M E R I D I A N     M A G A Z I N E

The Hearts of The Fathers
By Barton L. Carter

In the year 1660, thirty-six year old Jonathan Hatch with twelve other men and their families sailed, to escape persecution, across the south coast of Cape Cod and landed at a place at its western extremity called by the Indians, Sackoneset. Jonathan’s wife bore the first white child in the new settlement, later named Falmouth, under cover of an overturned boat, among the bulrushes (so it is said). He was named Moses Hatch.

One-hundred and seventeen years later, 1777, Hadlock brothers Joseph and Jonathan of Weare, New Hampshire joined the brigade of Brigadier General John Stark, marched across New Hampshire and Vermont, met the British and Brunswick mercenaries at a place called Bennington, routed them, and stopped the advance of British General John Burgoyne down the Hudson River. Precursor to the Battle of Saratoga, Bennington became the pivotal battle of the War for Independence in the North.

In the summer of 1834, forty-eight-year-old Hannah Libby Carter, at the urging of the Mormon elders and with the promise that she should be healed, rose from her sick bed, walked, a half-mile from her cabin to the Bear River of central Maine, and was baptized a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Thus begun, her journey didn’t end until that day in 1851 when she arrived at Fort Utah in the Great Basin.

In October 1838, Hannah’s daughter-in-law, Lydia Carter, twenty-nine years old, was driven with her five children from their cabin in the vicinity of Far West, Missouri by a mob of ruffians. At the mercy of inclement weather, Lydia was taken ill and died.

In 1855, Lydia’s son Sidney, twenty-one, was called as blacksmith for a mission to what is now Las Vegas, Nevada. Two years later, he took two wives in polygamy and ultimately went to prison under federal anti-polygamy laws.

In March 1922, forty-five-year-old Rosetta May Carter, Sidney’s daughter-in-law and eight months pregnant, died of double pneumonia. She left six children and a husband who, for love, never remarried.

How many thousands of accounts like these few excerpts do we hear from the pulpits of the Church? They never cease to inspire and motivate us, as we reflect soberly upon the difficulties our ancestors encountered and upon the magnitude of their sacrifices.

Grandmother Carter was born and died on the frontier. She never had a home with anything but a coal stove, never had a flush toilet or an electric clock. Her son, my father, often said they didn’t know they were poor; nobody ever told them. Nevertheless, what they lacked in wealth, they made up in love and caring for their children. In his old age, dad reflected warmly upon that humble home where his widower father gathered and taught his children. Grandpa took the youngest on his lap and, with the others leaning against his knees or seated nearby, sang to them for hours on end; he told them humorous and sad stories about their kin, near and far, and joked and kidded with them through long winter evenings, there in the snows and frosts of Montana. Though poor, they were rich in life’s greatest gift: the sense of security and identity springing from family relationships.

Yearnings

One of the greatest tragedies of this generation is the failure of many parents in meeting the emotional and spiritual needs of their children. This may account, in part, for what author Alex Haley wrote: "In all of us there is a hunger, marrow-deep, to know our heritage—to know who we are and where we come from. Without this enriching knowledge, there is a hollow yearning. No matter what our attainments in life, there is still a vacuum, an emptiness, and the most disquieting loneliness."1  While yearning and loneliness may be general among the population, it is most profound in children and youth, especially those born into unstable or dysfunctional family environments.

Within the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, parents have ultimate responsibility to live righteous lives while conducting family home evenings, family scripture study, family prayer, and any other family activities conducive to righteous family solidarity. Even so, there may be more that we each can do for our children and youth to satisfy what Mr. Haley sees as universal deprivation.

Excepting gravity and magnetism, there is no attraction quite as strong or inexorable as the bond of blood relationships. Our yearning for identity may be answered in this awareness as noted by President James E. Faust at the October 2003 general conference: "In many ways each of us is the sum total of what our ancestors were. The virtues they had may be our virtues, their strengths our strengths, and in a way their challenges could be our challenges."2

The most common lesson we learn from our ancestors is that they knew joy and happiness tinctured by pain and suffering. They also were human and flawed. Consequently, we may take comfort that we are neither the first nor the last to face weaknesses, trials, and tribulation, while drawing from the well springs of faith that motivated and sustained them. The Prophet Moroni recorded a wish that, I think, would be common to all of them and, perhaps, to ourselves as we make our way through the swamps and rose-covered paths of parenting:

"Behold, I speak unto you as though I spake from the dead. . . .

