The mountains near their home were lined with these trees. For thousands of years, sprouts pushed through the ground creating new life from the old Trembling Giant’s root system, covering more and more territory, each having its own season when their quaking leaves danced in the breeze. Atop their branches they have created, in harmony, sparkling light shows for generations. They have endured terrible storms creating a shape unique to each tree, yet they are genetically cloned. One aspen tree is a single part of an ever-growing life system stemming back to one male tree — one father to all that is being fed and nurtured then and today in the same massive forest.

Though my grandmother lived on this soil long before this day, I have an eternal connection with her, just as the tree I lay beneath has with its ancestors. If I followed many miles of connected roots, my grandmother and I would both find we too share the same father. But with her the connection is much stronger than with the thousands of others I’ve met during my life. We share the love of a man that sprouted me up from his own small family. He came from a family that stared out at that home where my great-grandparents started their grove. My grandfather sprouting from that love, my dad springing forth from his dad. I sprang forth from my father, and my son from me. Each of us on earth is eternally connected to one father, yet we are uniquely connected with those from our own trees.

A Latter-day Saint church sits on this land where my great-grandmother’s home once stood. To me, it seems as majestic as the trees that surround this valley. The building stands bold, symbolizing the fact that the very doctrine taught within its walls is what binds our family tree together.

My father once told me, as tears filled his eyes when his children where going on missions, that my great-grandmother’s patriarchal blessing stated that her children would fall away from the Church and would stay away, but that her grandchildren would come back and bring many with them. My father watched that prophesy being fulfilled,  but some may have wondered how the Lord could have known that. In my mind, the best way to explain it is through analogies: Just as a fire can destroy an entire forest within days, it cannot stop the trees from sprouting back up again. Fire cannot penetrate the ground deep enough to destroy the roots firmly planted in the soil.

My son with my father at my great-grandmother’s grave.

The connection I have with my grandmother was planted and cultivated long before I ever came to earth. The soil upon which I sow my life now was prepared from heavenly mansions above. The twinkling of the light reflecting from the treetops above warm my heart as it burns once again with the knowledge that the one Father of us all is very much aware of each of us individually: every single tree, every grove, and every forest upon this earth.

The best part of this story is there is no ending. My grandmother had her time here on this earth, as did the Quaking Aspens that used to line her property. But the roots of those trees still produce life just as the roots of her posterity produce life. Her life continues now with the Father who created us all. I have felt her unswaying love though she lives beyond the grave.

To read more of Shawna’s articles, click here.

I have been transported to a time when we knew no pain or sorrow. When I felt as if the burning fire of others’ choices was about to consume my being, I felt as if I were transported to a place in time when the connection of our roots was created. It is a place that nothing of this earth can destroy or change. We are and always will be attached, intertwined with the Father; His power, His glory forever sparkling around us.

Let us plant our feet in the knowledge of the gospel, and soon we will all meet to dwell in the majestic gardens above.

“. . . A voice of gladness! A voice of mercy from heaven; and a voice of truth out of the earth . . .” (D&C 128:19)

Older than the massive Sequoias or the biblical Bristlecone Pines, the oldest known aspen clone has lived more than 80,000 years on Utah’s Fishlake National Forest.

Shawna Smart

Shawna Smart is dedicated to raising and uplifting others by sharing the message of the gospel of Jesus Christ. A survivor of neglect and abuse, Shawna’s story of overcoming trials and trauma is an inspiration to all who hear it. She is grateful for the opportunity to share her experiences via LDS Blogs as well as on her own site, Strength in Adversity.

The word that comes to my mind as I look to the horizon, unable to see past the dark clouds, is faith. I know the sun is shining on the other side. The storm will undoubtedly come, but from experience, I know that it will help settle the dust and smooth out this rocky road.

I’m looking forward with joy at what lies in wait. The clouds part ever so slightly, and the light from the sun just on the other side pierces the darkness, lighting the earth down below. “Angel rays.” That’s what we call them, my daughter and I. It’s a sign to us, proof of the beauty that lies a short distance away.

