Full Bloom, Full Blown: "Give Me This Mountain"

Tuesday, July 7, 2015

"Give Me This Mountain"

There is a mountain that looms to the west, as you drive through the canyon near Banks. I've never paid due attention to it before because the winding highway is precarious and dangerous and so, driver or passenger, my eyes are usually glued to the road and less to the scenery, but Wednesday morning I sat on the tip top, watching the sun rise on the last day of our youth Trek, after having pulled and pushed our 300--400 lb. loaded handcart to the summit. In those early morning moments I felt the grandeur of God as I gazed upon His creations and felt a dozen life lessons permeate my heart and mind.

This is my second Trek, and I have been lucky enough to experience both with Fred, in the role of Ma and Pa, and both with at least one of our own children. Our first, in 2008, shared with our three oldest, is an experience so sweet and deeply etched into my heart, that it has become a permanent part of my testimony and I can't imagine any other re-enactment that will ever quite measure up to those sacred days on that sacred ground. I know much of that impact was because of the powerful, personal preparation that I put in prior to that experience and the timing of this activity, backed up against so many other other life events, just didn't lend to that same concentration. However, the Spirit can find you wherever you are, whenever you are listening, at whatever point of preparation you are in, and I certainly felt His presence these past three days.

There was much anticipation and excitement as we all piled out of our cars on day one, dressed in our clean and ironed, somewhat pioneer looking apparel, and loaded up our handcarts, with some of the things we were told we needed for our three day trek. The clothing had special meaning to me as it had been worn on our Trek in 2008. Abrahm was in Jordan's (though they were a little loose), Fred was in his own and I had purposely mixed some of mine and Mikayla's and Eden's, so some of those tangible memories could be with us. We had been warned of the strenuousness of the path, and the intense heat of the weather, but I'm in fairly good shape and can do hard things when I want to =) so I wasn't overly concerned for myself, but Fred had broken his toe exactly two weeks prior and though he had received a powerful priesthood blessing from our Bishop promising him that his toe would heal fully and completely, it was in pretty plain language that it would not do so before or during Trek, but would serve as a lesson and reminder to him and to others of the beginnings and ends of mortal trials. He was given a promise that he would know how far he could push himself safely and that he would be able to complete the Trek in it's entirety. The blessing was inspiring and faith instilling, but I was concerned about the pain that I knew Fred was enduring and the physical beating his feet would have to take, but that morning even he, and all of the rest of the company seemed to be invincible, as we pushed and pulled up the first initial hill. And as we were met by "apostate" members, 30 minutes in, trying to discourage us from progressing on the trail, and "tempting" us with cold water on that 102 degree day, we scoffed at their "tricks".

Also early on, a "pioneer mother" stepped from the Sagebrush and pleaded with each handcart family to take one of her children to Zion because she didn't have the strength to finish the journey. Baby dolls were handed to us and I will admit that I was disappointed, as I was pretty sure, having been on a previous Trek, that this would be the child who died along the way and I wasn't about to get attached to a stuffed doll in three days. No one else in my Trek family seemed inclined to be attached either, so I chalked that off as one of the experiences that would, unfortunately, not affect us. In fact over the rest of that journey our doll, and many of the others were haphazardly placed in carts, left in tents etc. and the unintended neglect became something of a standing joke among the company. However, we did begin bonding with the actual people who were in our families and personalities emerged quickly. It seemed apparent by lunch time who was there to act and who was there to be acted upon, as the journey had definitely become difficult by then. It was hot, the rolling hills had turned to steep and constant mountainside and all that had been white and fresh was now brown and sweat soaked. I watched and waited for awhile to see which youth could be pushed and which could not, who had walls and who had needs. My girls bonded immediately and fell into daughter/sister roles easily. One of my sons was eager to love and wanting to serve so he also acclimated quickly, but two of my boys took some time to find their places, and another ended up being sick the morning of and was sadly a no show.

