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speaking of the pioneers, President James E. Faust declared:
"In addition to the legacy of faith bequeathed by
those who crossed the plains, they also left a great heritage
of love - love of God and love of mankind. It is an inheritance
of sobriety, independence, hard work, high moral values,
and fellowship. It is a birthright of obedience to the
commandments of God and loyalty to those whom God has
called to lead the people" (Ensign, July 2002).
How
would we have known of their courageous hardships had
some of them not written journals during those trying
times? They probably felt unworthy of publicity. And yet,
how precious those handwritten scraps of paper turned
out to be! They've proven to the world that one only needs
to love and care about others to have our lives be meaningful.
 During
the summer, our hearts turn to our ancestors. Let me share
a simple tale from my mother's life: her parents, Charles
Willden Lillywhite and Margaret Coplan Lillywhite had
moved to Old Mexico where they pioneered, built a lovely
home, mill, and store. They were there with their nine
children when Pancho Villa and other outlaws drove them
out. They were only allowed 40 pounds of goods per family.
My mother, Ida, and her sister, Irene, each had only one
priceless toy: a little doll with a celluloid head. One
was blond and one was brunette. When the time came to
make their exodus, they hurriedly buried them in the ground
for safekeeping. All their lives, my mother and her sister
yearned to return and try to uncover those dolls.
When
I was a five-year-old girl living in Los Angeles during
the mid-twenties recession, I only had one toy at a time:
one doll, one tricycle, and one bicycle. We didn't even
think about getting another one when they wore out; we
just went without. I attended only one birthday party
and my mother gave me only one party. It was unheard of
to have one every year! We entertained ourselves pretending
lines of ants were cars driving along the road. We played
in tubs of water containing polliwogs.
Later, when sidewalks were paved, we played hopscotch
and jacks. While living in Hollywood during my teen years,
I sat on the curb in the evenings anxiously waiting for
the Good Humor man to bring me a treat. My girl friend
and I made our first playhouse of cardboard and gunnysacks.
Our homemade dessert consisted of graham crackers and
lemon juice served in a jar lid.
What
kind of a legacy are we leaving our posterity today? Are
we giving them too much, too soon, too easily? Can we
imagine how much more it will mean to them in years to
come to have the story of our lives as opposed to memories
of trinkets long since discarded? If the tales of our
forefathers, written on scraps of paper mean so much to
us, think what our printed stories could do! Could our
histories be the golden threads that tie our generations
together? Let us consider the ancient Scripture: "And
he shall turn the heart of the fathers to the children,
and the heart of the children to their fathers, lest I
come and smite the earth with a curse" (Mal 4:6).
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