I took a class called Religion, Art, and Social Change from Harvard Extension this past semester. I had a great experience and wanted to share my final project with you. We were encouraged to do a piece of art in a medium that was new to us. I tried my hand at some pastels and got very child-like results--Davy could have done my project for me! So without further ado:
From my heritage I have learned that one can do hard things with faith and perseverance.
The part of my family history that I am going to share with you tonight is the part that joined the Latter-day Saints (some of you may recognize the term “Mormon”) when the Church was new and endured some difficult experiences. I began this project inspired by the images and expressions of exile that we read and talked about in class. They resonated with me because I saw some similarities between the Nakba and the persecution and exodus of my LDS pioneer ancestors. However, the more I drew my little child-like drawings and thought about what to say, the more I realized that my true heritage is one of faith, hope, and optimism for the future. I kept asking my mom and grandpa for more stories of pain and heartbreak, and they kept returning with stories of overcoming discouragement and triumphing over adversity. This is not to say that those people long ago and those living now do not feel the depths of sadness and physical hardship acutely, but rather that the emphasis is on moving forward and beyond.
Here is some background information on what I believe about the origins of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Joseph Smith was a young teenager during the great spiritual revival of the early 19th century. He prayed to know which of the many churches was true. In response to his prayer God the Father and his son Jesus Christ appeared to him and told him that the fullness of the gospel and truth would be restored to the earth. Joseph Smith’s claims to be a prophet and the translation of ancient golden plates into the Book of Mormon made many join him, and made even more rally against him.
My third great-grandma, Caroline Cottom, listened to the missionaries preaching the gospel in England and joined the Church. Because of her choice, her employers kicked her out of their home and her family disowned her. Finally she left all that was familiar to join the Saints in a new Zion, in America. Even here in America, she faced the repeated rejection and removal from town to town and then continued across the plains to the west. In my drawing I tore the page to represent Caroline’s feeling of being ripped from her family and home.
A more violent persecution followed the Latter-day Saints as mobs and governments chased them out of one state after another, pushing them further west. Finally in Nauvoo, Illinois, the hatred surrounding the Latter-day Saints culminated and the mobs murdered the prophet Joseph Smith, and burned the Saints’ temple to the ground. Another third great-grandma, Ann Alice Gheen, fled to safety. In the middle of winter many Saints crossed the frozen Mississippi and began an arduous trek to the Rocky Mountains. I drew this picture from my memories of hearing the story as a child, with a black, faceless mob chasing the pioneers after torching the temple that they had worked so hard to build.
Though finally free of the persecution of the mobs, many people died along the way and were buried in the wilderness. The days were long and hard. I left half the picture white to represent emptiness. The Saints were so far from any comforts of home, yet faith and hope persevered. Yet more of my great-great grandparents, Henry Eyring from Germany and Mary Bommeli from Switzerland were in the same group and spent the journey getting to know each other and courting. They recounted the journey as a “long romantic walk.”
I grew up in the desert land my ancestors sweat to make “blossom like a rose” and I long for my home among the mountains. How much I miss those beautiful mountains that my ancestors found at first so difficult and barren! My journey across the country has been voluntary and easy, but still I feel far from home and family. I feel my faith grow stronger the more it has to be stretched, however.
More than anything, I am bound to my ancestors and my children by our longing for heaven. We are so far from our home with our heavenly parents—exiled to a “trial of our faith” on this earth. In our LDS temples we link ourselves to our past and future and through these ordinances we are able to cross through the veil that separates us from God and be reunited with him and with all our loved ones for eternity. This veil which causes us to forget our heavenly home seems to part a little when we welcome a baby into our lives. I have twice gone through the “valley of the shadow of death” in natural child labor and come out on the other side. When I hold that newborn I am overcome with hope for the future, that this child will love others as brothers and sisters and never know the kind of disdain or hatred that hurt other people. I may not affect a broad social change, but I have the power to influence my children to endure trials well. The heritage of perseverance that is in my blood and my religion has resulted in the re-building of the Nauvoo temple that was destroyed by intolerant mobs, and many more temples around the world besides. I know many Saints—whether of my religion or not—who endure trials with faith and hope. This is the heritage, the legacy, with which I intend to inspire my children.
