You're one of them!

     Imagine walking in rather uncomfortable leather shoes for months and months and months up and down a dirty, grassy path from the East coast to the Southwest-- with very little to eat.  Now imagine doing that while lugging around an oversized wheelbarrow.  For many, it was done so that that they could receive the blessings of the holy temple that they so longed for.  It was a determination of faith that pushed them through such harrowing ordeal-- they paved the way for others to get to Zion-- they were the first; they were the pioneers.

     Now, imagine yourself like this.  For all the immigrant families out there, maybe you were born here in America while your parents came over here from whatever country far, far away.  You may not know of the toils your parents may have gone through to rear you here in such a land of promise-- taking menial occupations earning meager sums just to make ends meet.  This was the lifestyle for them for quite some time.  Why?  Because they didn't want you going through that same struggle.  Your parents wanted you to live comfortably, so they paved a way so that you can do exactly that.  They were the first.

     People who join the church, recently or not so recently, have a rather odd feeling about how they got to it in the first place.  They wonder, "did I make the right choice, being here," midst their burning testimonies and the missionary reassurances.  The ward may help them as much as possible, but it's really up to the changed man to find out what he exactly did.  He may have abandoned his family, perhaps even become estranged with them, to find the truth.  He may have struggled with the social and even economic aspects of life-- dropping jobs just to go to church on Sunday; mocked by friends and coworkers about his decision and faith.  It's no easy task, trekking and toiling through the times of being so new.

     Two years ago, I had a chance to visit my aunt and uncle in Gilbert, Arizona.  I was baptized a month prior to the visit and I thought it would be a splendid break from all the things going on back east.  Upon arrival, I was further introduced to extended relatives who are active members of the same church-- let's call them Steve, Aaron, and Britta-- they were just so kind and friendly-- like typical Mormons.  At first, I thought to myself, "I wonder if I'm going to be like that in the near future."  So I disregarded the notion and enjoyed myself in the Arizona sun.  Sunday came along and the topic of the service was that of the Mormon exodus to the Great Salt Lake.  I wasn't very familiar with it at the time, so when I heard the words like "handcarts," "testimony," and "pioneer," I just assumed that the people going through the Oregon trail were Mormon-- nothing too special.  It wasn't until later that I realized the impact that these early Latter-day Saints had on the growth and the strength of the church.

     In the last part of the service, Britta wrote something on a piece of paper and showed it to me--

     "You're a pioneer."

     Never in my life had a single, simple sentence affected me to the magnitude that it does now.  In my [immediate] family, I am the first; I am a pioneer.

     For the newly baptised and those who dropped everything to do the things that they do-- because they knew in their hearts that it was the right thing to do-- let's link arms; let's hold hands.  We can be united in the cause.  There's no need to be alone and there is most certainly no need to worry.  People like this are everywhere; it's just a matter of finding them and rejoicing with them.  Heck, there was a whole group of them called the Willie Martin Handcart Company.