"It's not that they are untrue, but that they are incomplete."

“The single story creates stereotypes, and the problem with stereotypes

is not that they are untrue, but that they are incomplete.

They make one story become the only story.”

- Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

Imagine a courtroom where the judge and jury were only given one story to come to their conclusions, to make their ruling. It could never be a fair trial! In order for the court system to work properly, the purpose is to provide many witnesses and cross examinations to make a good case.

Everyone wants a complete and fair trial. The quote I used at the beginning of this post is taken from a really wonderful Ted Talk I watched in my writing class on Monday.  I've been thinking about it all week, thinking about how we unintentionally get the wrong idea of cultures, nations, families, neighbors, and even individuals from hearing only one side of the story.  

Hearing only one side of the story can lead us to assume the best or the worst in others; We might almost worship another human being or completely despise them without ever having met them or from only hearing a single story about them.  Some examples of single stories that come to my mind are the following:

1. A single story happens when a child comes home from school and tells their parents how awful their teacher is.  If the parent's never take the time to go to the school to meet the teacher, the view the parents form about the teacher is all based on one individual's story.
2. A single story happens when a person has formed an opinion about a religion based off how it was portrayed in a TV sitcom or Broadway show.
3. A single story may be formed from the appearance or location of others before we've had a chance to let them speak for themselves.  (A Scripture example: When King Limhi, in the Book of Mormon detains Ammon and almost has him killed, before he came to know Ammon's full story.  When King Limhi realized the full story, his mood and perception changed dramatically. [-Mosiah 7])
4. A single story can happen with our ancestors, people who've passed away, or historical figures. Even they even fall victim to tall-tales when a single story told over and over through time, makes them out to be gods or devils, instead of human.

These are just a few examples...

Come to think of it... as I write this... even my blog is only a single story that I'm telling of my life. Would perceptions change if I had my children, my husband, my friends, or my parents tell the stories of my life on here from their view?  

I really felt this Ted Talk was extremely worth the time it took to watch it. Chimamanda does such a fantastic job of illustrating the danger of a single story. It compels me to slow down and do some research before I form my own judgments and opinions of others.... and never let one story become the only story.

-Alicia

Beyond the Veil

My dad was named after his father.  Dad was the oldest of 10 children.  His mother died of breast cancer when he was still a kid, long before I was ever born. But I always felt like I knew his mother because my dad always talked about her.  He loved her so much!

His mother was a convert to the church.  She was a petite little brunette, 5ft 2 and never weighed more than 100 pounds. Even though she was very small, she had a giant soul.  She served in the army, that's where she and my grandpa met.  He instantly fell in love with her small figure and feisty southern personality.  One day he saw her passing by the army barracks and whistled at her.  She turned around with a wink in her eye and flirted, "Well, if you can't howl, don't even bother to whistle!" My grandpa was instantly smitten.  He loved to tell that story.

When my dad was one year old, he was sealed to his parents in the Temple. He actually has some memory of that special day as crazy as that might seem for a one-yr-old to remember, but he does.  Anyway, I loved the stories my dad would tell me about his mom.  It was my way of "getting to know her."  

One day, the day before Memorial Day, when my daughter was two years old, I was doing my hair getting ready for church.  I could hear Miriam's cute little voice chattering to herself as she playfully took toothbrushes and pretended they were people.  I stopped for a moment to peak around the corner to observe her playing.  I stood there for a while just soaking in how adorable she was and how much I loved her.  Then I went back to getting ready for church and tuned into KSL radio to a listen to a Church broadcast in honor of the Memorial Day weekend.  

I started to think about Memorial Day and remembered how dad always used to take us to his mother's grave every single year as a family.  I thought of how long it had been since I had returned.  I must have stopped going after I got married.  "I should go visit her grave tomorrow", the thought popped into my head... but then I started to rationalize
"I'm too busy tomorrow."
"It's just a grave site, her spirit's not there anyway."
"Besides, why would she care if I visit, she doesn't even know me."
Then I heard a voice speak to my mind and heart, "Oh, I know you!  I know you more than you know your little girl in the other room.  I know you very, very well."  It was then that I caught a vision of a mother's love that extends through generations.  I looked again at Miriam who was playing and thought, "That's right.  It wouldn't matter if it was her child or her children's children.  She's my girl... I'm fully invested in her and all her posterity forever and ever and nothing would or could change that... not even death."  

The radio continued to play in the background and then I heard the man giving the sermon quote from Malachi and the verse about the Spirit of Elijah, "He shall turn the heart of the fathers to the children, and the heart of the children to their fathers."  And I was reminded of my patriarchal blessing where it said, "Their hearts are already turned to you, Alicia.  And when yours is sufficiently turned to them, you will have this glorious experience and be a Savior on Mt. Zion."  Tears began streaming down my face and I felt the presence of my grandmother so strong as if she were there wrapping her arms around me.  

I went to her grave the next day and knelt down as I placed the flowers.  I said a prayer and asked for forgiveness for not realizing before how very aware she was of me and for not turning my heart to her sooner.  Since then, I have slowly picked away at family search and discovered that out of all my family lines, her's seemed to have the most work waiting to be done.  Most of the names I have taken to the Temple have been through her tree.  It has been a wonderful experience.

I believe in angels.  I believe heaven is closer than we realize.

