Growing

I just got home from Trek, but I didn't learn as much about the pioneers as I thought I would. I spent 4 days pulling a handcart UP A MOUNTAIN ending at a grand 9000 ft. in elevation (by Scofield) wearing a dress with too many layers, but I wasn't as physically drained as I thought I would be. We didn't spend as much time as girls' camp with the spiritual aspect of everything, but I was more touched and stirred by the spirit than I thought I would be. I didn't get homesick, I didn't get blisters, I didn't sprain anything or get heat exhaustion, but there were times that were harder than many things I have faced in a long time. And I grew SO much. Here are some things I learned.

I love the priesthood.
The men of my family were so kind, pulling more than their share just so that Little Carrot and I would not have to do quite as much. They helped carry my bucket, helped set up our shelter every night, and helped us not to give up. At the top of Heartbreak Hill (explained later) there were several priesthood blessings given, and the contrast of feelings before and after those blessings was tremendous. Throughout the whole experience, I felt the power of the priesthood over our camp, and I saw the magnificence in the men and boys who respected that authority. I saw strong teenage boys weeping in behalf of the girls. It was one of the most mature, strong, compassionate things I have ever seen. I certainly do not think them less tough for it (probably even more so, I think). I need the priesthood in my life. I am so greatful I have friends who hold it.

I need to feel more.
I am feeling more and more that I am feeling less and less. I do not believe that one can get used to the spirit, and that a dulling in the influence and power that the spirit has upon one is definately not a good thing. I need to be more sincere and pleading in my prayers. I need to search for the truth in ways that I have not before. I need to write more meaningfully in my journal. I need to open myself up to the spirit, and not be afraid to cry. People may think me a fool, but I am sure that the Lord will not. I cannot allow myself to let go of the Iron Rod, thinking I know which way the path leads.

I can be weak, and should be humble.
They had a Rocky Ridge. With no exaggeration, this hill was a half mile long at a 40 degree angle. I pushed the handcart the best I could. We were not one of the first handcarts. Near the end, I felt that my pushing was becoming less effective as a result of my fatigue. Then, when we were at our slowest, people from the previous handcarts ran down and helped. I felt weak. We made it to the end. After resting, I ran down to help the other handcarts. My pushing again was, in my perspective, ineffective. I did my best, but I felt so pathetic in not being able to really help those other handcarts up the mountain. At one hill, lovingly called "Heartbreak Hill" they took the men, boys, and adult women away from us. The young women had to pull the cart up by themselves. On flat ground, there is nothing easier. On a steep incline, the task was a burden. I looked at the ground we were to pull the 300 lb. handcart over. The sandy soil would be a nightmare, and the huge rocks dispersed around the trail looked to be more than I could bear. As the men and boys walked up that hill, I sat down and I cried. The carts before us with five or six girls each were struggling, and my cart only had three girls to push it. I was scared.

I can be strong, and should be confident in the Lord.
At Rocky Ridge, after "helping" that other handcart up, I was drained, and I knew that I would only be a burden to any handcarts I attempted to help after that. So I decided to sing. With three other girls, I sang to tired handcart pushers as they neared the end of the pull. Their faces were filled with a gratitude for our sometimes rather poor singing that I will never forget. I still felt bad that I could not physically help these people, but I was grateful for the chance to lift their spirits. Heartbreak Hill was hard. As I had suspected, the wheels spun uselessly in the sand at times, and the rocks stopped the handcart in its tracks several times. But in my determination, I pulled the handcart with all of my strength, and our three did better than many people's seven. The boys joined us halfway up the hill, and we could see tears in their eyes as they watched us pulling it alone. Those boys pushed as hard as they could, and were a great relief, but many admitted that they were tired after about 30 feet (and were amazed at how far we had made it alone). Then, 3/4 of the way, our adult leaders joined us. By this time, I was tired, but I refused to be a burden. I pulled that cart, despite an asthma attack, and even though at times my eyes blacked out, and I wasn't sure how much farther I could push. We made it to the top, all of us heaving, all of us closer than ever. Some passed out. Some suffered heat exhaustion. Many did not pull the whole hill. I made it. I suffered, and was not as strong as I thought I might have been, but I made it the whole way, and even pushed the cart afterwards. The boys offered to give me a ride, but I'm pretty sure they weren't totally serious anyway.

I have a weakness for young, strong, single, Russian, good-looking, recent converts.