The Pioneer Spirit of Jennette Evans
(Imagine for me what the responses would be if Brigham Young is speaking in our day instead of the century he lived.)
Bringham Young-Good people! Gather round! I have an announcement for all the faithful within sound of my voice. We can no longer remain in Nauvoo lest our enemies destroy us all. The time has come to load our wagons, gather our families and strike out across the wilderness for the Promised Land…
- Brother Brigham? Brother Brigham? Could you, like, get to the point? I don’t want to rush you or anything, but my show’s coming on in ten minutes…
BY-um, yes … the Promised Land! We must find the place which God has prepared, where none shall come to hurt or make afraid. There shall the Saints find rest.
- You’re not saying we have to move or anything, are you?
- If I have to change schools now, I’ll just die.
- Are we gonna have to go all the way across the river? Can’t we just commute?
BY-We must take our meager substance and go far across the wilderness, where we can build the city of Zion! We shall…
- Hold the phone, hold the PHONE! You mean, like, WORK?
- With our HANDS?!
- Great. Do you have any idea how much I spent on this manicure?
BY… We shall move with haste! Take only that which is essential for the journey …
- Do I hafta ride with my parents?
- Brother Brigham? Does the promised land have broadband? ‘Cause I don’t see how you can call it the “Promised Land” if they don’t have broadband.
BY-We must be prepared to be long on the way, through the snows of winter and the heat of summer…
- I don’t go ANYwhere without air conditioning.
- AND a CD player in the wagon.
- Are you gonna provide GameBoys? How about some new cartridges? I’m tired of the old ones.
BY-We will tread the wilderness sod and the mountain snows…
- And ruin my Nikes, that’s what we’ll do!
- Hey, I don’t wanna be gross or anything, but are there, like, restrooms on the plains?
- Am I gonna get stuck in the dweeb wagon?
BY-We must move with haste! Make ready!
- I’m not crossing no plains in last year’s waon. Can we wait for the new ones to come out?
- Can we go after the prom?
- How early do we have to get up? I’m a night person. It’s biological.
- When are our breaks?
- How much do we get?
- When do we get paid?
BY-Let us go forward! We must… we must… Oh, forget it.
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Does it ever seem to you, as it sometimes does to me, that the American pastime has shifted in recent years from baseball to whining? How often have you heard these, and not just from youth?
- It’s too hard
- I don’t have time.
- I can’t do it.
- I just don’t want to.
- It’s not convenient.
- I’ve done my share, now I’ve earned a break.
- You owe it to me.
Never have we lived more comfortably, with more recreation, more entertainment, or higher quality of life. Yet never has a nation more wallowed in self-pity. Here we sit, living a life of luxury our ancestors couldn’t even dream of, and we complain that it isn’t better. Why?
The Church is in a period of accelerating growth. Did you know that we are the seventh-largest denomination in the United States right now (1993)? There are more Mormons in America than there are Presbyterians, twice as many Latter-day Saints as Episcopalians. And we’re gaining. If present rates continue, we will soon be adding one million members every year.
Now, where will the leadership come from to minister to all those people? Brothers and sisters, it will come from you, here, in this room, and many others like you. But you can’t do it if you aren’t prepared!
I foresee an interesting future, occupied largely by carping couch potatoes flicking through 5,000 channels and playing through their 6,000 video games and complaining that they’re bored. Then there will be those who pick up the spoils, so to speak, those who are strong and prepared to lead, who will literally have the world at their feet. But they won’t do it without effort, without sacrifice, without inconvenience, without shutting off the TV and the stereo and making something of themselves. They won’t do it without learning some self-discipline.
Is that a word you hate? You certainly hear it often enough! “Learn some self-discipline!” Well, I won’t shout it at you like that. But I will tell you, as a friend who has been down the road just a bend or two ahead of you, that aside from the Holy Ghost, self-discipline will be your greatest friend in this life. There are those within the sound of my voice who, if they cultivate it and become masters over their own selves, will literally rise up to change and bless the world.
Contrast today’s attitudes with those of a girl named Jennette.
The fashions and poses of 19th-century portraits often seem unflattering to us today. But the surviving pictures of Jennette Evans are a striking exception. With her flashing dark eyes, high cheekbones and delicate features, she seems more princess than pioneer. It is easy to imagine her gracing the courts of kings, jewelled gown sweeping about her as she dances and curtseys. But sadly - or perhaps fortunately for us - Jennette’s life was far from the fairy tale you or I might have wished for her.
At six, she left home forever. With her parents, who had been baptized shortly after she was born, she set out from her cozy little Welsh village to join the Saints in far-off America. Their trip across the ocean was hardly a Princess Cruise. It lasted months. In those days before refrigeration, the cuisine on board left much to be desired. All drinking water for the journey had to be brought in wooden barrels. By the fourth or fifth week at sea, the water would be covered by a thin coat of green scum, which one would have to push bak with a dipper in order to get a drink. Even then, it was a good idea to to look too closely at what you were drinking, for much of it wriggled. The threat of disease in such crowded conditions was ever-present. Many families saw children and other loved ones buried at sea, left behind without marker or memorial.