Joseph F. Smith Taught,
“I believe we move and have our being in the presence of heavenly messengers and of heavenly beings. We are not separate from them. … We are closely related to our kindred, to our ancestors … who have preceded us into the spirit world. We can not forget them; we do not cease to love them; we always hold them in our hearts, in memory, and thus we are associated and united to them by ties that we can not break. … If this is the case with us in our finite condition, surrounded by our mortal weaknesses, … how much more certain it is … to believe that those who have been faithful, who have gone beyond … can see us better than we can see them; that they know us better than we know them. … We live in their presence, they see us, they are solicitous for our welfare, they love us now more than ever. For now they see the dangers that beset us; … their love for us and their desire for our well being must be greater than that which we feel for ourselves."

John Taylor also testified,

"God lives, and his eyes are over us, and his angels are round and about us, and they are more interested in us than we are in ourselves, ten thousand times, but we do not know it"  

I pray we will have eyes to see beyond the veil of this life, I know it will happen when we turn our hearts to those who have gone before us, who love us so deeply.  As we do all we can to make the blessings of the Temple available to them, we will feel their presence more closely in our lives and have their protection.

-Alicia

A Preparatory Temple

I had the opportunity of attending both the 9:00 and the 3:00 dedication services of the Provo City Center Temple in March.  I took a notebook with me to write down my thoughts and impressions from all who spoke.

The talk that struck me the most during the 9:00 session was Elder Oaks.  He began his address referring to another Temple in our church history that had risen from the ashes, the Nauvoo Temple.  He spoke of it as being a preparatory temple for those pioneer saints to face the difficult journey ahead of them.  It had just been completed when the persecution against the Church grew so intense that they were forced to leave their beautiful Nauvoo.

In his talk Elder Oaks likened the Provo City Center to the Nauvoo Temple saying that it would also be a preparatory temple for the struggles we would face in these last days.  In order to press through the hardships and trials of our day, he encouraged us to re-dedicate our lives to the building of Zion.  He testified of the ability to access heavenly power by doing temple work for our ancestors and also learning their stories.

Along this principle of building up the kingdom of God and establishing Zion in such a contentious day and age, Elder Oaks quoted from Abraham Lincoln's first inaugural address, "Though passion may have strained it must not break our bonds of affection. The mystic chords of memory, stretching from every battlefield and patriot grave to every living heart and hearthstone all over this broad land, will yet swell the chorus of the Union, when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature." (I especially loved that Elder Oaks quoted this because it was something I had just written about 2-and-a-half weeks prior to the dedication.)

He emphasized that this "union" would be bound by the "mystic chords of memory" the stories of our loved ones, our ancestors, those in our family who have passed away.  He promised that as we learn and share their stories of faith, their personal testimonies, their struggles, and their triumphs, we will be "touched... by the better angels of our nature."  This very simple act of turning and connecting to the faith our forefathers and foremothers will not only soften our hearts and help us connect, instill unity, and increase our affection for one another in our family... but also in our community.

This past year, I have studied the life and stories of my 3rd great grandfather, William Wall (on my dad's side) and my great aunt Sylvia (on my mom's side).  Their stories of faith have astonished me.  I had no idea the kinds of things they had to persevere and press through.  They were every bit as brave and valiant as the prophets of old.  A great spirit of reverence and respect has instilled upon my heart for these ancestors of mine.  Even more wonderful, is that through reading their records I have felt their presence very clearly in my life...
I have felt the presence of angels... Something I think we are ALL going to need... for what lies ahead. (2 Kings 6:16)

-Alicia

Aunt Sylvia - Part 6

The following is taken from part of my Great Aunt Sylvia's book, "Victory Through Suffering."  It's her story of how she survived a Japanese Concentration Camp:

(See Previous Accounts)
Aunt Sylvia - Part 5
Aunt Sylvia - Part 4
Aunt Sylvia - Part 3
Aunt Sylvia - Part 2
Aunt Sylvia - Part 1

Walk With Me

When Saw We Thee a Stranger

Another of the Lord's blessings was that we had no light.  Since it was dark early, we retired early.  After I had Bible hour with the children, I said, "Now you tell Mother a story."
Mark said, "I can't tell you a story."
I answered, "You can't tell a story like Mother can, but you can tell it like Mark can."
Thus they learned more in telling the story than in hearing it.  By the time they were out of camp they could tell the Bible stories and their applications.  They were a help in their Sunday School class in their home church.

Continually threatened by death, made eternity real to them.  People were dying every day in camp.  I always tried to make the way of salvation very clear, letting them make their own decisions.  I never pressed for a decision or told them they were saved.  Finally, I realized they were sure of their own salvation and the importance of it.
Overhearing my conversations when I said, "the most important thing is...."
Paul often interrupted, "...to know you are saved. Then it does not matter what happens."
How true that is!  One day a lady coming back from visiting the sick asked, "What good is it to visit the sick?  They are not interested in camp conversations."
Turning to the boys, I asked them, "What would you talk to them about?"
Paul replied, "I would talk to them about Jesus.  Then if they are really saved it does not matter if they die."

Another miracle in camp was the tomato plants.  They were plants I found in a ditch while weeding the field.  They were not large, flowering plants but I trusted they would yet transplant.  I dug up the ground with a table knife.  We planted and watered with prayer.  They grew higher than my head.  We expected God to work a miracle, and He did!  The first little one we divided.  It tasted so good, as we had not eaten tomatoes for so long.

We had no medicines or hospital but only rooms set aside to keep the sick.  A dear sister in the Lord was there very ill.  She craved fruit.  About that time, we had been studying with the boys about giving to the Lord.
Mark asked, "How can we give to the Lord in this camp?"
I told him that if we gave to [others], it was as though we gave to Him,
"If ye have done it unto the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto Me."
I asked them if they would like to give a tomato to this friend, Miss DeVries.
"Oh, yes!" they chimed joyfully.

