Nauvoo the Beautiful

We've never had the day of leaving on a trip go so smoothly. We'd packed the kids' suitcases a few days early, Sam had loaded the car Monday morning, I had finished cooking and portioning out food for the cooler and everything was waiting in one spot in the fridge. The kids were sleeping in their clothes with instructions on what to grab when they woke up (shoes and one stuffed animal) and the house had been cleaned, every inch of it, in the four weeks before. That passive voice doesn't quite convey whom had done the cleaning and at what cost, but never mind—it was done. 

Sebastian had said his goodbyes before he left for work at midnight, waking up Sam and each sleepy sibling for a hug, with double hugs for me after I couldn't hold back the tears. He'd been out biking a few hours earlier, and a close encounter with a drunk (we assume) driver had left him, and me, shaken—the car bumped up over the grass and the curb, hitting a tree and barreling straight for Seb until he leaped off his bike and ran. It felt like an inauspicious note on which to say goodbye, but we cheered each other up by talking about how much fun we'd both have, and how we'd FaceTime soon, and then he drove away while I watched and waved from the dark porch. I went to bed and slept fretfully in the way you do when you know you have to wake up early, dreaming about car accidents and missed plane flights.

We were awake and loaded in the car, lists triple-checked and fridge emptied, by 5:15. Said a prayer and our quiet goodbyes to the house. And we were off.

Daisy had made magnets of all the younger kids' favorite toys and stuffed animals to go in the Trip Bags, and once we finally ended our enforced early morning "quiet time," Clementine was happily playing with hers. When she started whimpering and whining a little while later, we put it down to excitement and sleep-deprivation. 

Until, of course, even before breakfast, she threw up. We almost got a bag under her in time (we had prudently laid in a supply of them) and were able to expertly clean up the mess at the next gas station. We speculated on the cause of her upset stomach (excitement, drinking too much water, car sickness) and reassured each other that it couldn't be anything too bad because we all felt fit as fiddles! It often happens, we said knowingly, that small children get sick more than adults do. Their immune systems are less robust. And remember, she had thrown up on the way to Texas too, and it was only the once. Nothing more.

We arrived that evening in Nebraska, and let us memorialize the good parts of it with pictures of the tiny toothpaste they had out for us and the pretty sunset, because thus began the Long Dark Night of Suffering. Clementine had remained sickish all day, but we got so good at anticipating her throw-up episodes that we barely registered them. And actually that night we had a really good dinner. We'd packed grilled chicken and feta and tomatoes and carrots and cucumbers, and my best homemade hummus and tzatziki, and it was great to rest and eat after such a long day of driving. But after the little ones were asleep and the rest of us were going to bed ourselves, Daisy came to me with the dreaded news: "Gus threw up all over the bed." We were still optimistic ("The two littlest kids just have sensitive stomachs!") but it was in vain. One by one we succumbed. I will spare you the details, but it was a long long night of waking up, staggering to the bathroom, cleaning up whoever else hadn't managed to stagger to the bathroom, hoping that was the last of it, realizing that wasn't the last of it, and repeating the cycle all over again. I washed walls and floors, did three loads of laundry, and tried to let Sam sleep since he was the one who would be driving eleven more hours the next day. (His sickness didn't kick in till breakfast time, which was maybe a blessing?)

To add insult to injury, the Airbnb host left a comment afterwards: "Disappointed that Marilyn's group left the bathroom floor a little dirty"—clearly unaware at what cost I had scrubbed and cleaned every surface of the bathrooms, toilets, and bedrooms multiple times…while on my own deathbed…in order to leave him a clean house. Who knows what happened that he was referring to. Maybe someone threw up one more time as we were leaving and I missed it. BUT ANYWAY! We shall never speak of that night again. There were a few sick stragglers (late adopters) the next day and it was somewhat miserable. (Daisy, I should mention here, was the sole survivor who never got sick!) But by the next evening, in Iowa, most people felt up to at least eating a slushie for dinner, and some of us actually felt human again. Hallelujah!

It was a couple hours out of our way, but our friend had told us that Liberty Jail was a really cool place to visit, so we decided to add the extra time. It's down near Kansas City, on the Missouri side. We were listening to Saints, Volume One on the drive, which added interesting context to everything we were seeing. I don't think I really understood before that when the saints moved from Jackson County Missouri to Nauvoo, they were going back East—and then had to cross that Missouri area again when they were driven out and went to Winter Quarters. 

