The privilege of the week came yesterday, when we were able to go with my grandparents to visit some of the graves of a few beloved ancestors. Since moving to this area, I've always wanted to do this, but never got around to it. Yesterday things just worked out and I'm glad they did.
We visited the graves of my fifth (I think it's 5...maybe 6?) great-grandmother, Drusilla Dorris Hendricks. When she was crossing the plains with her paralyzed husband and their children, her son became the youngest member of the Mormon battalion. My favorite story from her life came when she was out of all her food, and she recounts how she swept her floor and prepared to die. Just then, a Brother Allred and Brother Williams came to her home with a sack of flour and a sack of potatoes, after having been prompted to bring them. Drusilla and her family were able to eat and survive then. The rest of the story is that Drusilla's fifth-great granddaughter and Brother Allred's fifth great-grand nephew (dad, correct me on that one) married and voila, had me! I always think of that and remind myself that when we serve others and follow the spirit, we have no clue how far and deep the repercussions will be felt, and how close to home they can get. I doubt Brother Allred thought he would be saving his own family when he chose to take that sack of flour to a sister in need.
In this photo, Granddad is standing next to the memorial of Amanda Smith, and pointing at the grave of Drusilla and James Hendricks.
We also got to see the memorial of Amanda Barnes Smith, one of the great pioneer women. She was the mother-in-law of my fourth great-grandfather. She and her son have a famous story from Haun's Mill. When the mob came to Haun's Mill, they rounded up all those who wanted to live and told them they'd be safe in the blacksmith. Amanda's husband and sons were amongst them. Once all the men were inside, the mob opened fire on the building, killing her husband and shooting away the hip of her son. She had to drop her husband's body down the city well because there wasn't time to bury it, and nobody else would do it for her. Her son's hip was shot clean away, and she took him home to dress the wound, fearing it would be get infected, and knowing he would never walk again. She said a prayer, and she said she saw in a vision how to properly dress the wound. She made a lye from the ashes in the fire and cleaned the wound, and dressed it and nursed her son for several months. Her unwavering faith not only prevented the wound from becoming infected, but her son actually grew a new ball and socket and his hip was healed. Several months after the incident, Amanda was working and heard the children screaming her son's name. Fearing he had passed away, she ran to see him walking for the first time. He always walked with a limp after that, but he walked.
Now, I'll publish this post and find all the mistakes I made on these stories. :)