"Granny, how could you leave the comfort and beauty of your home and gardens in England and push a handcart all the way across the plains to build a new home in a desolate valley?" Lynette's youthful face registered incredulity.
"It was easy, my child," Granny answered simply, "for I was as young as you at the time, and I had my John, and we both loved the Lord and desired more than anything else to do his will." Her smile was tender as she continued, "And I had the miracle of life beneath my heart."
"How beautifully you say it, Granny; but surely you got discouraged when the sun beat hot upon your head and your feet were blistered. What did you do then? Or didn't you ever feel discouraged?"
"Yes, my dear. At times there were shadows, but always John and I would work the magic to bring the sunshine again. I remember the time I was so weary that I felt I could not take another step, when John placed me on the cart and pulled us both. Soon my heart was singing, and I was refreshed and insisted that I get down, and I was able to go on."
"And Grandpa, Granny? What did you do when he got discouraged and tired? Surely you couldn't carry him?'
"No, Lynette, I couldn't, but I could lift his burden by smiling through my tears and speaking the words of love and praise and appreciation I felt in my heart and which he loved to hear, the words so dear to one who loves deeply. A tender kiss on his thin cheek and a caress and the words, 'I know, John ... I know ...' and the smile would return to his parched lips, his step would quicken and he would say, 'It's all right, Jeanie, I can make it.'"
"But what if both of you got discouraged at the same time? Did that ever happen?"
"Yes, many times. And when it did, we looked around to see someone whose burdens were greater than ours and helped bear his load. I remember the gratitude of the young girl-mother whom we cheered in every little way we could when she lost her baby. As we thought of her little one buried beside the trail, we felt we were blessed indeed and rich. When Aunt Martha, as we called her, became too ill to walk and her husband was too old and tired to pull her added weight in his cart, John and I put her in ours and we found our burden was lifted, and found ourselves singing as we went on our journey."
"But, Granny," Lynette's voice was reverent and almost a whisper, "Grandpa died on the long trek. Surely, you faltered then, going on alone?"
Granny's voice was low and gentle but serenely sure as she answered, "I kept on doing as John and I had done together. Often as I wiped the dust and tears from children's faces, I thought of my own little one to be born in God's valley from which we would never be driven." She paused a moment then went on softly, "And I did not go on alone, my dear. You see the spirit of the Lord was with me all the way."
