Why “Remembering” is Sacred to Me Fires Reader's Memories
A Small Cedar Chest
The article I own which symbolizes the eternal principle of remembrance to me is a small cedar chest. The chest reminds me of the small chest my second Great-Grandmother, Ane Larsen, carried across the ocean from Denmark and then across the continent in 1856 as a member of the Hodgett Wagon Train which accompanied the Martin Handcart Company. She felt inspired to keep this small chest in her wagon, even though the handcart pioneers – including those associated with the accompanying wagon trains – were admonished to lighten their loads several times during their journey. Each time they were so admonished, the spirit instructed her to continue to keep the small chest.
A mother of three small children at the beginning of her journey to America , she delivered a son, whom she named Joseph, near Ogallala , Nebraska . The child lived through all the trials of Martin's Cove, but finally perished of starvation and exposure near the Green River in Wyoming . It was then that Ane realized why she had been prompted to keep her small chest. It was used to cradle Joseph's tiny body in the hard, frozen earth. She later told her remaining children that leaving her baby out on the windswept plains was the hardest thing she had ever done in her life, but that if they and their children stayed true to the gospel, it would be worth it.
Because our family participated in several wagon train re-enactments during the late 1990's, I was privileged to walk near the places where the above events occurred. I stood at Deer Creek and thought of Ane holding her sleeping infant in her arms the night the pioneers burned their extra blankets and clothing, which they would soon need, near that river. I also stood at Bessemer Bend and Reshaw Bridge and contemplated their fording the freezing Platte River a few days later in the face of an impending blizzard. I rode into Martin's Cove in our covered wagon and thought of the eight-hundred plus souls who tried to shelter there, and I stood next to the Green River in Wyoming and wondered exactly where little Joseph was buried.
At a wagon train campfire in Rocky Creek Hollow in 1999, I related Ane's experience with her little chest to a member of the Riverton, Wyoming Stake Presidency who had helped compile the information for the book The Second Rescue. (This book details the genealogy work done by members of the Riverton, Wyoming Stake for those members of the handcart companies who perished in the Wyoming snows in 1856. Joseph's name had been omitted from the first edition of that book, and I was hoping it could be added in future editions.) That night as I related Joseph's story, I felt his great desire to be remembered. (In fact, as we spoke about him, Joseph's exact words in my head were, "Remember me! Remember me! Remember me!")
On the “Big Train” in 1997, President Monson had admonished the members of the wagon train to “remember” and to “bring home to the valley with them” a pioneer who had perished on the trail. As I type this, I can now more fully understand why he did that, as I can't think of many ways to form a stronger, more eternal bond with someone than to keep them in your remembrance. I also think this is why we were given the Book of Mormon and the Bible. Just think of how often the Book of Mormon prophets, especially, wrote about their desire for their words and spiritual experiences to be recorded, preserved and remembered, and of how many times we are admonished to keep personal journals and books of remembrance.
As a result of these experiences, I decided that I wanted to have a small chest made to remind me of Ane's small chest and of little Joseph. I found a carpenter and told him what I wanted. I gave him a little bit of the history of Joseph and Ane and also told him the reason I wanted the chest. However, I hadn't really told him anything about my feelings about genealogy and family history being all about welding links and tying families together, as he was a not a member of the LDS Church.
Imagine my surprise when he brought the chest to me, and he had decorated it with small inserts of walnut in the shape of bow ties -- the centers of which were actual knots from larger pieces of walnut. The "decorations" which he fashioned for this beautiful chest which was to be a visual and tangible reminder for me of little Joseph, his sweet mother, Ane, and all of my other "special" ancestors, and of genealogy and family history in general, have now given the chest an even deeper spiritual symbolism. Thus, when I look at this little chest and see those tie-shaped decorations with their knotted centers, I am reminded of the spiritual knots that bind me to my ancestors.
