monday
The girl with the patchwork apron walks beside the wagon.
In her arms she cradles a worn rag doll whose silk blue eyes are faded from weeks worth of prairie dust.
The girl’s hands are small and tender, yet dirt cakes beneath her nails and settles in the creases in her fingers, outlining the twelve years she holds onto tightly.
She shifts the doll and runs a dirty finger down her cotton cheek.
One day we’ll be there, she says.
The doll stares back with her sad smile stitched in place.
The doll didn’t seem sad a year ago.
The little girl holds that memory in place.
When they get there, then the doll will smile as it used to.
The blue silk has long lost its shine.
tuesday
The girl is back beside the wagon.
She trails a long piece of yellowing prairie grass in the spokes of the wheels, humming a hymn with the little breath walking five miles leaves her with.
The breeze picks up her notes and carries them to the front of the wagon train, where a man hears the melody.
His deep, rugged voice breaks the tired silence that hovers over the group day in and day out.
Down the train it flows, back to the girl whose hair is now falling out of her braids.
The wind blows back her bonnet and it hangs from her throat by its ribbons.
She smiles, and her whole face lights up as feathery words escape her throat and take flight on the shoulders of beckoning winds.
“All is well, All is well.”
The girl is back beside the wagon.
She trails a long piece of yellowing prairie grass in the spokes of the wheels, humming a hymn with the little breath walking five miles leaves her with.
The breeze picks up her notes and carries them to the front of the wagon train, where a man hears the melody.
His deep, rugged voice breaks the tired silence that hovers over the group day in and day out.
Down the train it flows, back to the girl whose hair is now falling out of her braids.
The wind blows back her bonnet and it hangs from her throat by its ribbons.
She smiles, and her whole face lights up as feathery words escape her throat and take flight on the shoulders of beckoning winds.
“All is well, All is well.”
wednesday
It rains.
Thunder crashes overhead, the sound of a thousand hearts breaking as the heavens cry for all that has been lost.
The girl sits huddled beneath the wagon’s cover, a baby sister in her lap, and a tiny brother at her side.
She hears her name called, bites her lip before gently placing the weeping infant in her brother’s innocent arms, and jumps out of the wagon.
She runs to the front where the oxen kneel, one moaning.
Her mother tugs gently on the reigns, her father pulls the harness of the suffering beast.
It’s foot is stuck in the mud, sunk all the way to the knee, and it cannot free itself from nature’s trap.
The girl’s heart pounds louder than the thrumming torrent pelting her body.
Soaked and shivering, she hurries behind the wagon and slips in the sludge.
Her knees hit the ground, and not for the first time, she feels the deep pleas of her heart pour forth in prayer.
Her sobs carry upward, the deep humility she has learned transforming to faith with every syllable she utters.
When she stands again, the hem of her dress is dripping with dirt and water and she can no longer feel dry wool on her toes, but she stumbles towards the oxen.
It rains.
Thunder crashes overhead, the sound of a thousand hearts breaking as the heavens cry for all that has been lost.
The girl sits huddled beneath the wagon’s cover, a baby sister in her lap, and a tiny brother at her side.
She hears her name called, bites her lip before gently placing the weeping infant in her brother’s innocent arms, and jumps out of the wagon.
She runs to the front where the oxen kneel, one moaning.
Her mother tugs gently on the reigns, her father pulls the harness of the suffering beast.
It’s foot is stuck in the mud, sunk all the way to the knee, and it cannot free itself from nature’s trap.
The girl’s heart pounds louder than the thrumming torrent pelting her body.
Soaked and shivering, she hurries behind the wagon and slips in the sludge.
Her knees hit the ground, and not for the first time, she feels the deep pleas of her heart pour forth in prayer.
Her sobs carry upward, the deep humility she has learned transforming to faith with every syllable she utters.
When she stands again, the hem of her dress is dripping with dirt and water and she can no longer feel dry wool on her toes, but she stumbles towards the oxen.
She leans against the worn wood of the wagon and raises her clasped fists to her mouth.
With a final tug, a miracle tug, the ox frees himself from the snare and finally stands, his moaning fading as the rain does.
The sunlight illuminates the last raindrops left behind.
Gold and diamonds free fall, treasures that heaven promises.
With a final tug, a miracle tug, the ox frees himself from the snare and finally stands, his moaning fading as the rain does.
The sunlight illuminates the last raindrops left behind.
Gold and diamonds free fall, treasures that heaven promises.
The golden drops drip down her face as she cries her thanks.
thursday
She fingers the frayed edges of the ribbons in her hair.
First the left, then the right, she pulls loose.
She braids them into the faded doll’s flossy black hair.
The baby breathes beside her.
She fingers the frayed edges of the ribbons in her hair.
First the left, then the right, she pulls loose.
She braids them into the faded doll’s flossy black hair.
The baby breathes beside her.
Sweat beads her tiny forehead.
She has been ill for days now.
The girl tucks the doll into the sleeping infant’s arms and curls around her.
She has been ill for days now.
The girl tucks the doll into the sleeping infant’s arms and curls around her.
Her heartbeat thrums weakly.
A tear drips down the girl's cheek.
She does not feel like singing.
A tear drips down the girl's cheek.
She does not feel like singing.
friday
They marked the grave with a loose plank from mama’s rocking chair.
The girl left her the doll, a guardian angel to keep the peace in the flowery meadow that the baby was buried in.
Tears had rolled down the girl’s cheeks all morning, and all that’s left is the dried up beds of silent streams.
She clutches a wildflower bouquet in her hand.
