Hey again, everyone! This is Cristi. It's been a few days since either of us has posted anything. But I had an experience tonight that I'd love to share with you.
Jeff and I have been singing and touring with LDS singer/songwriter
Jenny Phillips for more than 10 years. I've done hundreds - if not thousands - of firesides with Jenny. And I've heard the song "Let Me Carry You" sung countless times. But tonight, as we were sitting in the fireside and I heard this song, it took on a completely new meaning for me. I'm usually fairly good at holding back tears while singing and doing firesides. But as I heard the words of this song tonight - in an entirely new light - I just started sobbing. (We're talking like the deep, wracking ugly cry, you guys!) It hit me like a ton of bricks -
this song is our life right now.
The song is shared at the end of the fireside "Remember the Journey," which talks about the journey and rescue of the Martin and Willie Handcart Pioneers in the winter of 1856. It is a tremendous story of courage, faith and heroics.
Jenny's husband Dan reads a powerful account from Solomon Kimball, who says, "To describe conditions surrounding the old fort at Devil's Gate during the first few days of November, 1856 would be a difficult task. About twenty-five out of the nine hundred emigrants who had arrived there had already perished, and others were lying at the point of death. Their food supply was nearly exhausted, and there were no signs of help. The snow was eighteen inches deep on the level, and the weather intensely cold and the more feeble among the Saints were literally freezing to death. Unless immediate steps were taken to relieve the situation, all would perish together."
When Brigham Young learned that there were still handcart pioneers out on the plains, he immediately organized rescue parties that eventually found the last handcart company stuck in a ravine between the Platte and the Sweetwater rivers. They were in a desperate condition. The team helped the company start moving again, but when they arrived at a certain crossing of the Sweetwater River, the company refused to go any further.
Solomon Kimball said, "The water in places was almost waist deep, and the river more than a hundred feet wide. To cross that mountain torrent under such conditions to them meant nothing short of suicide. They had walked hundreds of miles over an almost trackless plain, pulling carts as they went, and after making such tremendous sacrifices for the cause of truth, to lay down their lives in such a dreadful manner was awful to contemplate. They became alarmed, and cried mightily unto the Lord for help, but received no answer. After they had given up in despair, after all hope had vanished, after every apparent avenue of escape seemed closed, four eighteen-year-old boys belonging to the relief party came to the rescue and to the astonishment of all who saw, carried nearly every member of that ill-fated handcart company across the snowbound stream. The strain was so terrible, and the exposure so great, that all the boys suffered from the effects of it for the rest of their lives. When President Brigham Young heard of this heroic act, he wept like a child, and later declared publicly, 'that act alone will ensure C. Allen Huntington, George W. Grant, David P. Kimball, and Stephen W. Taylor an everlasting salvation in the Celestial Kingdom of God, worlds without end.'"
Then four men in the group (usually Jeff is one of the ones who sings in this quartet - he was tonight) get up to sing this song. "Let Me Carry You."
Let me share the words with you:
Nine hundred saints
You came across the seas and plains
Hunger and cold have taken some away
You're in despair
And you just don't have the strength
To cross this river standing in your way
You can't feel your feet
And your hands are frozen through
The Father knows all that you've been through
So let me be the Father's hands
My shoulders will bear you up with His strength
Let me carry you
Let me bear the cold
I am here to share your load
Through all you've done
You have been true
But this is something you just can't do
Let me carry you
You're almost there
You will make it to the end
You will go on
And you'll find your strength again
So one by one climb upon my back
And I will give you
Everything I have
We're brothers in this earthly trail of tears
The faith we share
Is stronger than our fears
So let me be the Father's hands today
My shoulders will bear you up with His strength
Let me carry you
Let me bear the cold
I am here to share your load
Through all you've done
You have been true
But this is something you just can't do
Let me carry you
Like I said, I have heard this song countless times. But the words have never been more real and more powerful or more applicable than they were as I listened to them tonight.
"I am here to share your load
Through all you've done
you have been true
But this is something you just can't do
Let me carry you"
I thought, "THIS IS ROBIN! She is literally doing for us the thing that we cannot do." Jeff and I have tried to be true. We
want to be true. We have loved and listened to and followed the Lord as He has guided us on our journey through infertility (and my health challenges and numerous other struggles and trials that we have endured in our lives).
But this is something we just can't do.
What a miraculous blessing it is that there are others - like Robin - who are willing to step in. To rescue us and do for us what we cannot do for ourselves. IT IS HEROIC. I have told Robin many times that I think she is a hero. And now I know why. She is being The Father's hands to lift us up and to do what we cannot.
I know, just as those early handcart Pioneers knew, that Jesus Christ is our Savior. He is our rescuer and our redeemer. He is the reason that four 18 year old boys were willing to sacrifice their own lives, if necessary, to carry hundreds of weary and freezing and faithful emigrants across an icy river. And He is the reason that a woman - who just a few weeks ago was a complete stranger to me - is willing to sacrifice almost a year of her life to carry our baby.
I know that my Redeemer lives;
What comfort this sweet sentence gives!
He lives, He lives, who once was dead;
He lives!