The boys were so happy as they visited her that evening.  They carried the precious tomato (a wonderful gift in those days) and offered it with radiant faces to the suffering one with these words, "We give you this in the name of the Lord."
Thus given by His little servants and graciously accepted by Miss De Vries, It was a testimony throughout the hospital room.  She said she could hardly eat such a precious gift.

Shortly after, we were again taking a tomato to Miss DeVries and I suggested to the boys that we first visit a dear mother who was dying.  I stopped to talk with her but she was too far gone to talk of eternal things.  Then I asked her if she would like a tomato.  She did not seem to hear.  However, it must have registered in her mind, for later when she rallied a bit, she asked, "Do you have a tomato?"
I told her we had one for her.  She asked to see it.  Mark brought it in to her.  She took it gratefully.  Later, the nurse prepared it for her.  It was the last thing she ate before she died.  In such ways, we were able to help a few in their last moments of suffering.

Some would come to buy tomatoes.
We could have bought almost anything with some tomatoes in those days!
I told them, "These tomatoes are the Lord's and I cannot sell them."
The camp was so large I could not share with everyone.
I asked the Lord to lead me where it would be a testimony, especially to the household of faith.  Others who had tomatoes found they were being stolen.  Putting the responsibility on the Lord, I said, "Lord, they are Your tomatoes' for Thy glory.  If they steal, they steal from Thee."
The Lord protected them.  We never missed any of our tomatoes.  We had over 250 from these few plants and were still bearing them when we left camp.  It was such a blessing and joy to the boys to share and expect the Lord to work.  They decided to plant a little garden to be used to give the sick ones.  Each one planted, weeded and watered his own plot.  They proved the joy of sharing:  "It is more blessed to give than to receive."

-Aunt Sylvia

Aunt Sylvia - Part 5

I felt a connection with Aunt Sylvia as she shared in this section some scriptures and principles that are very dear to my own heart.  I look forward to the day I will meet my grandmother's sister.  I feel confident that she smiles from heaven as I read her story and learn from her what real faith looks like.  She inspires me and I'm so thankful she preserved these stories.

The following is taken from part of my Great Aunt Sylvia's book, "Victory Through Suffering."  It's her story of how she survived a Japanese Concentration Camp:

(See Previous Accounts)
Aunt Sylvia - Part 4
Aunt Sylvia - Part 3
Aunt Sylvia - Part 2
Aunt Sylvia - Part 1

Walk With Me

"Precious Lessons in the School of Suffering"

We had not yet reached rock bottom.  As time went on, food came worse.  Three times a day we lined up at the kitchen to get our portion of soup, rice, or "starch" (for such it was).  A tiny piece of meat in soup or half an egg were rare exceptions.  So scarce did food become that snails were a delicacy and had to be obtained by doctor's order.  The waiting list was so long that we must wait our turn for weeks.  At first, we were all reluctant to eat such things, but at last we waited our turn for anything edible.  Symptoms of Beriberi were general throughout the camp.

A few pigs were kept in camp for which food was sent in separately.  Since much of this food was what was being used in our kitchen, we were envious to see the pigs well fed while we were hungry.  We begged for a share of the pig's food but were forbidden.  Like the prodigal son, we would fain have eaten what was brought for the pigs to eat, but no man gave to us.  Many waited by the garbage to get what was left of the pig's food.  We washed it, ate it praying that we be strengthened and not get a disease.  For a long time even after returning to the USA I could not keep the boys from looking in the garbage.  Paul said, "Mama they are throwing away better than we had to eat."  Even clothes and shoes they wanted to rescue for they used to gather old socks and scraps of cloth to keep me supplied with thread.  Old matting or corn husks were final endeavors for shoes.  I told them they need not search garbage, for God had supplied the need.

How many Christians are content to live from the world's garbage cans, rather than coming to the feast at the Lord's bountiful table.  He invites, "come and dine," you may feast at Jesus's table all the time.  How little we appreciate all He has done for us at Calvary!  How far below His bountiful provision we live!  We take from Satan that which he offers as though we were yet is prisoners.  We are ignorant of his defeat at Calvary.  I praise the Lord that through these trials He began to open my eyes to the springs of water, yea the rivers of living water freely offered.  Why do we spend time and effort for "that which satisfies not, (Isaiah 55:2) forsaking the fountain of Living water?"  My cry now is, "let me feast at Jesus's table continually, I shall never thirst again."  Come, drink, be satisfied.

Even in the dire need of food, the boys in a wonderful way learned to take all from the Lord; and in every circumstance to give thanks.  He was dealing with us in love and tenderness.  They took hunger or punishment from the Lord's hand without murmuring.  "Do all things without murmuring: (Phil. 2:15).  When we received food we would pray it would sustain us till we received more, asking that He would multiply it as the loaves and fishes.  Hearing the other children cry for food, the boys said, "the Lord does take care of us, even though we get hungry, He never lets us get too hungry."  What a lesson!  "Not that I speak in respect of want, for I have learned in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content.  I know both now to be abased, and I know how to abound; everywhere and in all things I am instructed both to be full and to be hungry, both to abound and to suffer need." (Phil. 4: 10-12)  What could we do but to keep looking to the Lord knowing He would make a way?

