had nothing and were required to give everything and we are a generation that has everything and are required to give nothing.

They gave their homes, their belongings and some even gave their lives. Later, the required sacrifice was their money (and it still is). However, now? Money, for most, is easy to give. That is no longer our required sacrifice. Our required sacrifice is our time.

Time.

Such an easy thing, one would think, to give. And yet, some are quite greedy with their time, and unwilling to share any of it with The Lord. It's easier to just write a check, than it is to give of the one thing that we all have very little of-- Our Time. That's why it is our sacrifice. Because it's hard.

I'm grateful for the Time that is being sacrificed on behalf of my child. She will benefit from this experience. She will grow and gain a greater understanding of what she is able to accomplish; of who she is able to become.