For most of our trip we were following Church History kind of backwards, but because of that backtracking, this part was in the correct order—moving from Liberty Jail and Jackson County, then to Nauvoo.

Sam was sick and miserable at Liberty Jail, which I guess is meaningful in a way when you think of what Joseph Smith endured there! But it meant he couldn't appreciate the tour as much. I thought it was fascinating to see the actual building (some of it restored, of course) with a visitor's center just built up around it. It definitely gave a sense of how cramped and unpleasant the place must have been, though we didn't have to smell the bad smells or feel the cold or sleep there on the hard floor. Hard to believe such a place could become a "prison-temple" as Elder Maxwell says it was because of the revelations received there. I liked hearing more from the missionaries about what happened there, and it made me want to go read Doctrine and Covenants 121-123 again. Such beautiful words of comfort and perspective! I felt almost overcome with gratitude for Brother Joseph, thinking about what he gave to bring those words forth so we can have them.

From Liberty Jail, Adam-ondi-Ahman is a pretty easy stop back up on the way to Nauvoo. We didn't get to the Independence Missouri temple site (it's a short drive, but in the other direction) but I'm so glad we stopped for Adam-ondi-Ahman. It was beautiful and profoundly peaceful. We walked around a little, looking over the valley. I was surprised at the acute longing I suddenly felt there for the Savior's return. Of course I'm always wishing for His Second Coming! But it felt, in that peaceful place, like it might actually be near enough to touch, and I ached so much for the rest and hope that day will bring! 

The church leases much of the land to local farmers, I think. That's why there's corn growing and so forth.

We saw a bunny! Always a good sign.

Hosanna to such days to come,

The Savior’s second coming,

When all the earth in glorious bloom

Affords the Saints a holy home,

Like Adam-ondi-Ahman.

After sickness and so much driving, what a relief it was to arrive at our rental house in Iowa, just across the river from Nauvoo! You can see Clementine dancing around for joy. We stayed at such a cute little farmhouse, and I'm sad we were so busy that I didn't really explore the property even a little bit.

I never got to go into this barn or wander up into the woods. Next time!

We did go out that first night and watch fireflies! That was exciting because many of the children have never seen them. And some of us saw a baby raccoon, and the cicadas and tree frogs at twilight were deafening!

And in the morning, finally, we drove into Nauvoo! There is so much there to do. I was actually not sure I would like it! I mean, I knew it would be interesting, and the kids would probably like the historical stuff like the blacksmith shops and so forth. I have been to "This is the Place" and Provo's Pioneer Village and various other places like that, and they are fun. But I was nervous that a.) the missionaries in historical dress would overact or demand participation and it would be embarrassing and b.) they would turn spiritual moments into merely sentimental ones and it would end up being more annoying than touching. I'm happy to say it wasn't like that at all! Sam and I were talking later about how the "production value" of  Historic Nauvoo is as good as Disneyland. The beautifully-restored homes, the music, the little shows and vignettes going on everywhere—all of those are engaging and really well done. But somehow, they never descended into being too contrived or too sappy. The performers got into their roles, but not weirdly so, and they were so genuinely enthusiastic that it felt like the very best kind of missionary work—just sharing happiness together.

We went right off into the little "Children's Games and Toys" area, where the kids could dress up and play in a playhouse and try out various amusements from the time period. Clementine and Gus and Ziggy loved it so much! They went into the playhouse and just busied themselves sweeping and making soup and wrapping up babies. The older kids thought the stilts and the wooden puzzles were fun too.

Fruit Soup

Clementine setting the table with 1000 plates just like she does at home

It was SO much fun that Clementine was disappointed with basically everything else. Each time we'd go into a home or start watching a presentation, she'd say loudly, "I don't want to do this! I want to make my little dinner!" When we tried to win her over by pointing out the nice missionaries (and they were all SO nice and so cute), she'd just say, "I don't want to see the nice missionaries!" Poor little lamb.

She did, however, love the wagon ride! The horses were so calm and patient, letting everyone pet them.

And Gus and Clementine were both VERY PLEASED to actually ride in a wagon while seeing the town!

I didn't know the Mississippi River and its marshy banks would be so pretty. It was beautiful! Covered with purple flowers and cattails, with red-winged blackbirds calling to each other across the marshes. I know Nauvoo was a sickly swamp where everyone got sick in the beginning, but whatever they did to drain it must have worked wonders, because it now it feels like the loveliest place! And I guess we were lucky not to have unpleasant weather too. It never got unbearably hot or humid for us!