It wilts from the heat, the buds drooping and the stems creased and coated in the sweat from her palm, yet they still retain their color.
Broken, yet beautiful.
That morning she was angry.
God had answered her prayer before, why not now?
Why would He do this to her? To them?
But as she gazes at the flowers and thinks of all she knows to be true, the outline of a calm assurance breaks through the fog clouding her vision.
She does not understand.
She does not know if she ever will.
But He loves her.
That is enough.
saturday
The pain has dulled to a throbbing sting in her chest.
Her voice cries out in song all day as she walks.
The trials she endures will only end in blessings.
Her sister, an innocent child, will be safe.
As the girl walks beside the wagon, she thrusts out her hand to the side, reaching for someone, yet looking forward.
The ghost of a hand slides into hers.
She looks down, no one is there, but a warm feeling she knows for certain she can never deny spreads from her fingertips through every part of her body.
Her strength is in the Lord.
Her voice becomes steady and strong as she sings out.
She never looks back.
The pain has dulled to a throbbing sting in her chest.
Her voice cries out in song all day as she walks.
The trials she endures will only end in blessings.
Her sister, an innocent child, will be safe.
As the girl walks beside the wagon, she thrusts out her hand to the side, reaching for someone, yet looking forward.
The ghost of a hand slides into hers.
She looks down, no one is there, but a warm feeling she knows for certain she can never deny spreads from her fingertips through every part of her body.
Her strength is in the Lord.
Her voice becomes steady and strong as she sings out.
She never looks back.
sunday
Rest. Coveted rest craved by all who travel meets her on the ground wrapped in the same patchwork quilt her apron was born from.
She turns her eyes to the heavens.
It is warm tonight, and every star illuminates the next one until the sky is so full it might burst.
Her breath leaves her, and her heart skips a beat as she gazes upon the hand-painted beauty before her.
Ponder.
Every tear, every step, every song to bring the forth the work and the gory of the Lord, my God.
She understands.
She understands that she may not comprehend all that is in store for her, except that she must be led forward by faith.
She understands why He allows her to cry under such trials.
She understands why she was brought here and where she is going and who she is to Him.
With every thought that soars forward to join the millions of others surrounding her, peace fills her heart.
She rolls onto her knees and sends a prayer to her Father, Who smiles down upon her with love.
That night, she rests with troubles behind her.
A hymn dances through her dreams, the very one that carries her forward day in and day out.
“All is well, all is well.”
Rest. Coveted rest craved by all who travel meets her on the ground wrapped in the same patchwork quilt her apron was born from.
She turns her eyes to the heavens.
It is warm tonight, and every star illuminates the next one until the sky is so full it might burst.
Her breath leaves her, and her heart skips a beat as she gazes upon the hand-painted beauty before her.
Ponder.
Every tear, every step, every song to bring the forth the work and the gory of the Lord, my God.
She understands.
She understands that she may not comprehend all that is in store for her, except that she must be led forward by faith.
She understands why He allows her to cry under such trials.
She understands why she was brought here and where she is going and who she is to Him.
With every thought that soars forward to join the millions of others surrounding her, peace fills her heart.
She rolls onto her knees and sends a prayer to her Father, Who smiles down upon her with love.
That night, she rests with troubles behind her.
A hymn dances through her dreams, the very one that carries her forward day in and day out.
“All is well, all is well.”
Today is July 24th. This day marks the 171st year since members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints arrived in the Salt Lake Valley, Utah after a long, grueling trek across the country They had been driven from their treasured homes in Nauvoo, Illinois where they thought they would be safe from violent religious persecution. Last year I had the opportunity to walk down Parley Street in Nauvoo towards the Mississippi River, the very same road the Saints would have taken en route. They didn't know what trials they would face, or whether they would ever be safe. But they had faith and trust in their God. They knew that no matter what they faced they would be strengthened through His hand and one day they would receive the sanctuary they had been longing for.
I can only imagine the pain they endured, and when I think of that, it becomes difficult for me to take for granted the ultimate sacrifice that our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ suffered in the Garden of Gethsemane as He endured the pain of everyone in the world, generations forward and back.
There have been many other people throughout the course of history who faced similar circumstances—Martin Luther, William Tyndale, Joan of Arc, Galileo—and died for their faith, just as these stalwart Saints did. All of these figures have strengthened my faith as I read and learn about them. I am very grateful today for the freedom I have to worship freely, and I hope that somehow others can feel the same as we recognize the sacrifices that were made for all to have that privilege. Many people in the world do not have that precious gift. We are a blessed people.
I feel very passionately about the sacrifices and trials these pioneers endured, and so this short poem/story is my little tribute to them. The hymn I quoted is "Come, Come Ye Saints" written by William Clayton around the same time period the Saints began their trek. I really love this song, and if you want to listen to the full thing, I've linked to a video below in which the song is performed by the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. I hope you all have a blessed day, or night, and feel the love the Savior has for you. I love you all! <3
Smiles!
Nicole
This is beautiful, Nicole. Absolutely, heart-rendingly beautiful. <3
ReplyDeleteThank you!
DeleteWow. This was so powerful and amazing. Absolutely beautiful. I had to hold back tears. <3
ReplyDeleteThank you, Nicole!
DeleteThis is amazing, great job, Nicole! <3
ReplyDeleteThank you!
DeleteThis is a beautiful poem Nicole! I love reading it.
ReplyDeleteThank you! :)
DeleteOH MY
ReplyDeletewhoa
ahhh I’m late to commenting on this, but this poem is amazing and oh so beautiful!
Thank you so much! <3
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