Justin and I enjoyed the special privilege of attending our Stake Trek week as "Ma and Pa Bradshaw". It was a time to reflect upon the many sacrifices made by the early Mormon pioneers that crossed the plains to Utah in the 19th century.
For many attendees, including our own little trek family, the Women’s Pull was one of the most memorable parts of the trek experience. When we reached the appointed place, the men in our family left the handcart reluctantly, not at all certain that we would be able to accomplish the task that had been given, to haul this 600 pound handcart straight up a hill for over a mile. After much resistance, they took their water bottles and left our wagon on the trail. We were left to reenact the reality of all the brave pioneer women who crossed the plains without husbands, brothers, and fathers to help shoulder the physical burdens of the journey.
The women gathered together for a special devotional by Stake Young Women's President Sister Pugmire, who spoke of the virtues and responsibilities of womanhood, while the Young Men were similarly instructed at the top of the hill. Following the devotional, we returned to our handcarts to begin our pull.
As we waited for our turn to set out up the hill, our family knelt together in the dust by our handcart and prayed for the Lord’s assistance. We pled for His strength, His comfort, and we prayed that we would learn what He wished us to learn from the experience. As we closed our prayer, I promised my girls that we would receive help that day, that if they would open their hearts and minds, they would feel the angels round about us, bearing us up, and that with their help, we would be able to accomplish the task that had been given to us. I testified that the pioneer sisters that had gone before us would come to our aid on our trek because they wanted us to not only understand what they did in crossing the plains to Zion, but why they did it.
I took my position at the back of the handcart and as we slowly began to push our cart up the hill, I couldn’t believe how difficult it was. It was so heavy, it was so hot outside, it was so hard. We stopped to rest and drink water. We pushed and pulled some more. There was no breath for singing, no energy for conversation. I wasn’t sure how we were going to make it, but we were determined to give our all in the attempt.
About one quarter of the way up the hill, just when I wondered whether I could take another step, I experienced the unexpected. I suddenly felt the presence of my son Dex beside me, laughing at my surprise. I did not see him with my eyes, but I knew without a doubt that he was there all the same. “Who else did you think would come?” he asked with amusement. And he began to push the cart. I left a trail of tears in the dust as I continued to push our handcart up the trail. At our next rest stop, I asked the young women in our family if they could feel the help that we were receiving and with tears in their eyes, they emphatically answered, “YES!” I let them know that one of our helpers was my son. A few of them were able to share who they felt had had come for them. We pushed on, now fully confident that we would accomplish our mission.
As we continued the Pull, there were extra steep portions of the trail that should have been the hardest, but felt the easiest. The men were waiting for us near the top of the hill, hats over their hearts, forbidden to move, only to look into our faces as we passed. Once we crossed a certain mark on the trail, the men in our family were allowed to step in to help push the cart, and they did so with great enthusiasm. It was an emotional reunion for all.
At this point, there was very little room left on the handcart for me. Just one little corner at the back, where I couldn’t provide much assistance. I thought about letting go. I wanted to let go. I almost let go, and there would have been no shame in it. In the end, I thought about our little trek family, how much I loved them after just 3 short days, and that I didn’t want to be left behind. I thought of my own little Bradshaw children that I had left at home for the week with grandma, I thought of my Dex; I thought of all of the ancestors that have gone before that are concerned about our wellbeing. I didn’t want to be left behind. I held on to the side of that cart when every physical inclination rebelled against it. I didn’t let go and we walked into camp triumphantly. As a family. For this and many other reasons, I am thankful for the opportunity that I had to attend Trek.