Those precious lives of my little boys were entrusted to me to train for eternity.  I was responsible that they know the way.  My passion was that Christ be formed in them, and manifested in such a manner that if I died they would still meet me again (even if they were left with unbelievers).  But how was I to do it here with a constant hubbub of worldly people?  We were never a minute alone.  We learned the sufficiency of His grace, and to rejoice in trial.  It meant putting the Lord first in everything.  Life was a constant reliance upon God for personal devotions and the children's Bible hour.  Each evening we gathered for our Bible hour, sitting on our mats under the mosquito net, which shut out the consciousness of others.  The Bible became more real to the boys as it was applied to existing trials.

We dare not talk of America or other outside countries.  Nor could we think of horrible conditions around but we could look up and rejoice in our Heavenly Home.  How we scanned the scriptures for all we found about it!  We sang hymns of praise and worship, rejoicing in the Lord Himself.  Heaven became real and eternal things more vital than earthly.  The second coming of the Lord became vivid to the boys.  One time Mark said, "Mother, why doesn't Jesus talk to me like He did to little Samuel?  I listen for Him at night, but He doesn't talk to me."  I responded with a promise, "You keep close to the Lord, and He will talk to you some day too."  Another time he said, "Mother, when is the trumpet to sound, and Jesus come to take us to Heaven:  It is so much better than this place."  Later, when they heard that daddy had gone to heaven they said, "Why can't we go too? "  I tried to tell them that we must stay to tell others how to get there."  The Lord in His mercy helped them to understand these precious truths.

-Aunt Sylvia

The Power of Pure Testimony

Alma the younger is overwhelmed with what is happening among his own church, among his own people.  They had all made covenants in the waters of baptism and yet "the people of the church began to wax proud... they began to be scornful, one towards another...their began to be great contentions, envying, and strife, and malice... he saw great inequality, ...lifting themselves up with their pride, despising others."  (Alma 4:6,8-10,12)  

"Now this was the cause of much affliction to Alma, yea, and to many of the people who Alma had consecrated to be teachers, and priests, and elders over the church." (Alma 4:7)

(Notice that those who served with Alma, those he had set-apart as teachers and leaders also grieved for what was happening.)

What a heavy burden this righteous man of God carried on his shoulders.  It "sorely grieved" him. He searched, pleaded, and prayed for answers and came to the conclusion that there was "no way that he might reclaim them save it were in bearing down in pure testimony against them."  He reminded them of the generation who had gone before them. It wasn't just his testimony he bore but he strove to remind them of the testimony of their parents and grandparents.  And he lists off these things that happened to them basically saying, "Don't you remember them, how they gained hope and salvation?"

Your parents and grandparents had these blessings:

• Delivered by the mercy and power of God (5:4)
• Delivered out of bondage by the power of His word (5:5)
• Delivered their souls from hell (5:6)
• He changed their hearts (5:7)
• He awakened them out of a deep sleep (5:7)
• Their souls were illuminated by the light of the everlasting word (5:7)
• The bands of death were broken (5:9)
• The chains of hell were loosed (5:9)
• Their souls did expand (5:9)
• They did sing redeeming love (5:9)

Then he asks them "what is the cause" of the great miracles that took place with them.  How were all of these things possible?  He answers his own question,
"I can tell you."(Alma 5:11-13)

• They believed the Prophet
• They believed the Prophet spoke the words of God
• According to faith, there was a mighty change of heart as they applied the Prophet's words
• They humbled themselves
• They put their trust in God
• They were faithful to the end

I think the part that stands out to me here is the "pure testimony" that Alma bore to the people was mostly that of his father's testimony.  His father left a powerful legacy.  I wonder what affect it would have if we were to tap into and share as frequently as possible with our children the testimony of their grandmothers and grandfathers?  That seemed to be the common answer that stood out to me at World Congress 9 this year. Read their testimony to your children. Send it out in a weekly or monthly email, in a text message, or pin it up and frame it on a wall where they can see it every day.  Make it an opening tradition to read every FHE.  However it is done, put that pure testimony out there for them to be reminded constantly. 

Now of course we must constantly use the "pure testimony" of the prophets and apostles too; scriptures both modern and ancient.  But there is power in using the testimony of a grandmother or grandfather because even when the faith of the children waver even in God (in the unseen), they cannot deny the existence of a grandma or grandpa.  They had incredible faith, they believed!

-Alicia

Aunt Sylvia - Part 4

The following is taken from part of my Great Aunt Sylvia's book, "Victory Through Suffering."  It's her story of how she survived a Japanese Concentration Camp:

(See Previous Accounts)
Aunt Sylvia - Part 3
Aunt Sylvia - Part 2
Aunt Sylvia - Part 1

Walk With Me

"God Specializes in Things Thought Impossible"

One day there was rumor that the whole camp was to be moved.  All had high hopes it would be to the coast and then home.  The hours of preparations were strenuous as we were allowed only 60 lbs per person.  Finally we were marched to the train where we were crammed in for one day and two nights.  Children dropped with fatigue in the floor or behind our backs on the tiny narrow benches, while mothers perched on the edge and fought sleep to keep the children from being trampled to death.  One never knew when the Japanese would plod through the mass of humanity in search of someone.  At length, in the middle of the night (at about 2 AM) we arrived "somewhere" and were commanded to get off the train immediately, leaving baggage on the train.  our luggage was thrown out in a heap on the ground and brought to the camp later, as a pile of rubbish.  We searched through it trying to find something familiar.