By mid-afternoon I could tell that Fred's pain tolerance, though silent, was courageous and I glimpsed the first instance of how other of his blessings promises would be fulfilled as a Trek son rolled his ankle and added that to his constant complaining. We had the medical team look at it immediately and though it didn't appear serious he used it as an excuse to stop exerting himself. By dinnertime he was irritable and flirting with defiance so we left him alone in our camp, to sleep it off, while we went down to dinner. Our youngest son was also struggling with the family dynamic, as he didn't know any of us, and so continued to drift off with friends and was quite disgruntled whenever he was re-gathered. By bedtime everyone was exhausted, except the son who had slept and sluffed while we made camp and I had to start initiating some tough love. After 12 hours with these youth I was pretty sure I was familiar enough with their needs and their limits to start stretching them. We had FHE but were asked to make sure the kids got a good nights rest because they would be up very early the next day, to experience the hottest and hardest trek of the three days. The kids had gone through quite a physical experience that day and wanted to sit and talk, but I had to firmly remind them of the counsel we had been given and send them to bed.

My three girls were obedient. My three sons were resistant. I had warned them earlier that in the Bloomquist family we would get as clean as possible every night, for the sake of our tent-mates, and if they weren't able to get clean enough on their own, I would help them. =) At first, my sons weren't convinced, but it didn't take too many steps in their direction to convince them to spend a few minutes in their tent with a package of wet wipes and they each came out admirably fresh. I did have to physically escort them inside for the night, zip them in and then get up and strongly remind them to stop talking and go to sleep. By this time, Fred was almost out and told me it was probably a lost cause as the boys were known to stay up until 3AM on scout camps no matter how many times their leaders tried to silence them. I knew that kind of behavior would affect everyone negatively, so I squared my shoulders and walked back to the boys tent and told my sons that whomever of them kept their sisters up for even 15 more minutes with their talking, would be personally pulling them in the cart at the beginning of the day, rolled ankles or not. They must have sensed I was serious, because I didn't hear another word from their tent and within ten minutes, my disgruntled son and my husband both could be heard snoring back and forth between the tents. Of course, I wish someone would have known how to similarly "encourage" me as I had all kinds of trouble falling to sleep and when I finally did, slept fitfully all night.

By the next morning, our fourth and oldest son had been feeling better and had joined our Trek and with his fresh energy, eager face and some needed sleep and coolness on our part, we seemed to have grown comfortable with each other and formed an important bond. My cantankerous son had his ankle wrapped and after I forcefully pointed out that if his "Pa" could push and pull with a broken toe, he could certainly do the same with a sore ankle, he finally accepted the fact and continued to trudge on through (though still complaining every chance he got about anything he could think of). However, day two felt different because I could see that the complaining was just a cover up for physical and emotional vulnerability and so I was able to "heed it not". In fact, with every complaint, I seemed to love him more and friendly sparring became natural. That's when I knew he was "in". My heart has this steel trap door that is difficult to get in and impossible to get out. That day, we had devised some front harnesses and our youngest son happened to find himself there, out of default, when we were trekking one of our steepest hills. He pulled like an ox and as soon as I recognized that drive and recognized it verbally, he wanted that place the rest of the trek and started naturally joining our family during free times or came happily when it was time to be rounded up, because he felt connected and needed. My happy son had been watching Abe's interactions with me (who checked in with us on all his breaks and dotes on his mother) and started bringing me small bouquets of wild flowers and misting my face, and the face of every other family member who wanted it, every chance he got, which was no small gift in 103 degree weather, hiking mountain trails. And my girls...my oldest was sunshine in a bottle. Laughing and comfortable with everyone, no matter how difficult things got or who was complaining. How we needed her gift of cheer. My middle daughter seemed to be the most physically taxed of all the children (which is interesting because her parents are physical powerhouses--her Dad having trained for the Kona Iron Man and a 100 mile race the year before) but she was willing to do whatever was asked, whenever it was asked, looking like pure exhaustion the entire way. It was humbling to watch the complete submission, though I could tell her body wanted to do anything but submit. And my youngest daughter was our quiet rock. The first in the harness, the last one out. The first to start making camp, the last one to stop taking it down. Particular and careful about details but ever willing to stand down for the desires of someone else. By the afternoon of day two, we were family.