And then the historical places just felt so REAL and PRESENT. It felt like any minute you might run into Brigham Young or Willard Richards or one of my ancestors, the Hales or the Gardners. I was moved to tears multiple times just hearing the stories the missionaries told of what happened here. Sometimes it was the thought of their sacrifices that made me cry. Sometimes it was pure gratitude for that heritage. Sometimes it was connecting an event with a place—a feeling of yes, this really happened, the gospel was as real to them as it is to me. Often it was just an overwhelming feeling that this, this is what we are working for and seeking—this is a glimpse of Zion. Something about the way everyone there was giving what they had, sharing their talents—not as a pretense or a performance only. Not for money or to be noticed. But quietly, individually, giving what they had to make this glorious whole. The older men who knew about horses and came to care for the horses. Their wives who gave tours or sewed quilts or played instruments. The young missionaries, who were there as much to talk to us and ask with genuine interest about our lives as they were to perform the stories of the past. I loved the feeling it created in Nauvoo, one of unity and purpose and joy.

This is Joseph and Emma Smith's house. Their real little house! Can you imagine? The white part was added on later by Joseph Smith III when he lived there with Emma. It's beautiful there close to the river, with a little well in the yard. I think I felt connected with Emma and the other women in Nauvoo most of all, seeing where they cooked and cleaned—their little bedrooms, fireplaces, kitchens. So many things happened in this house—church meetings, conversations, decisions. Things I've read about all my life and now have a mental image to hang them on.

I didn't expect to be so affected by this little room above the Red Brick Store, where the Relief Society was first organized. But I was. It felt astounding to be there, like being in the most famous sites of Rome or Jerusalem. This very room! Full of women seeking a closer relationship with God! Sisters wanting to serve each other and grow in unity and love! That's where it all started, and what other historical event has made such a difference in my own life? I love the Relief Society. I love the fact that God had such an organization planned for His daughters. I love that they discovered the idea through their own desires, and then the Lord gave them so much more than they'd even imagined—"pressed down, shaken together, running over."

This store is one of the buildings the church only acquired this year, I think, and I'm so glad we have it now! It didn't seem fully furnished or restored yet (the missionaries said the church is still deciding what they want to do with it) but the sacred feeling there was unmistakeable.

On the banks of the Mississippi! It's so wide!

The beautiful Nauvoo Temple.

In the evening, before the pageant, there is a "Country Fair." Malachi had told us about it (I had each of the older kids give us a Family Home Evening lesson before we left about one of the sites we'd be visiting. Malachi did Nauvoo.) but I didn't quite know what to expect. Again, I was picturing the "Colonial Days" my mom always takes us to in Provo, which is fine but—only for so long. But this fair turned out to be one of our favorite parts of Nauvoo! I think the key to its success is this: some families come to Nauvoo to be in the pageant, and some of them are assigned almost entirely to help with the country fair! (I think you can choose to be really involved in the pageant, which takes a lot of all-day rehearsing for the first week, or you can choose just to come and be in the last song of the pageant and then have more free time, and help with the fair in the evenings.) 

So basically, the fair is full of people in pioneer dress whose whole purpose there is to help everyone else have a good time! They all seemed to take their mission (and it almost was treated as a mission, though these aren't the actual performing missionaries who wear name tags) very seriously, and to want to devote their whole attention to the guests who attended! So at the dance floor, for example, there were these hordes of pioneer-dressed youth and children who went out and grabbed anyone who was standing by awkwardly, took their hands and got them dancing! And the dancing was all easy group dances that everyone could do, and everyone helped you do it. Imagine a youth dance like that! Daisy said afterwards, "It was sooooo much better than church dances!" We just walked over, and instantly—Teddy was dancing, the girls were dancing, even Malachi was dancing and talking and laughing with these friendly outgoing youth (who I'm sure had been told "Be outgoing! Be a missionary! Make everyone feel welcome!"—thus giving them a purpose)—no one feeling awkward, no one worrying about who was cool and who wasn't. It was beautiful!

And everything was like that. Dancing, quilting, making rag rugs, coloring, pioneer crafts, chopping wood, sawing logs, stick pulling. You'd drift up to see what was going on and someone would welcome you in, show you what to do, and help you do it. There were families and older couples, Relief Society ladies who you knew had taught these things over the years in Homemaking Meetings, men who you knew had spent years being called to do scout camps and girls camps and youth conferences—now freely giving their time and their talents to this gathering of saints. 