As I sit and hold my scriptures tight to my chest and pray for relief from my broken heart, I go over the blessing I received when I was young—promises of children that would stay close to the Lord. The sadness that overcomes me is like those dark clouds, and the storm beats like thunder at the sound of my son’s heavy words. He no longer believes that the Church is true, and actually questions if his prayers were ever heard.

As I crack my book open, letting it fall where it may, rays of light seem to shine upon it as I read these words:

“Behold, I have manifested unto you, by my spirit in many instances, that the things which you have written are true; wherefore you know that they are true” (D&C 18:2).

To read more of Shawna’s articles, click here.

At that moment, my mind flips back through the pages of time—times when I’ve written things down in my own personal book. I wrote of blessings received and promises told. These simple words pierce my mind, lighting the dark road of one of God’s daughter’s here on earth. It is a sign to me; proof of what lies a short distance away.

It reminds me that the promises told have always been kept, from our Father’s first child and down to the last. So, I’ll look up for direction from my isolated dirt road—and I pray that you too will follow the angel rays that light our dark roads.

Shawna Smart

Shawna Smart is dedicated to raising and uplifting others by sharing the message of the gospel of Jesus Christ. A survivor of neglect and abuse, Shawna’s story of overcoming trials and trauma is an inspiration to all who hear it. She is grateful for the opportunity to share her experiences via LDS Blogs as well as on her own site, Strength in Adversity.

My thoughts go to a question I have to often ask myself: “Shawna, are you going to be self-motivated enough to do your studying at home?” I want to tell myself yes—because for me, this change was not so surprising. With the Pathway program I’ve been participating in the past year and a half, I feel like I was being prepared.

Even still, I do have a self-check with myself often. Here’s why:

I had a returned missionary (one of my former students) express his frustration about the fact that he no longer felt the Church was true. He was so frustrated that he no longer felt the Spirit in his life; that he didn’t seem to get answers to his prayers anymore… And wondered if he ever really had. As he was telling me this, I was looking at him and imagining what really happened and how I could explain it best to him. So an analogy popped into my head that I would like to share with you now.

There was a young man who loved his car. He loved that it took him where he wanted to go and the way the wind felt on his face when the windows were down. He loved the music it sang to him through its radio. He loved the way the engine purred. It was his most prized position—so at first, he made sure he kept his tank full, and washed all the dirt and scum away weekly. Daily, he admired its glow.

However, life got busy; there was so much to do. Soon the weekly washings only happened twice a month and the tank seemed to be good at half full… That way, he could fit in all the things he wanted to do and it would be well. But life just kept getting busier… A little dirt wouldn’t hurt; after all, if he cut back on the washings, he’d have time for some other things. The tank wasn’t empty, he reasoned. He knew exactly how many miles it could go! A few more, he was sure.

So when his car ran out of gas and left him stranded on the side of the road, he got out, kicked the tires, and yelled, “Why?! Why won’t my car take me where I need to go? I can no longer feel the wind on my face. The music stopped 30 miles ago. This car no longer shines; there’s nothing left to admire.” He walked away from the car angry and frustrated…. Oh, that car is a pile of junk; it never was any good. And that’s all he could remember. Is it any wonder his frustration seemed to stay?

To read more of Shawna’s articles, click here.

Both scenarios—the returned missionary and the car owner—are very much alike. I told my dear friend that his frustration came from the same place the car owner’s did: both, given a priceless gift, took it for granted and walked away when it didn’t shine anymore. They took no responsibility for losing that gift.

Let us not be like either of these men. Let us not take for granted what the Lord has so lovingly given to us. If our testimony begins to fade, remember that anything can be fixed—even you. Let us hold that priceless gift so close that all those around us can see and feel its glow emanating from within us.

Shawna Smart

Shawna Smart is dedicated to raising and uplifting others by sharing the message of the gospel of Jesus Christ. A survivor of neglect and abuse, Shawna’s story of overcoming trials and trauma is an inspiration to all who hear it. She is grateful for the opportunity to share her experiences via LDS Blogs as well as on her own site, Strength in Adversity.

At age 48, I sit reading my most prized possession. It’s worn from years of holding it too close to my panicked heart, yet the messages within it never fade. This gem holds 531 crinkled pages and tear-stained margins that my searching fingers never tire of exploring. It is a source that has never left me wanting.