That was important, because we needed to be able to miss each other, and that afternoon, resting half way up a steep hill, watching two horses and riders come into site across the prairie, I thought I knew what was coming. Two men came, impersonating military officials, and after telling the story of the Mormon Battalion, asked the men and boys to say goodbye to their Trek families, take five of the eight carts and walk on up the hill without the women. It's a re-enactment--it's not real. I know those men are just walking up the road and that we will see them just around the bend, but I am a symbolic learner and pondering the real wives, mothers, daughters and sisters who did have to say goodbye and thinking how I would feel if I were them or if the circumstances were mine and Fred and Abe were being taken, made it emotional. Luckily, not everyone wears their heart on their sleeve, but that sometimes makes it more difficult to quickly slip in and out of symbolic lessons so I was sad as I heard some chiding comments from the boys and girls as they separated about how the girls were tough enough or the boys would laugh when they saw them struggle. I also felt disappointed that they had only left us three handcarts, which meant there would be more women per cart than could even possibly help and I felt would probably make the path even easier than it had been with the men and diminish the lessons for both sides. It is hard not to compare the way things are planned when you've experienced such amazing lessons during a previous Trek. However as those priesthood men and boys disappeared and we got under way with the Women's Pull it became obvious, as we turned the first corner, that we could not see the full picture and this pull was going to be the toughest, longest incline on the entire Trek.

Even with all of the added women and girls taking turns pushing and pulling, and stopping to rest for short bouts, it felt to me as though it was never going to end. And then, about 20 minutes into the pull, the actual mothers of the Trek girls, started unexpectedly appearing on the sides of that mountain trail, to help push the carts with their daughters (who didn't know they were coming) and when I saw one of the mothers who has been undergoing cancer treatments for the past year, standing there with her shorn head, in her weakened physical body, I was overwhelmed with the "errand of angels [that] is given to women". By the halfway point, we were exhausted and as we came upon a sharp turn in the path that led along a narrow passage along the cliff face, the Trek Pa's and priesthood leaders were waiting for us and walked beside us from that point on, and though I only saw them once or twice actually push our carts, they were there with wood blocks that they threw under the wheels every time we had to rest, so we didn't slide backwards and their presence gave us security and confidence that we could do this hard thing because they would not let us falter or fail. At one of the most difficult parts of the trail, I turned around and saw Fred silently walking beside our handcart--his red, strained eyes looking directly into mine, and I could see both the desire to help and the restraint to do only as much as was necessary in order for us to learn the lesson that had been planned for us, and I knew I could not look back again. But, I also knew that I didn't need to because he would be there making sure we would be alright. And of course, at the top, just as I knew they would be, all of the young men were standing silently, with their hats in hands, in utter silence, many with tears in their eyes, having gone up the path before us with more carts, still raw from the difficulty of it all. Toward the end of the line, Abrahm stood alone, feeling deeply and I, with tears streaming down my face, witnessed deep waters there. We pulled on through that human corridor and then made our way down into the little valley that was to be our camp for the night and the men came running, with their loaded handcarts, down behind us to experience a heartfelt reunion. I needn't have worried about the earlier levity because all, even the chiders had slipped into that symbolic realm of learning, sometime during those last 60 minutes.

Later, Fred shared a spiritual experience that the men had when they separated from the boys. Originally, the plan had been for all the men and boys to wait at the top of the mountain together, but after making the handcart trek themselves, with the personal understanding of the intensity and duration of it, the Bishop asked the men to meet the women half way, walk back up with them and be willing to help if needed. The husband half of the Trek coordinators was verbally reticent about the request as his wife had been very passionate and specific about not wanting the men to help at all, wanting the women to learn how strong they could be when they helped each other. Fred said, it is the closest he has ever seen to "Righteous Indignation" in his life when the Bishop (who is very young and normally sweetly meek) raised up and told the men (Fred said in a booming voice) in no uncertain terms that if any of them ever sat by and watched any woman or girl suffer, at any time in their life, especially for the sake of a "game" when they could help and did not do it, they could not be rightfully called Priesthood men. Fred said he could fully imagine Joseph Smith calling down the guard, when chained in Liberty Jail, as he saw that kind of power emanate from our normally quiet Bishop. All of the men obeyed. I saw them watching at the halfway point, but was so concentrated on pulling up that hill that I did not realize that they had joined us until I looked up later and saw a Trek Pa walking quietly on the right side of the lead wagon and our Bishop on the left. I then noticed that they were wedging wheel blocks every time we rested, so we wouldn't slide backwards, though I only saw their hands on the carts a few times, which I know was one of the most difficult things of all for those men to walk beside us and not to put their full shoulders to the wheel, but the help they did give, just with their presence was a powerful reminder to me of their roles in our lives. They were watchful and had there been a necessary need, they would have been there to protect. I think that was the lesson the Bishop wanted instilled. Later on, I heard that experience talked about by numerous men, so I know it was a powerful spiritual manifestation to each of them. I would have liked to have been in the presence of our Bishop when he became a giant, but I feel blessed that our ward is being led by such a man, and blessed to walk by the side of those men who follow him.