And that was another thing! Usually whenever I go to Temple Square or somewhere else staffed by missionaries, I feel like they're so disappointed and let-down to realize we're already members of the church. Ha! They greet us with such enthusiasm and then we say "we're from Utah" and they just seem deflated, like "Well…what are we supposed to do with you? You aren't any good to us!" It's funny, and I understand and sort of sympathize, but here in Nauvoo I never once felt that way. I felt like everyone was just as happy to minister to fellow saints as to prospective saints, if that makes sense. I felt like I was part of the intended audience, part of the purpose of this place, rather than an afterthought or a superfluity. It made me and all of us feel welcomed and included.

Then the pageant in the evening was so good too! Again, to my relief, they seemed to refrain from crossing the line between "emotionally moving" and "emotionally manipulative"! It seemed like many of the stories and people from the houses we visited were highlighted in the pageant as well, which had the delightful effect of making it feel like we were catching up with old friends. There were no "musical numbers" except hymns, but those were beautiful and the acting was simple and sweet. There is a moment at the end of the pageant where the saints are driven out of Nauvoo and the temple they've been building on-stage the whole time just falls to the ground and drifts away as if it never existed. And then the lights on the real temple, just up the hill, go on, and President Hinckley's voice starts speaking, describing how the two temples, Brigham's in Salt Lake and Joseph's in Nauvoo, will stand facing each other across the years, each a testament to our collective faith in Jesus Christ. I was overcome with thankfulness in that moment for the covenant blessings we enjoy now, and for the early saints who made them possible. I don't know if I've ever felt that brothers-in-arms feeling so strongly before, the feeling that they and us are all in this work together, God's work.

We had two full days in Nauvoo and could have easily spent a third doing all different things. We didn't get to all the houses or nearly all the performances. Plus, we had to go back to the Children's area for Clementine's sake, so she could finally make her little dinner again!

Yay. She was so happy.

Zig donned this Blacksmith-esque attire

After a while she started eating the game pieces

Ziggy practiced hard to learn to lasso the horse.

And he did it!

This backyard belonged to the Jonathan and Elizabeth Browning, of Browning Rifle fame (he invented the repeating rifle). It was interesting seeing the house, the different types of guns Jonathan made, and how he made them. But the thing that stuck with me most was this peaceful little garden out in back. In this picture, over on the right-hand side you can see a tiny stone with a red flower by it. That's the grave of little Emma Eliza, the Brownings' baby who died when she was only a month old. Then if you look over to the left of the picture, under the bough of the tree, you can see the temple spire, and I can imagine Elizabeth Browning going out to her baby's grave and looking up at that temple spire being built in the distance, and longing for the fulfillment of the promised sealing blessings. She must have felt so much joy and hope to know that she would see her baby girl again, and someday get to raise her and love her as she didn't get to on earth.

I also love this garden because we saw a tiny bunny there. Goldie saw it first and thought it was a mouse, it was so small! 

Another carriage ride

In the afternoon of our second day in Nauvoo, we went to Carthage Jail. How can one describe a visit to a place like that? It was sad, sobering, and almost draining to think about Joseph and Hyrum's last hours there, to contemplate their deaths. And yet it didn't feel like a sorrowful place, exactly. More sacred. As at Liberty Jail and in Nauvoo in general, my strongest emotion was a sense of gratitude and reverence. I hope the children were able to feel a portion of that too.

You shouldn't imagine, by the way, that the awe and reverence and abundance of the spirit I felt at all these sites was all there was! I don't know if it's possible to experience unbroken peace and reverence with eight children in tow. I tried not to set my expectations too high, but it still seemed like between every stop Sam and I were lecturing everyone in the car, "Can't you kids just get along and stop arguing for one hour?? We're trying to feel the Spirit at these places! We don't want you ruining it by fighting! Everyone just be quiet and look out the window!" Throughout every day, there was a typical amount of whining and kids dragging behind and fidgeting and complaining and saying "I'm soooo hungry!" Somehow the Spirit was still able to come through the cracks. I'm so thankful for that. I'm thankful that God can speak to me in the small spaces between harried moments, between impatient words and deep breaths and apologies. Part of me wishes I could have given Him so much more attention; that I could have experienced all these stories and places in peace and contemplation and without any disruption or distraction. Without sickness. Without whining. With only perfectly-behaved, reverent people around me. But obviously, those conditions are less important than the state of my own heart, and I did want to feel the sacredness of these places. I tried to remain patient with my family so I could. And I did feel it, abundantly—which proves that the Lord really does love effort!