I’ve began yet again reading the words of father Lehi in my beloved book, The Book of Mormon. His words are magical to me. In fact, each prophet who speaks to us through this book always seem to be speaking directly to me, addressing my current problem. At this time, I can relate to Lehi when he shares a dream he had with us. About his dream, Lehi says, “I beheld myself that I was in a dark and dreary waste” (1 Nephi 8:7).

As I reflect back on my own history about forty years earlier, I recall one of the first pivotal points in my life where my choices could have actually swung toward life or death. For me, the wilderness—or the path of life upon which I traveled—seemed too dark and dreary to endure any longer. I had a choice: live in pain or swallow some pills. There where all kinds of colorful capsules scattered about our filthy kitchen table. I knew drug addicts that took the white one when they wanted to go to sleep. One in particular would ask for the blue one when she wanted to wake up, the red when she had a headache, and yet another when she was sad. The answers to all of her problems laid carelessly among the dirt and scum on that four-legged rickety old table.

I knew if I took seven of the white pills—seven because that was how old I was—I would fall asleep, finally painless, and never wake up again. I could go to heaven, a place I knew existed because there were times when the pain of my abuse was too much to bear. At those times, it seemed my little spirit would float above my body, away from my bruised, bleeding flesh and the pain and agony to a place that was peaceful, pain-free, and where I felt loved.  What I did not understand was why I had chosen to come to Earth. Why, why would I choose to come to Hell when I had lived in a place so peaceful, bright, and happy?

I’ll never know if it was my great-grandma who lived beyond the veil or perhaps the same person Lehi saw in his dream, “dressed in a white robe…” (1 Nephi 8:5), who whispered in my ear to walk away from those pills; that the answers people found in those pills where very temporary and actually created the monsters they had become. I listened to that soft, sweet voice and decided instead to walk up the street to my beloved creek bed.

I found refuge outside the walls of our abusive home, solace in an outdoor sanctuary I called “The Creek.” This haven had a particular rock formation that held the hot Oklahoma sun’s heat in it even in the cool early-morning hours. It was the one place the world offered warmth and comfort for me. After a rough night with little sleep, I could often fall into a peaceful rest here. This particular day, I offered a plea to the heavens. Remembering this today, I feel a connection to Lehi as I read that he too needed comfort and sought it in by sending prayers to heaven: “I began to pray unto the Lord that he would have mercy on me . . .” (1 Nephi 8:8). I too begged my Father in Heaven to help me understand. Why, why would I choose to come to Earth when heaven was so perfect?

As I drifted peacefully off to sleep, I felt the love of God surround me. Almost hugging me, bringing me a comfort that penetrated deep into my heart. That feeling has been embedded within me, forever changing my heart, mind, and spirit. After I received this answer to my heartfelt, pleading prayer, I could never again look at life with the same warped perspective I was so used to.

The answer to my earnest prayer came to me exactly how a 7-year-old would understand it: in the form of a story.

A long, long time ago—so long ago it can’t be marked,

An energetic, very enthusiastic spirit sat upon her father’s lap.

“A…Choo!” Her father sneezed.

Her questioning eyes looked up at the half-grin upon his knowledgeable face.

“A…Choo…!” his nose wrinkled strangely.

Searchingly, she asked, interrupting his third sneeze, “What’s that feel like?”

Her father kindly answered, understanding her need, “Well, it kinda tingles.”

She watched his distorted face straighten out and then smile again. Desperately longing to understand, she plead, “What’s that feel like?”

“Hmm…” Her father pondered the question lingering within her. “It kinda tickles,” he chuckled, knowing that she would not know what that meant either.

She felt a warmth consume her spirit as she watched happiness dance across her father’s being as she had so many times before.

“Tickle…What’s that feel like?” she eagerly asked.

“A—A—U—Choo!”

 His sneeze was a bit drawn out (and perhaps a little exaggerated).

 “Oh, it feels so good that it almost hurts.”

Once again, she felt the consuming warmth flood over her

at the sight of her smiling father.

“Good… What’s that feel like? Hurt, what’s that feel like?”

