… Suddenly she knew she must find some relief for her tortured mind. Very quietly, so she would not disturb her husband, she turned in her bed and rose to her knees, still keeping the covers over her and tight against her husband so the cold could not creep in. And she began to pray. She had, of course, prayed many times, but never with such great intensity, and with such dire need for direct communication with her Father in heaven. She confessed to him her fears and her weakness in not overcoming them. She asked forgiveness and prayed for strength to meet whatever the morning would bring. Then, after submitting herself to God's will, she sank back on the bed and lay there looking up at the wagon cover. No voice spoke to her and told her all was well. In her own mind she found no answer to her problem, but over her there came a wonderful feeling of peace. With a sigh of relief she turned on her side and went to sleep.
When she awoke she knew it was late, and though the wind was still, she felt it was much colder than the night before. Her husband was gone from the bed, and outside the wagon she could hear the many sounds that told her that her family and the animals were stirring about. But something was missing. She lay quiet for a moment before she could determine what it was. And then she knew: she could not hear THE RIVER, not even a whisper of the sound of it.
Quickly she dressed and combed her hair, and putting her warmest shawl over her shoulders, she climbed out of the wagon. No one was close at hand, but on the bank of the river she could see her husband and children lined up, gazing across to the opposite bank. She ran to their side as fast as her small feet could carry her short but ample body, and then she too stopped in wonder. The leaping icy waves were gone, and in front of her spread a smooth expanse of ice that reached clear to the other bank.
As soon as
During all this activity
In a few hours everything and everybody were safely across. When it was all accomplished, her husband called the family together, and they knelt in prayer to thank the Lord for all their great blessings. To this
This true story was written by my grandma, Ruth H. Johnson. "Little Bert" was her father and Alice, her grandmother. This story was published in the March 1975 issue of The Ensign. She used to always tell us stories about when she was young, which is why I know so much about her. I'm glad she shared these stories with us all before she lost her memory to Alzheimer's. Maybe that's why I'd like to pass these stories and others about my family down to my children. Thus, a Story for Sunday: an effort to get me off my rear and get these stories written. If you ever want to do the same on your blog, you can comment and I will link you at the bottom of my post for you to share with others as well. Thanks for all the stories, Grandma. I miss you!