That night, the horsemen came back and passed out two different kinds of letters. The first was addressed to each Trek family and when we opened it, found that it told the story of an actual pioneer baby who had either died or survived. We were told to turn in our dolls if our baby died and hold onto them if they didn't. By then, our family didn't even remember the whereabouts of our doll and later found her stuck in between our buckets in the handcart, but as soon as I opened the letter and started reading the experience of an actual family whose baby and ultimately all were killed by Indians, the tears just flowed--not for the loss of a stuffed doll, but for the sacrifice of so many who were sacrificing all comforts for their testimonies. Turning in our doll that night was actually a subduing experience that I did not anticipate.

The horsemen also delivered individual letters to all of the youth. Fred and I had written Abe, and at our request Jordan, Mikayla and Eden had taken the time to write their own tributes. At that point everyone found a solitary place to contemplate and study and journal and as I was doing that Abe appeared, tears streaming down his face, so touched by the love and counsel that he has received. He has a tender heart, but I have never seen him so moved. He hugged and held on for long minutes, then sat down beside me and wrote in his journal non-stop for 20 minutes, a miracle in itself. That was the end of an exhausting day, but that night Abe confided to me that he felt he could go on indefinitely, in his spiritual high. Afterward, a few of us walked to the lookout point and gazed in awe over the river canyon, amazed that we had actually climbed this mountain with handcarts and determined to watch the sunrise the next morning. Abe was on fire and took on the responsibility of waking Fred and I. His Trek family had camped on the farthest side of the meadow opposite our family and he didn't have any way of telling time, so he asked his Trek mother to wake him at 5:30 AM as the Sunrise was supposed to be at 6:06. She didn't wake up until 6:00 so he ran to wake us and as I stumbled out of my tent he was already sitting on a rock, looking over the valley, waiting with others who were scattered about, sitting quietly and welcoming the morning. It felt like a sacred place.

I was soaking in the view and the sound of the birds and focusing on the brightest spot in the sky until what must have been 6:08 because a man sitting a few feet away made mention that "the sun [was] late. We all smiled and I pondered the first lesson of the morning. "The Son is never late, but He comes in His own due time". I continued watching and after about 15 minutes I started realizing that the light was changing and it now appeared like I was looking in the wrong spot for the sunrise, so I changed my gaze and the Second lesson of the morning came: "We can sometimes be deceived by the point of radiance and though all light comes from the source, if we want to experience the full brilliance, it will sometimes become imperative to refocus. As long as we are still gazing continually in the right direction, that realignment will eventually become obvious". The third lesson came about 20 minutes into our wait as the man who had alerted us to the lateness of the sunrise, got up and walked away. My immediate thought was, "don't give up--you waited this long", but he was a "Pa" and I assumed that his responsibilities were on his mind that morning to take down camp and get moving. At that point, I was also starting to wonder if this natural phenomena was going to take much longer than we had anticipated for there was a mountain on the other side of the canyon that the sun was having to rise above, and neither we nor the Google predictions had taken that into consideration. From those observations came Lessons four and five: "No matter how long it takes, no matter what our responsibilities, we have to keep watching for the Son, or we will surely miss His coming", and "Sometimes mountains make it hard for us to see the light, even when others in the flatland's already have it shining on them, but we have to have faith that He is still there and will eventually be visible, even in our higher altitudes". Later, I found out that the Trek Pa had not given up on the sun, but his wife had come to the ledge and he had moved to a different spot to be with her. I was glad when I found that out, but I was grateful that he had moved so that I could learn the lesson. And finally, almost 30 minutes after I had started watching for the sun (longer for those who were there before me), I saw the first spark of light come over the tip of the mountain. It was a thrilling and unanticipated beauty, so blinding that I had to put my arms over my face to keep gazing at it. And in that moment, I was aware of Lesson six: "Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love him." Not 1/2 a second later the bugle blared, and we could hear the whole camp below us slowly come alive, but not one of us moved from that spot until the Sun had completely cleared that mountain top and we felt necessity call us off those rocks. That is when the last lesson of that morning (but not the last lesson after contemplating the experience over the next few days) became apparent. Lesson Seven: "If you are asleep at the moments of inspiration and wait for someone else to wake you up and point it out, the moment will have passed and what could have been inspiring and memorable will be taken for granted, even as it is shining in all it's brilliance upon you, and you will be distracted by the cogs of the day that are ever turning. The time taken to "Be still and know that [God] is God" is vital and defining." All those thoughts came in those 30 minutes in which I thought that I was just waiting. Those moments will be with me forever and were the defining memory of this Trek for me. I am so grateful to have had the experience and for all that humbled me prior to the experience that prepared me for it.