"Condemn me not because of mine imperfection, neither my father, because of his imperfection . . . but rather give thanks unto God that he hath made manifest unto you our imperfections, that ye may learn to be more wise than we have been." [Mormon 8:30-31.]

As each child is tucked into bed at night, if there is a mutual sense of love and forgiveness for the trespasses of the day, and if this attitude prevails throughout the maturing years, parents may be confident of a favorable response to the plea: "Dear child, I hope, I wish that you would be wiser than I have been." And if there are added the lessons of faith, endurance, and sacrifice of loving grandparents, great-grandparents, and other ancestors, most of our children or youth will respond favorably. Thus liberally supplied, they will not lack identity or self-esteem.

Malachi, who prophesied of the restoration of sealing keys through Elijah, promised that the hearts of the fathers would be turned to the children. [D&C 110:14-15.] How is it possible that they, the dead fathers, can influence the living children? The answer is simple enough if we have compiled and published our memoirs (looking ahead a generation or two) and biographies for our ancestors. I said simple—not easy, not fast, and not without effort. However, if attempted and followed through, even the most pedestrian effort will prove to be among our most cherished accomplishments. Those who have actually done so have communed with their ancestors in a very real and palpable sense. And they have seen miracles in the midst of their labors, seemingly insignificant, except to themselves, and unmistakably the workings of the Spirit.

Where to Begin

So, where does one begin? These are the steps: collect and store; read and research; record and transcribe; photograph and scan; write and edit; compose and publish; distribute and enjoy. A brief summarization of each topic follows.

Collect and Store. Many years ago, President (then Elder) Boyd K. Packer encouraged us to begin our family history by collecting all our stuff in one place—in a box. Journals, biographies, portraits, photographs, letters, newspaper clippings, and other materials in your possession should be collected. Then reach out to parents, siblings, and other relatives; duplicate what you can or make notes about what is available and where. Devise a filing system and organize your collection. Use acid free folders and store in a cool, dry place.

Read and Research. The best biographies place the ancestor within the historical venue. Sixth-great-grandfather David Libby, for example, was born at Scarborough, Maine in 1690. Would it make any difference to the reader to know that David was born during King William’s War and that his parents were driven out of their home by Indians soon after his birth? Research is indispensable to writing a compelling biography, and one of the best historical collections is to be found at the Family History Library in Salt Lake City.

Record and Transcribe. Start early and capture your grandparents, parents, and other knowledgeable relatives on audio or video tape. Take a walking tour of their hometown, farm, ranch, or house, and the memories will flow. Then sit down to your word processor and type it up. Transcription is time-consuming but necessary—and rewarding.

Photograph and Scan. Take photographs and add them to your collection. Photographs can be scanned for insertion into your biography.

Write and Edit. Getting words on paper will be your greatest challenge, but I can assure you that the rewards are greater than the pains.

Compose and Publish. In this and every other step to publication, your personal computer will be your best tool. Unless you plan on professional printing, the biography may be composed on your word processor, complete with photos and other images, footnotes, indexes, etc. The print quality of your ink jet or laser printer is probably sufficient for photo-duplication at a copy shop. You may then decide which binding method, (three-ring, comb binding, etc.) is most appropriate.

Distribute and Enjoy. It’s finished! Now savor and share it.

The restoration of keys held by Elijah upon the heads of Joseph Smith and Oliver Cowdery in the Kirtland Temple in 1836 was accompanied with the promise that the hearts of the children should be turned to the fathers. Its fulfillment is seen in the monumental effort to seek out and perform saving ordinances for our kindred dead in the temples of the Church. For their part, the fathers (and mothers), whose hearts were to be turned to us—who, I truly believe, are aware and reach out in love to our generation—have, yet, a service to perform. It is up to us to give them a voice.

End Notes

1. Alex Haley, "What Roots Means to Me, Reader’s Digest, May 1977, 73-74.

2. James E. Faust, "The Phenomenon That Is You," Ensign, Nov. 2003, 53.

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