The crowded trucks were whizzed off into the night, and ushered us into the crowded "Bandjir Biru" camp.  There we were given 18 inch space to lay our mat (this was on boards on top of saw horses).  Such an anti-climax after days and nights of intense strain, when we were hoping for the best... it was too great a disappointment.  We could not restrain the tears.  I opened my eyes in our new room with 118 people.  Some rooms had 500 to 700 in one room.  After those terrible weary nights of packing and travel, only His grace could sustain the shock.  One could only say, "How long, Lord, how long?!"

There were five rows of skinny mattresses on boards laid on saw horses.  People were passing in the isles almost continually.  Noise, coughing and talking were incessant day and night.  There was no quietness.  Our main problem was to concentrate sufficiently in this throng to pray and meditate on the Word.  This was our only strength for the day.  He must be first.  Many precious lessons were learned even midst the turmoil.  Our privacy for the family altar was only a mosquito net.  I praise the Lord for the intense interest and desire of the children to learn about God.  Even in this crowded room they were able to learn about the Lord.  even in this crowded room they were able to concentrate.  Their chief concern grew to be the eternal interests.

After a time, it became apparent that this constant strain and confusion began to wear on the children and even on myself.  Dr. Domste insisted that we needed other accommodations if possible.  She suggested the prison cell.  This did not sound very inviting but anything was better than what we had.  Although she made out the order for us, we heard nothing further.  When the day for moving to the cells came, no word had arrived for us.  The lady in charge of our room said there were so many and that it was impossible.  I said nothing but believed the Lord had a plan for us in this impossible situation.  God specializes in things thought impossible. I kept the matter before Him, asking that He be glorified.  About noon on the last moving day, Dr. Domste questioned me, "Why aren't you moving?"  I explained that no word had been given me.  Taking the matter up immediately, she found the cell and told me to move to the on in B-C section.

It did not take long to get moved.  The Lord had heard my prayer.  You will note in the plan, the three sections of cells (50 in each) with a court in the center.  Each cell made for one person, almost 5ft X 6.5ft.  As compared to the large, crowded room, this was a haven of the rest!  Just to look at bare walls instead of a sea of eyes was a relief.  The unceasing din of voices was dimmed.  How I rejoiced for the prison cell!!

Alas, our privacy was short-lived.  Many more people were brought to camp, and it necessitated crowding 4-5 into a cell made for one prisoner.  We had to share our tiny cell with a lady and her boy.  The boys were obliged to sleep on the floor with the lady on the boards above them.  My mat was on the stacked suitcases at the foot of her bed.  The boys had no places except under the bed.  Even to eat, they sat with pan in hand under the edge of the bed while eating or playing.  No wonder they did not know how to sit in a chair when they returned to the United States.

-Aunt Sylvia

William Madison Wall

He was his great grandfather and he was my third great grandfather.  Kay Wall lives just down the street from me.  The first question I asked Kay when I met him was if he was related to William Madison Wall.  A couple of months ago, Kay loaned me a book called, "Out of Captivity" by, Rallet C. Lund.  It contains the childhood story of our shared ancestor.  Each Sunday for the past couple of months I've been reading a chapter of it to my kids.  I had no idea the kind of trials William Wall went through.

Born in Illinois, he was the second oldest of four boys, raised in a good Christian family with loving parents. His mother died when he was eight while giving birth to his youngest brother.  After his mother's death, they went to live with their grandparents.  Being re-located meant his father had to look for new employment.  He wasn't having much luck and decided to further his options in distant towns.  One morning before his father went to search for work, William begged him not to leave.  He said he felt like something bad was going to happen to his dad but he didn't know what.  His father insisted and set out in spite of William's pleadings.  He never returned.  No one knows what happened to him.  They believe somewhere along the way he was robbed and murdered.

Williams grandparents were old and couldn't handle the four orphaned boys.  They split them up and sent them to foster homes.  William was ten years old when he was made to live with the Barton family.  They treated him like a slave and he was forced to eat and sleep in the barn.  In the summer he was chained up like one of the animals and in the winter Mr. Barton kept William's shoes locked in the house so he wouldn't try to escape.  For food, he received only a little bit of bread, water, and meat drippings a couple of times a week.  Sometimes he was so hungry he would eat out of the troughs of the cattle or pigs.  He slept in a burlap sack and had only the clothes on his back to wear.  William received daily beatings from Mr. Barton and his sons and lived as a slave for four years.  

The winter William was fourteen, he escaped from slavery and walked for almost a month with bleeding frozen and bare feet.  He found a few places here and there to chop wood or clean stables in exchange for food and sometimes a place to sleep.  He eventually met the Haw's family.  They were members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.  They took him in as one of their own.  Later, he fell in love with one of their daughters and they married.  

What I have shared here is such a small little fraction, such a simplified version of his story.  It doesn't really do him justice.   It has been incredible to read.  I can't say for sure if the kids look forward to hearing a new chapter each week but I certainly do.  In my personal scripture study, I am in the last two chapters of Malachi.  I love the verse about the spirit of Elijah, about turning the hearts of the children to their fathers.  My heart has been turned to this father of mine.  I love the faith he had through all that he endured.  His prayers were constant and he trusted in God.  In his short lifetime, he accomplished amazing and miraculous things.  I am honored to be one of his children.  

William Wall ended up joining the Church and became a great pioneer for the early saints in the Utah Valley.  He was a sheriff and a bishop of Provo's 3rd and 4th ward.  He led the construction of the road through Provo Canyon and has a statue built in his honor called "Journey's End."  The town of Wallsburg, near Heber City, is named after him.

