“Emma lost several children. She was often alone while Joseph was away on Church business or when he was unlawfully imprisoned. She shared her husband’s persecution for the gospel’s sake and often feared for her own life as well as the lives of her family members.”
As Grandma spoke, scenes began unfolding before my eyes, flickering past as if they were scenes from a movie that matched Grandma’s voice. But it was much too real to be a movie. There was Emma, standing by grave after tiny grave, sobbing as if her heart would break, and I felt tears streaming down my own face.
Then, in another scene, she was in a home, walking the floors with a sick baby in her arms and looking exhausted. Her other children were in their beds trying to sleep, but all of them were coughing horribly, and Joseph was not there to help her. I wondered if this was one of the times he had been imprisoned, and I ached for her.
The scene changed, and I saw Emma, carrying two small children while her other two children clung to her skirts. It was winter, and their faces were chapped and red from the biting cold. They were walking across an icy river along with the other Saints.
Suddenly, I remembered the story of Emma crossing the Missouri River with her children while Joseph was incarcerated in Liberty Jail and the Saints were driven from Missouri. The scene was absolutely heart-wrenching! I longed to run to her and help with the children. I wanted to tell her everything was going to be all right.
Once more, our surroundings blurred, and the last scene came into view. Emma knelt beside a coffin, this one larger than the others. She cried bitterly, and I knew that it was Joseph inside. He had been shot and killed at Carthage Jail and had died a martyr.
“Oh, Grandma,” I sobbed. “I can’t take any more of this! Please make it stop! It’s too terrible. How could anyone endure what she went through? It’s not fair. It’s just not fair.” I fell to my knees and buried my face in my hands. My heart felt like it had been torn in two.
Grandma knelt beside me and spoke soothingly. “There, there, sweetheart. It’s like I always say—no sense wastin’ time and tissues over something like this. These things happened in the past. They’re already done. I know it was hard on you, and I’m sorry, but believe me when I tell you there was a reason.”
I sniffed and looked up, realizing that we were back on the dirt road where we’d started. I felt anger rise within me as I looked at Grandma. “What reason could you possibly have for showing me those awful things? To scar me for life? I don’t understand why Emma had to suffer like that. It just doesn’t seem right! She was the wife of a prophet—one of the most important prophets who ever lived. Why wouldn’t Heavenly Father have treated her better?”
Grandma stiffened at this last remark, and I knew I’d gone too far, but I was mad and I wanted answers. She paused for a moment and then asked, “When does the ‘happily ever after’ happen in a play?”
I looked at her like she was crazy. What kind of a bizarre question was that? Wiping the tears from my cheeks, I shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess it usually comes at the end.”
She beamed. “Exactly! If it’s a happy story and not a tragedy—none of that Romeo and Juliet nonsense—the ‘happily ever after’ always comes at the end, or in the third act. The second act usually contains the most conflict so that you wonder if the main character will ever achieve that desirable ending. Do you see where I’m going with this?”
“Um, kind of. Are you saying that even though Emma had a lot of trials, she was happy at the end of her life, and she felt like it was all worth it?”
“Not exactly—though Emma surely did have periods of joy in her life. What I’m saying is that the life all of us experience can be compared to a three-act play. The first act is our premortal existence, the second is our mortal life here on earth, and the third act happens after we die and receive our eternal reward. Emma Smith was an ‘elect lady,’ and because of her enduring faithfulness, her reward is greater than anything you can imagine. Her joy is full. So you see, you don’t need to cry for her anymore.
“I know sometimes it’s hard to understand from a mortal perspective why our Heavenly Father allows His children to suffer—especially when they are good people—but believe me, He knows each of His children and there is a reason for all of our experiences. Throughout the ages, it has often been those who are the most righteous who are the most severely tested. However, when they endure in faith, their reward is far greater than any of the suffering they had to endure.”
In my heart, I knew what Grandma was telling me was true, and a feeling of peace came over me. I knew I would never forget those images from Emma’s life, but at least I knew that she was happy now and would never have to suffer again.
“Thank you, Grandma, for bringing me here and teaching me all of this. I’ll never think about Emma or the early Saints the same way again. They were so strong! It’s a good thing I wasn’t born back then, because there’s no way I could have handled it.”
Grandma stood up, placed her hands on her hips, and huffed, “Is that what you think? Eliza, you have no idea who you are or what you are capable of. Yes, those early Saints were strong, and they were prepared for the time that they were sent to—but you! You have been sent down in the very fullness of times, right into the heart of the greatest battle the world has yet seen. The early Saints faced extreme physical and emotional hardships, but you must fight a battle that is intense in a different way. Your world is teeming with filth and subtly destructive forces.” Grandma had not spoken to me with such force before, and I was shocked into silence. Her gaze was piercing.
“What I want you to understand—what you must understand—is how special you are. You are vitally important to Heavenly Father. He loves you, and He has a plan for you. Although you don’t remember, you prepared yourself to face all of these challenges and to fulfill the mission you’ve been sent here to do. The reason I’m here is to help you recognize the tools that will help you accomplish this.”