Here, Clementine has realized that Joseph Smith is holding a Book of Mormon, and is trying violently to wrest it from his hands, saying angrily, "No, Joseph Smiff! Dat's MY Book-a-Mornin'!"

Speaking of reverence.🙄

Anyway, back to Carthage Jail. It is an amazing place to visit. Feels strange to say "I loved it" but I really did! I know the kids could feel the sacredness of it too, especially in this upper room. I felt I knew the place already—I must have just seen lots of pictures? Because I could already imagine where everyone was standing, the way the mob was pounding at the door, Joseph and Hyrum holding it closed with their bodies as the mob pushed their rifles through the crack. 

I sat here, next to the window, looking out and imagining what it would have felt like to see the angry mob assembling below. As we sat there listening to the missionaries tell about what happened, I felt sick to my stomach at the thought of such hatred gathered against the prophet of God. Having just listened to Saints, and then having visited other sites in Nauvoo, I felt almost like Joseph and Hyrum were people I really knew, even friends, and it made my heart ache to think of them encountering such violence and animosity when all they ever wished was to do God's will. But I felt comforted too, like I could feel that God had seen all this, and known it, and had held Joseph and Hyrum in His hands. I could feel that he had been holding the church in His hands too, all along, knowing better days were ahead, knowing the refinement such trials would bring. Underneath everything else I felt at Carthage Jail, I felt a sense of peace and purpose in knowing that God sees and knows me too: "Thy days are known, and thy years shall not be numbered less; therefore, fear not what man can do, for God shall be with you forever and ever."

The original door, still showing the bullet hole where the bullet that killed Hyrum entered the room, and the damage from the rifles being pressed through the crack. 

Here we are outside by the well, where Joseph Smith's body would have fallen out the window after he was shot. I love that he called out "Oh Lord my God" as he died—because I imagine that his Lord and God was there, right at that moment, ready to embrace him for a fight well fought and a course well run.

On a much more mundane note, I don't know what camera Malachi is smiling for, but it is not the one the rest of us were looking at. He is possibly trying to look like he's not part of our family at all? Just a random stranger who traveled to this place alone and happened to be in our vicinity?

After visiting Carthage, Junie and Daisy and Malachi and Sam and I went to the Nauvoo Temple to do baptisms for the dead. I wasn't sure how this part would work and was prepared to stay outside and take care of the little kids myself if needed. But in the end we just got them settled in a nice grassy field and left Goldie and Teddy in charge. The rest of us quickly threw on our Sunday clothes and got to the temple just in time for our 6 pm appointment.

I assume they are like this to everyone, but the people at the temple were SO kind and attentive to us, we felt like celebrities! They met us at the "welcome center" and walked us over to the baptistry, and then the Temple President and his wife came and talked to us, and after we did our baptisms a temple worker even walked us upstairs so we could see a tiny bit of the temple and peek into the assembly room. It was so great. We haven't all done baptisms together for quite some time (since Junie's first time at the temple, I think) and it was really special. I was so glad we made time for it!

I love this statue of Joseph and Hyrum pausing for one last look at Nauvoo before they rode off to Carthage. After we came out of the temple, I waited some time to get a photo of it, patiently standing and waiting as this guy and his wife took a picture, and then another, and then asked their friend to take one, and then took another one with their friend. And then he just kept standing there and looking at his phone for another five minutes! So I finally just took a picture of him. Hello, man, whoever you are; you are now memorialized in my picture. Malachi was dying with impatience because there was another show he wanted to go to and we were late, so I couldn't delay any longer.

While we were in the temple, Goldie and Gussie had built this masterpiece.

We got there in time to join in the Country Fair festivities again, and this time Gus and Clementine joined enthusiastically in the dancing! They were so cute!!

They remind me of Malachi and Daisy back in the day.

And on that toe-tapping note, I will end this post. I'd better find a way to be more concise somehow or I'll be writing about this trip till doomsday! Whenever "doomsday" is (Judgement Day? or pre-millennium destruction?). I suppose I shouldn't have spent all that time above talking about how I want the Second Coming to come more quickly. But if it does and I never finish writing about this trip, I'm sure none of us will mind! Anyway, writing personal histories seems like the perfect work for the Millennial Day, doesn't it?

Brethren, Adieu (till next time). I hope we all get to live in a Nauvoo someday.