I finally understood that desire to be remembered even better a few weeks ago after listening more intently to the words of the Sacrament prayer in which we are asked to always remember the Savior. I realized then that remembering those ancestors of ours who sacrificed so much (some like little Joseph even sacrificing their lives) to allow us to understand the Gospel and our Savior's role in it is akin to remembering the Savior and his sacrifice for us. It is part of a sacred principle -- that of remembrance -- and that, in truth, the whole earth WILL be wasted at His coming if we do not understand that principle. I also believe that the Book of Remembrance that will be presented to the Lord will include not only the names of our ancestors and ourselves, but will also include the spiritual experiences (to me -- the real welding links) we have had in connecting with, sacrificing for, and serving each other
Chrystine Heward Reynolds
Crescent, Pennsylvania
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A Portrait of an Adventurous Grandfather
Some years ago, while returning from Fiji to the UK , the family stopped over in Seattle to visit my sister in law and her family for Thanksgiving. My daughter and I took the opportunity to drive up to Vancouver to meet for the first and only time a cousin of my father's who very generously gave me a small, battered 1847 oil painting of my great, great grandfather. The portrait makes him appear almost effeminate yet, within eight years, this man was to sail by clipper to New Zealand , a three-month adventure that would take him round the Cape and across the Indian Ocean . Such a journey, at that time, would have been a once-in-a-lifetime experience but this young, soft-looking man was to return to England after less than five years and later journey across the Atlantic to America where, rumour has it, he went wandering in up-state New York only to come to an untimely death in the claws of a grizzly!
I cherish the painting and continue to be amazed that such a gentle looking soul would even attempt, let alone achieve so much.
Paul G Pratt
Canterbury Stake, England
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Grandfather's “Bones”
I am a convert to the Church. My ancestors on both sides of my family were not LDS, but were early settlers of Colorado . When I was about 10 years old I attended a wedding anninversary for my Great Grandparents (60 years I believe) and I recall watching my then 90 year old Great Grandfather "rattle the bones" while his grand daughter played a rickty piano. The bones were two, slightly curved pieces of ebony that one played as a rythm instrument by holding them between the fingers and clacking them together. I am told my Great Grandfather played and sang for many dances in the early days, usually with a fiddler friend. At this same event, my Grandfather played an old love song on his harmonica while Great Grandfather sang to his wife.
Many years later, when my parents died, I was helping to clean out their home. We were mostly through sorting and removing before selling the house. There were just a few drawers left with what looked to be mostly junk and craft materials. I was tempted to toss all of it. But I sat down on the floor and began going through things one at a time. That is when I discovered my Great Grandfather's "bones" wrapped in a frayed old hankerchief, and my Grandfathers harmonica, still tobacco stained, in it's original case.
No one sees these things, but they are in a box in my closet with my harmonicas and mouth harps, on a shelf over where I keep my six guitars and three mandolins.
Gary McCallister
Grand Junction, CO
Sparking?
Wonderful article...but what is a sparking lamp?
Thank you.
Betty Rossow
Editor: A sparking lamp is usually called a “courting candle.” It is a candle in a holder where it can be adjusted so that only so much of the candle can burn before it goes out. It was a way for parents to be able to control how long a would-be suitor could visit before he was required to leave. If you didn't approve of the young man, only a little bit of the candle would be allowed to burn before he must leave.
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Still Breathing in Pile of Bodies
I have in my home a sugar and creamer set of china. It was given to me by my Great Aunt Margaret and she told me it came on a handcart. We have, in our family, a member of the Willy Handcart Company, John Stewart. You may have read the story of man who was with a pile of frozen bodies waiting to be buried. His wife went to him and realized that he was still breathing and he was taken to the fire where he was warmed and resuscitated. She put him in the handcart, strapped her infant to her chest with her shawl and pulled him the rest of the way to the valley. These two small delicate pieces of handmade china remind me of all I have to be thankful for.
Marjean Livingston
St. Louis, Missouri