She reached into the pocket of her dress and pulled out a small glass container no larger than a perfume sample. It appeared to be empty, but as I leaned closer, I saw a tiny, round pebble that was perfectly white inside the vial.
“Do you know what this is?” Grandma asked.
“It looks like a small rock or something.”
“Actually, it’s a seed. A mustard seed, to be exact. They’re usually yellow, but this seed is special. Here.” She reached for my hand and placed the tiny vial in my palm. I liked the cool, smooth feeling of the glass.
“Neat. What’s it for?”
“Everything I showed you has significance. It’s your task to figure out what the meaning is and how it applies to you.”
“Great. That’s all I need—more homework!” I mumbled sarcastically.
Grandma smiled and winked at me. “It’s time for me to go. Ponder the things you’ve seen and heard. I’ll be back again when you’re ready.”
Before I had a chance to say anything else, everything started getting fuzzy and then went black.
Chapter Six
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! I rolled over, frantically searching for the snooze button. I glared at the alarm clock through glazed eyes and tried to get my bearings. The offensively bright neon numbers displayed 6:45 a.m., my usual time for getting up.
I sighed and sat up, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something felt weird. After kneeling by my bed and hurrying through my usual morning prayers, I stumbled toward the bathroom. I turned on the faucet and grabbed my toothbrush. As I lifted the toothpaste tube, though, my mind started to clear and I suddenly remembered my dream.
It all came back to me with perfect clarity. I’d had strange dreams before, the kind that lingered through the next day, but I already knew that this dream had been different. It felt like something that had actually happened to me—something that was a part of me.
I realized the faucet was still running, so I shut it off and stared at myself in the mirror. After a few minutes of standing there
like a piece of petrified wood, I decided the only thing to do was try to forget about it and go on like usual. I hurried through my morning routine, trying to make up for the minutes I’d wasted in my zombielike state. The rushing around seemed to help me feel more human again, and I started thinking maybe the dream hadn’t been such a big deal after all—until I looked in my closet.
I remembered asking Jill if I could borrow her tank top, and last night that hadn’t seemed like such a big deal, but now it did. I pictured Grandma’s face and Emma’s, and I remembered the way Grandma’s words had felt true to me in a way that I couldn’t deny.
I pulled on a pair of jeans and sighed as I yanked my pink-and-white striped polo off the hanger and put it on. The outfit was boring, and when I looked in the mirror, I started to doubt myself. You have to compete with a lot of girls for Luke’s attention. You’ll have to look better than that if you want him to notice you. Boys want a girl who looks sexy. You look dull—and you could stand to lose a few more pounds.
The thoughts came into my mind before I could stop them, and I decided I would borrow Jill’s tank top. I had to do whatever it took to catch Luke’s attention, and what was the big deal anyway? It wasn’t like I was wearing a belly shirt and a miniskirt. I would just show a little shoulder.
Grandma’s face kept popping into my head. What was with that dream? Was I losing my mind?
There was one way to find out. I hurried from my room and down the hall. A set of small stairs marked the entrance to the attic, and I took them two at a time.
Our house didn’t have a basement, so the attic had become a catchall for our junk. As I entered the room, the early morning light filtered through a small window, illuminating the million tiny specks of dust floating in the air.
I squinted hard and could just make out the object I was looking for. I walked a few steps and reached up to pull the string of the lightbulb hanging from the ceiling, and then continued quickly toward my destination.
In the corner of the room, hanging on the wall, was a large framed photograph of Great-Grandma Porter. I walked up to the picture, and chills ran over my arms as I stared at Grandma’s face. The full force of my dream and all that had happened in it came washing over me as I stared into Grandma’s eyes. This had been more than an ordinary dream—that much I knew. I ran my hand over the glass as if to convince myself it was really just a picture, and not Grandma herself.
A small creak sounded and I half-jumped, turning around quickly. Mom looked at me from the doorway.
“Eliza, what on earth are you doing up here? You’re going to be late for school if you don’t hurry.” She looked at me quizzically, a slight frown on her face.
“I, um . . . I was just looking at this picture of Great-grandma.” I struggled to think of something to say that would sound somewhat sane. “Do you think we look alike? We have the same eyes, and I wonder if I’ll look like her when I get older.” I glanced at Mom to see if she’d buy my excuse for why I was taking an early morning stroll through the attic. When she smiled and came to stand beside me I knew I was in the clear.
“I’ll have to find some pictures of her when she was younger, but I think there definitely is a strong resemblance.” She smiled fondly as she looked at the picture, and then she turned her attention to the dresser below it. “I don’t know if I’ve told you this before, but when Great-grandma died, I inherited some of her possessions, including this dresser and several things in this corner of the room. It seems silly to keep it all, but I can’t bear to part with it.”
She ran her fingers lovingly over the dresser and then gasped as she looked at her watch. “Oh my goodness, look at the time! You really need to hurry or you’re going to be late, honey.”
“Okay, I’ll be right down.”