It was a different youth group walking down that mountain the last day, then we had been walking up, and all the Trek parents had been asked to choose a child to "die" during the morning, "someone who would make a difference to the entire family". In that symbolic mindset, and having grown as close as we now were, it was a humbling last task asked of us. We were to give a silver button to the child of our choice and ask them to hold it for the family. Buttons had been a means of coinage along our Trek and were easily earned and used to purchase goods at the Trading Post, so the kids holding them thought nothing of it. Fred and I talked and agreed that our oldest daughter, our "Ray of Sunshine" would make the most difference as a loss to our family and I had a difficult time giving out that button without being emotional. I tried to brush it off, but all of my Trek children noticed and grew curious. That night, I also had the distinct feeling that Abrahm would be chosen from his family and when he showed me his "cool" silver button in the morning, I had to check my emotions again. The actual separation was melancholy; I missed the laughter and cried for a mile, but knowing the probable scenario from our Trek before, we eventually pulled back together and enjoyed our journey. The separation was brief and the scenario was less effective than our experience in Wyoming--a lesson that is still so vivid and tender, but it was a sweet reminder of eternal families and the goal we are striving for, and even my Caleb offered his "sister" a returning hug.

We descended that final hill together, unloaded our carts, repacked trailors, loaded the kids in vehicles (windows down in ours because we have no air conditioning and the smell of Trek would have been unbearable) and headed to Black Canyon Dam, where we all (except my middle daughter who was too exhausted) exchanged our filthy pioneer styles for our clean swimsuits and ran to that water for relief. I was happy to see our "family" still choosing to be together during swimming and lunch and though my Caleb complained about my hug before we separated, I feared "he [did] protest too much".

The church parking lot was the final destination that afternoon and we were met by many in the ward who had come out to welcome us home. I was especially touched by seeing my little Keturah (from my Sunbeam years) and her smiling little brother sitting on the curb, smiling and waving with all their hearts. That was the last lump in my throat and the perfect culmination for sweet memories, but I know they won't end there. Two days later, driving down the road in Middleton, my trek son, Dallin, saw me from the other side of the street and yelled to Fred, "I can't hug her because I'm clear over here!" Every time I see my Trek kids from 2008, there are hugs. There will be hugs from 2015 also, and they will go on and on.

I was talking to my mom briefly, this weekend, and knowing I had just returned from Trek, she wondered aloud if these kinds of activities really make a difference, in the long run. I wondered too. Can they? I am positively certain that they can, if we are prepared and ready to love and learn. Do they? I guess that can only be answered on an individual basis. I have seen some of the Trek youth from 2008 walk away from their testimonies and some who have forgotten the spiritual feelings that they felt. Literally half of those Trek parents have divorced, and others of us have surely been battered around by life. But, I have also seen youth whose testimonies were so impacted that they chose to go on missions based solely on those experiences and are in spiritual places that they never thought they would be in, attributing it to those days. I know adults who can barely talk about those experiences without testifying of the truth of the gospel lessons that they learned. For me, those experiences and now these, continue to strengthen my roots and help me hold firm and steadfast to the ground in which I have been planted. They have helped me forge deep ties with my Heavenly Father, my Savior and with people that I might have never grown to love, so I will ever be grateful for the opportunities and the sweat, tears, time and sacrifice of those who give so much to make them happen. These are exhausting experiences which re-enact dire ones, but they help me make important connections between the hard things of others pasts and my present. They give me resolve to keep fighting the good fight, and they help me open up my hard heart and let people in. At least for me, that is worth the cost and the climb.