Buried in the Provo City Cemetery 

-Alicia
Walk With Me

I found this article on Family Search:

Deseret News
CENTENNIAL LEGACIES
By Nicole K. Young, Staff Writer
Published: Sunday, Sept. 29 1996 12:00 a.m. MDT

Captured in bronze 
A 20-foot man riding a horse attracts a lot of attention in Heber City.
The bronze sculpture of William Madison Wall, Wasatch County's legacy project, stands alone in Heber City Park.

But there is a reason the statue is located in the southeast corner of the park, away from the playground, away from the picnic areas.

If you look at the statue at just the right angle, at the time of day when the sun is setting behind the Wasatch Mountains to the west, it looks like Wall is riding down the mountain, coming home to the Heber Valley.

"This is my home . . . This is my journey's end."

This is the theme of the statue, said its sculptor, Peter M. Fillerup, who recently moved from Cody, Wyo., to Wasatch County.

When Fillerup first came into the valley, he felt the spirit of the valley and its residents. The statue symbolizes that spirit.

"He (William Wall) has the spirit of the people that are here," said Fillerup.
Wall, born in Rockingham County, N.C., on Sept. 30, 1821, traveled with the 7th Mormon Company to Utah in 1850.

In 1858, Wall was among the first cattle ranchers to settle in the Heber Valley. His ranch was located at the mouth of Provo Canyon on the south end of the valley. Wallsburg is named after the colonizer....

Aunt Sylvia - Part 3

The following is taken from part of my Great Aunt Sylvia's book, "Victory Through Suffering."  It's her story of how she survived a Japanese Concentration Camp.

(See Previous Accounts)
Aunt Sylvia - Part 2
Aunt Sylvia - Part 1

Walk With Me

"Necessity: The Mother of Invention"

"We were each ordered to make a garden (39 inches square).  Our court yard had a brick floor, which we had to pull up and dig the soil with a table knife.  Watering it with prayer, I asked that with the Lord's blessing we might be able to eat of the fruit when we needed it most.  The first three tomato plants I planted under my window.  They grew very slowly in an alley with a high cement wall preventing sunlight.  However, when they did start to bear fruit, they did well.  One of them grew higher than I could reach and bore over seventy-five tomatoes.  It still had over twenty unripe ones when I left.  The four plants had over 240 tomatoes.  Encouraged by this, we planted in the garden more tomatoes, celery, and onions from roots all found from the kitchen garbage.  These were all doing well when we had to leave the garden to follow orders to move on to another camp.

Some have asked, 'Were there no joys in camp, no celebration days?'  Ah, yes.  Necessity is the mother of invention and so we were kept busy in times of dire necessity, inventing ideas to keep little hands and minds occupied with other things than the hard and drab circumstances surrounding us.

To entertain the boys, I took little pieces of wood and carved a head, made hands and arms of wire, then dressed them as dolls.  These were the scraps from carpenter work.  Later these ideas grew and they were dressed to imitate Bible characters or foreign costumes.  Some other people suggested I make some gifts for their children.  In this way the Lord enabled me to make a little cash to buy my share of camp rations.  We had to buy for two meals a day.  How marvelously the Lord supplied even from people we did not even know.

One day near Christmas, the boys were asked what they wanted (a very unwise question for camp days) Mark said he wanted a little wagon to carry blocks in .  Paul wanted a 'pikulan man' (a native coolie carrying baskets on a pole over his shoulders).  Now how was anyone to get such things in camp conditions?  The Lord gave me ideas.  I used a small wooden cheese box for the body of the wagon, wires made the staves, from wood I cut the wheels and with a piece of bamboo mat I made a cover.  Out of an old pair of pants I cut and stuffed an elephant to draw the cart.  Mark was delighted with it.  The coolie was more of a problem.  I found a handle of a wire toaster, stuffed it with cotton, then put cloths over that.  Pill boxes and a stick made the burden he carried.  These little surprises in their way made life more endurable for the children.

Perhaps the most difficult problem was the customary birthday cake.  Once I made a cake from grated cassava and baked it in a frying pan.  Another pressed together as cookies.  For candles we used wax on string or tiny injection vials (with drop of oil and string)  What delight it gave even these crude inventions.  They were content and thankful with little favors."

-Aunt Sylvia

Aunt Sylvia - Part 2

The following is taken from part of my Great Aunt Sylvia's book, "Victory Through Suffering."  It's her story of how she survived a Japanese Concentration Camp. I've taken on this project to transfer it over into a digital copy.  My goal is to do this about once a month and I imagine it will take me about 20 posts to cover the full record.
-Alicia

View the first post:
  Aunt Sylvia - Part 1

Walk With Me

"Further Glimpses of Camp Life"

In a few months another 350 prisoners were added to our camp, and we were scarcely settled when we were moved again.  Although some conditions seemed improved.  Yet the ever constant and more crowding living conditions seemed unbearable.

In our new quarters we were in an open room with a bamboo wall for privacy; but there was truly no privacy for conversation or freedom from ears or eyes of other families in the house.  Our daily living habits were often misconstrued and criticised.  Yet as Christians we could not be conformed to the general living conditions around us.  At one time I became ill and was transferred to the hospital room, leaving the boys with one whom I had regarded as our best friend in camp.  During the time she cared for them she taught them much contrary to Christian teaching, which made it very difficult for me when I returned.

