Happy Pioneer Day!

The 24th of July; today is the day that Mormons remember our Pioneer ancestors. Every year around this time, I pull out the autobiographies of my Pioneer family members. One that I have been thinking a lot about lately is John Loveless. He was born in Ohio in 1807. John was a member of the church, baptized by Solomon Hancock, confirmed by Simon Carter, ordained a Priest by Thomas B. Marsh and Selah Griffin and ordained a High Priest by George W. Miller and Isaac Higby. 

He wrote about his family, his farming, and his church callings, miracles, trials and his testimony.

The members of the church were chased from their homes eight times in eleven years by mobs who hated the Mormons, some of the moves were within months of each other. This happened from 1833, just before the Printing Press was torn down, to 1846, as he and his family were among the last group of Saints in his area who left for the West.

In his words; “In the fall of 1838, the mob arose and we were compelled to sign over all our property by force of arms. In this I was an eye witness to scenes that until this day, when called to mind, make my blood run cold and would almost make me fight a legion. Women were ravished, men murdered, houses burned, property destroyed, the Prophet and Patriarch, with many others, taken and cast into prison.” 

When the Saints left for their trek to the west, John was asked by Brigham Young to stay behind to salvage any crops or farm land. Most of the Saints left in November of 1845, he left with his group on April 27th, 1846. He wrote, “I left the city of Nauvoo, the home of the Saints where I had counseled with my brethren, received direct instructions from the Prophet of God, associated with him, been instructed by him with many important commissions, worshiped the everlasting God, Eternal Father in His own temple, a house built and set apart by the Saints of God for His worship, and all the near and dear associations connected with this. 

I say when forced to leave all of this and after crossing the Mississippi River and sitting upon its banks, looking back over the country and associations that I had left; the bodies of the Prophet and Patriarch of God ruthlessly, foully and deliberately murdered by the howling and blood thirsty mobs, damnable spirits that had caused it all, my feeling became so excited and aroused that it seemed to me that if myself and each of my little boys were endowed with the strength of Samson and had the power and strength of body been commensurate with that of my will, I fear that it would have been accomplished.”

He wrote about the day when he fought a destructive, fire-branding mob with the Sheriff and a large posse. They stopped the fires and the mob; he took his family and neighbors with a few of their things and went to Nauvoo to guard everyone from the fury of the mob. On that same day, he received his endowments in the Temple.

The Pioneers inspire me in their faithful endurance and hope. They put blame where blame was due, never upon the Lord. I love reading about the miracles that occurred because of their faith in God and the power of the Priesthood. I love reading his testimony and his expressions of gratitude for God. In their hardest trials, they remained full of faith and gratitude. One of the miracles that he recorded was when he was sick with inflammation of the lungs and was near death. In that condition, I imagine most people would give up. Even after he received a Priesthood blessing, the brethren who administered to him gave him up for dead. But after talking to his wife, who refused to accept his death, they both determined that he was going to recover and in four days he was back to driving his team, praising God for the mercy and power that was manifested to him.

When they experienced the most severe hail storm he had ever witnessed, and the suffering from cold and exposure, he wrote; “But what cannot the Saint of God endure, while in the discharge of their duties?”

He wrote about the country being flooded which didn’t allow them to pass through easily on the path that the other pioneers had left for them. They had to walk three hundred miles and two months out of the way, to get back to the original path. But of that trek, he said; “We continued our journey for Great Salt Lake City, blessed in every undertaking, and good spirit prevailing all of the time. All enjoyed good health, met with no losses of consequence and on the fifteenth day of September, 1851, we arrived in Salt Lake City.”

And some of his last words in his autobiography; “How big with importance, love and almost adoration, did it appear unto us, and how straight to my heart did the tones pierce as I heard them sending a thrill of pleasure, thanksgiving and praise to my soul. Yes to my very heart’s core, calling forth shouts of exultation and joy, praise, honor and glory to God, a perfect burst of enthusiastic joy. 

What, though it was a burning desert. What, if the farthest extent of vision could discover nothing but burning, sandy plains covered with sage brush and high rocky and burning mountains. It was the place selected by God for the gathering of His people and after the trying vicissitudes through which we had passed ever since the first organization of the Church. It was here a place of rest, of rejoicing, of delight and finally above all, of happiness. 

Here we could worship God and love Him, receive instructions from His prophets and teachers without fear of fire, sword or bayonet, without expecting to hear the sounds of an infernal mob ringing in our ears. Salt Lake City; I have not language to express my gratitude to God when first I entered thy sacred precincts. There I met with the pioneer, those holy and indomitable spirits led by Brigham Young their Prophet and Seer, the successor of the immortal Joseph with Heber, the beloved and noble spirit. The saints of God who had taken the burden and borne it, given to them by God that the ancient prophesy might be fulfilled and the Saints find a home; a home, how sweet the word. 

Here again was my family united, and here the union with old and tried brethren, the grasping of hands, the shedding of tears and shouting, rejoicing and praising God by the President, friends, family and all. Salt Lake City, can it be wondered that I call thy precincts sacred? Can I ever cease to love and praise God as long as memory holds her seat upon her throne?"

He settled in Provo, and lived there for two years. Then they moved to West Jordan, where he assisted in the building of the canal to bring irrigation water into the West Jordan area. Then in 1855, he moved to Payson to continue his occupation of farming, where generations of my family were born and raised. I was born in Payson, lived in West Jordan when I was a young child and in Provo as a college student; my path in Utah reversed his path. I don't consider that a coincidence; I believe that our ancestors are more involved with influencing our lives and the paths that we take than we give them credit for.

Speaking about the challenges that we are asked to face today as modern-day pioneers, Elder M. Russell Ballard says; “May we remember the pioneers and their stories, remember that they came to build Zion in a united effort. And then accept the responsibility to instill such faith in all we meet, especially in the rising generation, and to do so through offering our own living sacrifice of a life moved by faith in the Lord Jesus Christ and anchored by the hope of good things to come through Him.” See Pioneers, An Anchor For Today (page 50); in this month’s Ensign, written by Elder Marcus B. Nash, of the Seventy.