But Jennette and her parents made it through that arduous trip, and through the even harder trek across the plains to Deseret, where they settled in Ogden. Such was the childhood of lovely little Jennette Evans.
You or I might have wished for Jennette carefree teenage years filled with girlfriends, gossip, dances and flirting. But life on the frontier was a notorious thief of youth. At the tender age of sixteen, Jennette married and soon started a family. Her honeymoon retreat was a log cabin in a remote mountain valley, and her honeymoon was spent spring plowing and planting. She would go through the wrenching, helpless pain of watching a child die, and then go through it again. She herself would leave this life at the age of 54, too young even in those days. But through it all, she raised up four sons and four daughters, and she touched the world in a way that affects every one of us here today.
Mission calls were handled differently in those days. Missionaries were usually called as mature men, already with families and home responsibilities. Furthermore, the calls came without warning. And at the destination there were no mission presidents, no elders waiting to convey the new greenie to his waiting apartment and companion. Missionaries travelled alone, without purse or scrip, fending for themselves in remote areas far from Saints and loved ones. Worst of all, the missionary never knew if he would be away from home for two years… or three… or five… or more. He served until he was released.
So perhaps you can understand why Jennette’s husband received his mission call with dismay. He had a farm to tend to, children who depended on him, and a wife who was again with child. His friends told him, “You simply cannot do it.” His neighbors said, “The Lord would understand.” One evening, as he gazed out at the fields waiting to be plowed, the animals needing to be tended, the barns and other buildings in need of seemingly constant repair, he shook his head. Turning to his wife, he said, “Of course it is impossible for me to go.”
Jennette simply said, “Show me your call.” He handed her the letter. She sat down and read it through once, then again. She lifted her noble, intelligent eyes and waited for her husband to meet her gaze. Then, with both gentleness and power that could not be ignored, she said, “Of course you must accept. You need not worry about me. David and I will manage nicely.” David was her oldest son. He was eight years old.
On 19 April 1881 Jennette stood in the morning chill and waved farewell to her husband as he departed for distant Scotland. Ten days later, she gave birth to a little girl.
The following years were not easy. There were sorrows and illnesses, trials and troubles, and always work, work, work. Through it all, Jennette never complained. Her son later said of her, “I cannot think of a womanly virtue that my mother did not possess. … She was beautiful and dignified. Though high-spirited, she was even-tempered and self-possessed. Her dark brown eyes immediately expressed any rising emotion which, however, she always held under perfect control.”
She insisted on accepting a disproportionate share of the farm work so that her boys might remain in school. With the help of local priesthood quorums, the grain was planted and the family managed to harvest a good crop.
Then disaster struck. Prices fell so low that they could not sell their grain without losses they could not afford. Jennette and her little family faced almost certain ruin.
But Jennette was made of tougher stuff than that. With financial sense that would do a Wall Street banker proud, she announced to her surprised family that they would not sell the grain, but store it away. That meant borrowing just to stay alive through the winter, with no guarantee they could ever pay the money back. But, bolstered by their mother’s faith and confidence, they did just that. The next spring, they were able to sell the grain at a handsome profit and the farm was saved.
The years passed, and one day Jennette’s husband received his long-awaited release. Quickly he sent word that he would be coming. Then began the seemingly endless journey across the Atlantic, and then across the American continent itself.
As the miles clicked by, he was surprised to find himself apprehensive. Jennette’s letters had been cheerful and reassuring. But how had she been, really? What if all the farm work had broken her health, or worse, her spirit? What state would he find his home and farm in? Would his children recognize him? Would they remember him? What if they resented his absence? What of the child he hadn’t seen? She would be walking and talking by now. What if he frightened her? What if she didn’t want him in the house? What if, what if, what if.
At last, at long last, the train wheezed into the Ogden station. Soon there were greetings and loving arms and kisses all around, and Jennette’s lovely, confident, flashing brown eyes smiling into his… and he knew that he was truly home.
With her arm in his, Jennette showed her husband around the farm. He couldn’t believe his eyes. Everything was in order! The buildings looked firmer and fresher than he had ever known them. The rich acres of grain and alfalfa waved in the wind. Why, Jennette had even built an addition onto the house!
That evening, the children gathered at their father’s knee and asked about his mission. Had he witnessed any miracles, one bright-eyed child wanted to know. He smiled softly, put his arm around his wife, his dear wife, and said, “Your mother is the greatest miracle that one could ever find.”
Jennette Evans McKay’s influence was not lost on her son. As he grew, he watched her and admired. Years later he would credit her love and influence with turning him from temptation, and with stirring in him a desire that all homes could be as loving, as ordered, as celestial as his own. For little David grew up to become the prophet David O. McKay, the author of our Family Home Evening program today and widely recognized, even outside the Church, as a great strengthener of families.
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