Things grew worse and worse until I felt I could endure it no longer.  Since no one could move because there was no vacant place, the Lord Himself was the only One to whom I could turn for the solution to my problem.  I cried unto Him in my distress daring not to talk to anyone about it.  Again, I was brought to the place of rejoicing in the fires, praising Him for who He is and believing that He was working on our behalf, in spite of evident conditions.  Soon afterwards, one of the officials in charge of the office was changed and the Lord led me to approach the new lady.  The Lord gave us favor before her, and I was told she would try another place.  He did this "exceedingly abundantly," and I was given the best place I had ever had in camp.  One of the women in that house was a Christian.  Although she spoke no English, we had a heart fellowship in Christ.  What a blessed relief it was to be alone in one room with the boys again, and not to have the whole house interfering in everything we did.  Truly "the Lord hath His way in the whirlwind and in the storm, and the clouds are the dust of His feet." (Nahum 1:3)

"Scarcity of Food"

About this time the food began to be scarce.  The food was usually inadequate.  We could no longer buy little extras.  The quantity of rice was reduced to about half a cup per day.  We committed it to the Lord to make it like the manna; if we had little or much, it would be sufficient for the present need.  Also the bread was reduced and was of poor quality,  We asked Him to multiply it-- to make it serve as a bite between meals so the stomach was not empty for so long.  We learned "how to abound and to suffer hunger."  The sugar and oil were so scarce it was impossible to keep enough.  I used three cups for six or eight months.  Yet I fried something every day, either rice balls or sago pancakes.  This seemed to be more satisfying than just to boil the food.
People would ask, "How do you make the oil last so long?
How do you fry with so little?
Is it your pan?"
I answered, "It is the Lord, for I can do it with any pan."

It was wonderful how God helped to meet the need.  Many, when given a three days' supply, could not resist temptation, and ate it all in two days.  They had no control over their appetites.  No matter how little the ration was, we felt it best to have it regularly.  Many would come to borrow oil, sugar, or peppers from me.  I prayed that for a testimony and for His name's sake I might be able to help others.  I praise Him for the blessing of sharing the little things in times of dire need.

-Aunt Sylvia

Aunt Sylvia - Part 1

Last night I read from some of the pages of my great-aunt Sylvia's story.  (Sylvia is my grandmother's younger sister, born one year after her in 1909.)  She was taken captive by the Imperial Japanese Army during WWII while serving as a Christian missionary with her husband and two boys in Indonesia.  She was imprisoned from 1942 until 1945.  The copy I have of her story is on thin typed paper. I'll transfer most of it here so I have a second place to keep it.

Today, I discovered a book that has several pages written about my Aunt Sylvia.  Drumbeats That Changed the World  How exciting!

Walk With Me
Faith of My Mothers

"My First Internment"
by, Sylvia Sirag

"In October 1942, the American and British women and children were taken to the Police station to be interned in camp.  The officials who came to our home that morning gave us a few minutes to put things into the suit case and snatch a few things to eat.  I put it all into a large kettle to take to the Police station.  There we sat, many women and children awaiting the Japanese officials.  After waiting till noon we hardly felt like eating the food we had snatched from the house.  Not sensing the gravity of the situation, the children were still quite happy and ate as usual.  Finally, little three-year-old Paul began to sing:  

'Cheer up, cheer up, for Jesus is on the throne,

He will supply all your need from on high,

Cheer up, Cheer up, Cheer up.'

This was the message we needed.  We often act as though He [Christ] is not on the throne.  I praise God for the children who so often have been a blessing to me, even in the midst of terrible circumstances.  We felt the Lord would some way make a way out for us,, and He did:  We were one of the two parties who were permitted to go home after the Japanese officer came.  When we arrived home, we went over to Mr. Ho and found that they had been faithfully praying and believing that we would return.  [The return only lasted a short two months] In December, we were called again to appear at the office for internment.  This time the entire white population of the allied nations was taken.  We had to report with a very limited amount of baggage.  After registration with the officials we were marched down to a large school.  Everyone was scrambling to find a place on the floor to sleep.  Hundreds of us were huddled together in one school for four days.  Then the few men among us were sent to Bogor, the men's camp. [This is when my uncle was taken from her.]  

The Japanese officials informed us that we were under the Imperial army of Japan and that any disobedience would be severely punished.  We were told we were to be sent to Bandoeng.  He did not make it clear that we must do our own cooking, house keeping, etc.  Thus we had no pots or pans.  We were allowed a few minutes to go home to get some warm blankets etc., as it is cold in Bandoeng Hill climate.  

The next day we were marched down to the depot and onto the train.  We were packed on to crowded coaches so close we could hardly move.  Thus we sat for four or five hours traveling.  From thence we were loaded in big buses or trucks and taken to "Camp Karees" in Bandoeng, where there were 8,000 women and children.  This portion of the city was walled with bamboo fence and barbed wire and was well guarded by watch towers of Japanese soldiers.

Arriving tired and hungry after a day of strained travel and waiting, we greatly appreciated food our Heavenly Father had provided through kind friends of the camp.  We had to wait standing on the street until nightfall for the appointment of our room.  Each family was given a room according to the number in the family. This usually meant five to ten families in a house built for one family.  

As no normal kitchen conveniences were available, we all had to cook outdoors on the ground with a cement or clay bucket.  This will give some conception of the difficulties experienced.  