Sincerely, he answered,

 “I have prepared a place for you that you may know these things.

 You too will have a body like mine.

 You’ll learn, you’ll grow, you’ll know for yourself

the pleasures in a sneeze, the joy in laughter…”

Excitedly, she jumped from his lap. “A body like yours?”

“Yes.” His smile covered his face.

“Where? When can I go?” she asked.

The warmth that covered her at the sight of her father’s smile burned—

Wow, she hoped every feeling that she would

ever have would feel exactly like this!

“They won’t, honey.” Her father read her thoughts.

“For the place you must go will be very cold.

There will be happiness and joy,

and hardships you must bear.

Challenges will help you grow.

 I cannot stand beside you.”

 She hopped back up onto her father’s lap, reluctant to leave his warmth.

 Afraid to stand alone.

 “A—A—U—U—Choo!”

He smiled sweetly, understandingly into his daughter’s eyes

 that looked up at his nose with questions.

“There is no other way for you to know

but for you to go out on your own.

Don’t fear… A Savior I shall send for you

to guide and show you the way.

For back here you shall sit,

and then you’ll tell me what a sneeze feels like to you.

Follow in Christ’s footsteps, and I shall send you a gift from above.

It shall remind you of our love and of your heavenly home.

The one feeling that you know now shall abide with you down there.

When you feel my smile warm your soul, you’ll know you’re heaven-bound.”

“Here’s a message, I’ll share with you—

please tell the others.

The eyes that I will give you will be veiled—

they cannot see me.

Your ears shall hear the whisperings of destruction.

So, my dear, if you want me to be near,

close your eyes and plug your ears, and fall upon your knees.

Within your prayer you shall feel my smile warm your soul.

For each good decision made and brought to me,

my smile shall encourage.

Follow My Son.

Warmth and peace lingers in each of His steps,

and so shall they be with you.

Remember my words.

Remember my promise,

for they are for each of you.

My children, heaven’s not so far away.

It’s just behind closed lids and plugged ears.

A strait and narrow gate.

I beg of you, my child, come bask in my warmth.

Tell me, what does a sneeze feel like to you?”

When I awoke that day, it seemed I had matured a hundredfold. I couldn’t wait to share with my family, as Lehi did, “…that my family should partake of it also; for I knew that it was desirable above all other fruit” (1 Nephi 8:12). I walked back home with new determination that day. I so badly wanted to share with my family what I had just learned. But just as not all of Lehi’s family followed him, not all mine believed what I had to say—except for my twin sister.

That day, we discovered not only the truth to our existence but the truth to the divine power we had within us. Suddenly, we saw truth in a smile, in a helping hand—the resources the Lord had put all around us to help us escape the prison that we were born into. Teachers, neighbors, and police officers became my closest friends and my mother’s addiction’s worst nightmare.

To read more of Shawna’s articles, click here.

By the age of 9, I knew I had the power to stop my mother’s abuse. I couldn’t change my mother’s bad choices, but I could change the way her choices affected me. What my mother did know to be true was that she had to take me and my sister out of the situation that we were in or she would surely end up in a prison cell of her own making. After we reached the age of 9, our mother never again involved us in her nightly rituals.

Though the things I have heard, seen, and felt will forever haunt me, I still know I have the power, as a daughter of God, to hold onto the “Rod of Iron” (1 Nephi 8:19)—my beloved book, the word of God, and remembering the answers He has given to me. I can choose to have a happy, peaceful life of my own making despite others’ bad choices. I can continue to “partake of the fruit… Yea, and [behold] that the fruit thereof was white, to exceed all the whiteness that I had ever seen” (1 Nephi 8:11).

When life hands me challenges, I’ll grab hold of the words of the prophets and fight through all the dark and dreary wildernesses that I come upon. I learned at age 7 that I could do it.

Shawna Smart

Shawna Smart is dedicated to raising and uplifting others by sharing the message of the gospel of Jesus Christ. A survivor of neglect and abuse, Shawna’s story of overcoming trials and trauma is an inspiration to all who hear it. She is grateful for the opportunity to share her experiences via LDS Blogs as well as on her own site, Strength in Adversity.