On Pioneer Day, I couldn't help thinking of the women--my ancestors--who crossed the plains of America and settled Utah. I couldn't help thinking of the women that were chased out of their homes by mobs, forced to cross frozen rivers and give birth in tents just miles from their homes. I couldn't help thinking of the pregnant women that traveled miles on foot. I couldn't help thinking of the mothers that had to bury their children in the open plains, never to return to their graves again. Or even worse, to not know what wild animal would upturn the grave.
I remember holding Luke in my arms and feeling how sacred his precious body was, even without his spirit there. I remember on the day Luke was born, thinking back on these women who had gone before me and had to leave their precious babies and press on. I remember being so grateful that my son's sacred body would be laid to rest in a safe and protected place.
Some might think that it is just a body, but when it is your child . . . your loved one, I think you feel differently about the sacred tabernacle that we call a body.
I am grateful to the women who faced the same trial as me, but in what seems like much more difficult circumstances. I am grateful they had the faith to press on to the Salt Lake Valley and had the courage to leave their sweet children behind.