A few months later, an additional 350 women and children were added to the camp which meant being cramped in more crowded quarters.  The Japanese officials adopted the simple plan of marking every third house, requiring it to be vacated and the occupants to find another place to live.  After this procedure had been followed and all had settled in their new quarters, I was astonished when the Japanese came and said, 'Why are you not out?'  Our house had not been marked and no indication given that we were to move but that did not avail.  We were told to be out by 1:00 p.m. or the stuff would be put in the street.  We did not even have a place to go, yet we must pack and move into the yard.  We had to do it ourselves as so many others were moving ad we could not get help.  How bravely my little boys, three and four years, did their share in carrying things to the house we had been directed to down the street.  Beds, chairs, and boxes had to be carried by mother and two tiny boys.  The room was given to accommodate six (2 families).  But there was not room for even our three beds!  Weary and sick at the impossible situation, I wondered what was to be done.  Again our Heavenly Father undertook for His overwrought servants, and before nightfall of this trying day.  accommodation was found for the other family, leaving this room for us."

-Aunt Sylvia

I Never Imagined!

I have three wonderful nephews serving missions right now.  My nephew, Bryson, serving in Mexico shared in his recent letter this new song from David Archuleta.  It's a song about Family History sung in Spanish.  

Now I probably only know how to say two sentences in Spanish.  I understand very, very little.  But, I recognized "que hora" "a hora" "ojos mi refelction" "estoy a que" which mean - "When?"  "Now!" "in my eyes a reflection" and "who I am."  Even though these are the only words I understood, the video helps tell the story, the sound of the music is absolutely beautiful, and the power of the message is crystal clear!    

This morning as I watched this video and read my nephew's letter, tears of gratitude streamed down my face for the Temple, for the privilage of searching out my ancestors, for learning their stories, and feeling them surround me in my life.  

In Women's Conference this last Saturday, Sister Carol McConkie quoted Mark Twain when she said, “The two most important days in your life are the day you are born and the day you find out why.”  I believe we discover our mission, our story, much more quickly as we discover our roots.  

Nunca Pensé means in English "I never thought" or "I never imagined."  I don't believe we truly comprehend the magnificent outpouring of heaven that is waiting to be called down, just waiting to tell their stories and help us discover ours.  I have faith that there are multitudes of angels on the other side watching over us!!  As our hearts turn to them, we open the door and let them in.  There are blessings that await us beyond our wildest dreams.  Those who have gone before already LOVE us and as we genuinely love them in return, we will witness miracles in our life that we could never ever imagine!

This is what it is to call down heaven!!  

"I won't give up if you don't give up... I'm calling all angels." - Cold Play

-Alicia ;)

Walk With Me

My two older children leave for Trek this week.  It's an opportunity for them to learn through personal experience a little about the early saints who sacrificed in unspeakable ways to push the work of the restored Gospel forward.  Our youth leaders have encouraged each of the kids attending to represent someone in their family history, find out their stories, and to "walk with them" during this journey.

There are two ancestors of mine who I would love for my son and daughter to "walk with" on their Trek.  The first is my 3rd great-grandfather, William Madison Wall.  Yesterday in church, an older brother from our ward spoke about him.  (William Wall was his great-grandfather.)  This brother and I have known for quite some time that we shared this ancestor and we often greet each other affectionately by "cousin."  As he told the stories, my children recognized that they were hearing their family story too.  It was a treat for us all.

It's kinda funny that here we are, living in the Provo 3rd Ward and this ancestor of mine once served as bishop of the Provo 3rd Ward.  William Wall's life growing up, how he found the gospel, and the incredible work he did to build Zion is very fascinating.  I intend some time to write more about his stories in a future post.

Micah, Chandler, Miriam, Me, and Kaylee with the statue of my 3rd great-grandfather
and my children's 4th great-grandfather looking down on us.
This memorial is in Heber City, Utah.
William Wall was in charge of building the Provo Canyon Road 
that connects Heber City to Utah Valley

A book about Wallsburg, the town named after my 3rd great-grandfather, William M. Wall.

...................

My grandma's sister, Sylvia, is the ancestor I'd love for my daughter to "walk with" on this trek.  Sylvia was one year younger than my grandma and although she never was a member of the church, she had deep faith in God and a profound love for the Bible.

Last year in the middle of the night, on my son Micah's birthday,  I awoke from a terrible nightmare. I dreamed I was in some sort of a concentration camp with him and he kept asking where the rest of our family was.  I didn't know but I promised him that we would be reunited soon.  He curled up on the ground and shivered from fear.  There was a chill in the air as dark ominous clouds loomed toward us.  In an attempt to calm him, I wrapped my entire body around his and hugged as tight as I could until I could feel his shivering stop.  In comforting words I said, "Micah, it's going to be alright.  Remember what I have always told you! 'There are a million ways to die and only one way to live'... We have followed that 'one way' to live and we will be okay.  We will be okay."

When my parents came to visit later that day for his birthday, I told my mom about my strange dream.  She responded, "Did you know my aunt was in a concentration camp with her two sons?"
"What?  Really? When!?
"During World War 2... she and her husband went as Christian missionaries to the Dutch East Indies (which is now Indonesia)  and they were taken captive by the Japanese Imperial Army.  She and her two sons survived.  Tragically, her husband did not."

Yesterday, my mom brought over a copy of my Aunt Sylvia's story.  I was so excited to finally have her words in my hands!  "She illustrated this picture on the front," my mom said pointing to the cover page.  "She was an artist like you."
Wow, what a treasure, I thought to myself.  I've read a few chapters already since yesterday and I plan to use these stories for our family home evening lesson tonight.  I will share more about her too in my future posts.

Photo from one of the men's concentration camps. 

Photo from one of the women and children's concentration camps.

As we come to learn more about the journeys of those who have gone before,
We in a sense "walk with them."
And I know that someday... as we look back on our own journey,
We will realize just how often they were literally "walking with us."

-Alicia