Megan Bradshaw
Desert Sage Ward
For many attendees, including our own little trek family,
the Women’s Pull was the most memorable part of the trek experience. When we reached the appointed place, the men
in our family left the handcart reluctantly, not at all certain that we would
be able to accomplish the task that had been given, to haul this 600 pound
handcart straight up a hill for over a mile.
After much resistance, they took their water bottles and left our wagon
on the trail.
The women gathered together for a special devotional by
Stake YW President Sister Pugmire, who spoke of the virtues and
responsibilities of womanhood, while the YM were similarly instructed at the
top of the hill. Following the
devotional, we returned to our handcarts to begin our pull.
As we waited for our turn to set out up the hill, our
family knelt together in the dust by our handcart and prayed for the Lord’s
assistance. We pled for His strength,
His comfort, and we prayed that we would learn what He wished us to learn from
the experience. As we closed our prayer,
I promised my girls that we would receive help that day, that if they would
open their hearts and minds, they would feel the angels round about us, bearing
us up, and that with their help, we would be able to accomplish the task that
had been given to us. I testified that
the pioneer sisters that had gone before us would come to our aid on our trek
because they wanted us to not only understand what they did in crossing the plains to Zion, but why they did it.
I took my position at the back of the handcart and as we
slowly began to push our cart up the hill, I couldn’t believe how difficult it
was. It was so heavy, it was so hot
outside, it was so hard. We stopped to
rest and drink water. We pushed and
pulled some more. There was no breath
for singing, no energy for conversation.
I wasn’t sure how we were going to make it, but we were determined to
give our all in the attempt.
About one quarter of the way up the hill, just when I
wondered whether I could take another step, I experienced the unexpected. I suddenly felt the presence of my son Dex
beside me, laughing at my surprise. “Who
else did you think would come?” he asked.
And he began to push the cart. I
left a trail of tears in the dust as I continued to push our handcart up the
trail. At our next rest stop, I asked
the young women in our family if they could feel the help that we were
receiving and with tears in their eyes, they emphatically answered, “YES!” I let them know that one of our helpers was
my son. A few of them were able to share
who they felt had had come for them. We
pushed on, now fully confident that we would accomplish our mission.
As we continued the Pull, there were extra steep portions
of the trail that should have been the hardest, but felt the easiest. The men were waiting for us near the top of
the hill, hats over their hearts, forbidden to move, only to look into our
faces as we passed. Once we crossed a
certain mark on the trail, the men in our family were allowed to step in to
help push the cart, and they did so with great enthusiasm. It was an emotional reunion for all.
At this point, there was very little room left on the
handcart for me. Just one little corner
at the back, where I couldn’t provide much assistance. I thought about letting go. I wanted to let go. I almost let go, and there would have been no
shame in it. In the end, I thought about
our little trek family, how much I loved them after just 3 short days, and that
I didn’t want to be left behind. I
thought of my own little Bradshaw children that I had left at home for the week
with grandma, I thought of my Dex; I thought of all of the ancestors that have
gone before that are concerned about our wellbeing. I didn’t want to be left behind. I held on to the side
of that cart when every physical inclination rebelled against it. I didn’t let go and we walked into camp
triumphantly. As a family. For this and many other reasons, I am
thankful for the opportunity that I had to attend Trek.
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