“I better get breakfast going.” Mom hurried from the room, and I moved to follow, but my eyes lingered on the dresser. Knowing that it had once belonged to Grandma fascinated me, and I couldn’t resist quickly opening the drawers. The first three contained nothing more than Grandma’s old clothes, but as I opened the bottom drawer, a hard lump under one of her old dresses caught my attention.
I pulled the fabric aside and uncovered a small, intricately carved box. It looked like a music box, with a lid on top and little drawers on the side.
“Eliza, I hope you’re hurrying; I almost have breakfast ready!” Mom’s voice carried up from the kitchen.
“I’ll be right down!” I called back, hoping she wouldn’t be able to tell I was still in the attic. I’d be dead meat if she knew I was still up here. I quickly opened the lid to the box and a few unfamiliar notes escaped, threatening to blow my cover. It was a music box! I glanced inside before closing the lid and slamming the dresser drawer shut, vowing to come back when I had more time. I was halfway to the door when I realized what I’d seen.
Slowly, I made my way back to the drawer and opened it. I stared at the music box in disbelief, and carefully, as if I were afraid it would bite me, I lifted the lid once more. There, lying on red velvet lining, was a tiny glass vial containing a pure white mustard seed.
• • •
“Good morning, sunshine!” Jill seemed extra chipper as she climbed in the passenger seat. She didn’t even wait for a response before chatting away, “So, I think we’ve been putting it off long enough. We need to go dress shopping tonight. The clock’s ticking you know—only thirteen more days until prom!” She squealed in excitement, but after a quick glance at me she noticed my obvious lack of enthusiasm. She must have misunderstood my silence, because she immediately said, “So how did it go with Jason and the messaging last night? Is everything okay?” She touched my arm, and I snapped back to reality.
“Oh, what? Um, yeah, it went fine. We didn’t chat very long. I think it will be . . . fine.”
That wasn’t the rambling response I’d usually give her on this topic, and Jill looked at me like I was from Mars. “Liza, is everything okay?”
“Yeah, why?”
“I don’t know, you just seem distracted or something.”
I considered telling her about my dream, but somehow it didn’t feel right. At least for now the experience was something I wanted to keep to myself, so I decided to play dumb. “Sorry, I don’t think I got enough sleep last night, and you know I’m not much of a morning person.” There—true on both counts.
“Okay, but you do want to go shopping today, don’t you?”
“Of course.”
She beamed. “Great! Let’s go right after school.” She continued to describe her “ideal dress,” but I couldn’t keep my mind from wandering back to the dream. I drove to school on autopilot, and when we parked at the school lot, I turned off the ignition and reached in the backseat for my bag.
My hand was on the door handle when Jill stopped me. “Wait! Don’t you remember?” She reached into her bag and pulled out three colorful tank tops. I recognized the yellow one, but there was also a red one with a stylish neckline and a dark gray one with lacy trim. They were all super cute, and I was sorely tempted by them. Jill pulled out one more: a plain white tank top with spaghetti straps. “You can layer this one underneath,” she said. “Which one do you like best? I think you should wear the gray one—it would look great on you!”
I battled with myself inwardly and was about to cave when my hand brushed against the glass vial I’d tucked inside my pocket. The words from For the Strength of Youth came clearly to my mind: “Young women should wear clothing that covers the shoulder and avoid clothing that is low-cut in the front or back or revealing in any other manner.” When I’d read those words before, they’d somehow seemed restrictive and old-fashioned, but when I heard them in my mind now I got goose bumps and knew that they had been written by a prophet and that they mattered. I had the courage I needed.
“Thanks for bringing those for me, Jill, but I changed my mind. I’m not going to borrow them.”
She looked hurt. “Why not? Don’t you like any of them?”
&nbs
p; “I’ve just decided I’m not going to wear sleeveless shirts, that’s all.”
Jill smirked. “Liza, your mom is not going to catch you. You saw how easy it was for me to change in the car.”
“I know, but I’m not doing it because of my mom.” I left it at that and opened the car door, leaving Jill slightly frustrated and confused.
Before I closed the door, I heard her mumble, “Okay, whatever.”
She didn’t talk to me the rest of the way across the parking lot. Once we were inside, she said she was going to meet up with Nick before class and disappeared.
• • •
As I walked to my locker after class, I realized that I was largely a creature of habit. I walked the same halls every day, and I always waited until after math to go to my locker because my classes up until then were too far away. It was always such a relief to empty some of the insanely heavy textbooks from my bag and give my aching shoulders a break. I also liked stopping at my locker because lately there was often a note inside from my secret admirer.
I was in a hurry today because I knew Jason would appear at any moment. He’d sent me a text during my last class asking if we could eat lunch together again, and not being able to come up with a good reason not to, I’d agreed. But I didn’t want him to show up while I was reading one of the notes, which I assumed he’d put in my locker again. I didn’t know how I felt about Jason being my secret admirer, and I was doing everything within my power to avoid some kind of “define the relationship” conversation with him before I could clearly analyze my feelings for him.
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