the trek saga: part 3

And Lo, it came to pass that the trek was to be embarked upon, and it was good.

It was breezy, not too hot- the perfect day to trek if ever there was one. Our company was first out and apparently we set such a fast pace that we were more than half way done before lunch time. The consequence: women's pull after lunch, and red company got moved to the back {those strong Strongs- setting the pace!}. We splashed through mud, pulled through puddles, and the Schroedad even carried one of our daughters across on his back. The missionaries told of heroic stories of perseverance and rescue, we were all humbled.

Our Stake President called all of the men together and took them up the hill- told them that we women didn't really need them and they needed to be worthy enough for us to want them around, or something that went a little like that.

We sang 'As Sisters In Zion', were told that we are stronger than we think we are and that we could do this. That when our trials come, not to ask why me, but instead to ask why not me. Our trials are what acquaint us with God and we're pretty lucky to be chosen to be tried. I cried. we prayed.

We pulled our handcarts up the steep hill, lined with misty-eyed men, we sang hymns to them while they watched in silent awe. By the end the young men were pulling hats down and sunglasses on to hide the tears, the old men were freely weeping. As were the women. We were strong, and brave, and happy.

After lunch we finished our trek, crossed the Sweetwater river and came home. The youth square danced, the leaders joined in and cheered on. We met with our own Bishops for a fireside, I missed my kids. The Bishop taught an amazing devotional, we sang 'Because I Have Been Given Much' and cried again.

After the fireside the kids ran around telling tales of their day to friends and stayed up way too late. Bishop put all of our stray kids to bed around 1:30- the ma's and pa's were all happily in dream land by then. I'm glad he, at least, was a good parent. I think we all decided we were off duty at 11.

The next day we were to stop on the way home at Rocky Ridge Hollow, but guess what, the bus broke, again. At least they'd emptied the bathroom- so the rolling golden turd was no longer an appropriate name for the broken bus. We did some shuttling, and eventually made it there.

As we filed by the mass grave of the 13 individuals who died there we were serenaded by a violin playing. It was silent and reverent, almost like the temple. A testimony meeting was to be held, the youth filled up all of the time- nary a single adult was heard.

The Stake president called for another bus to be brought up, since the repair didn't actually work on said bus. So most were sent home- some of our kids stayed behind to wait for the last bus, I fretted like any mom would. I gave them all of our bus snacks- they'd get home way after we would, I was sure. Not a good idea, especially since the anti-nausea medication I'd taken wore off around Evanston. Just in time to get obscenely nauseated through the windy Parley's Canyon.

I have a testimony that sometimes prayers get answered exactly how you ask them to be. For I prayed mightily, "please don't let me puke on the bus", was my plea. I made it 3 steps off of the bus and into the grass, I think I'll be more specific next time. Something more like "please just let me puke in my own toilet" where the bishopric and the whole bus won't see.

The fireside the next day was fun, we got to see all of the pictures taken on trek (I don't have them yet or you'd see some of the better ones). None of our kids wanted to go home, they were still enjoying the trek high, and I can't say that I blame them. It was a remarkable experience that I won't soon forget.

The End- as promised