I can’t stop thinking about our trip to Cumorah. We had such a good time, but it was more than good. There was something almost transcendental going on. I was being tied to my roots in a spiritual way. And I watched as my children and grandchildren were drawn to their roots also. Obviously those roots include our pioneer heritage. So many people gave so much so that we could have the gospel. Martin Harris mortgaged his farm to pay for the printing of the Book of Mormon. Joseph and his family endured intense persecution. Everyone in those days paid a price to belong to the Church and while in Palmyra I felt such a kinship and tie to those people—an overwhelming sense of gratitude.
But there was more. I felt amazing ties to my Father in Heaven and Jesus Christ. Walking through the Sacred Grove is like being in a temple. The feelings are real, almost tangible, and my grandchildren were feeling those things also.
Luke turned five years old while we were there. His part in the Pageant was to be a Nephite child when the Savior appears. The scene is stunning as suddenly in the dark night, high in the sky, Jesus slowly descends to the earth. Once on the stage, Jesus walks down a flight of stairs, as people eagerly reach for Him and take His hand. Luke was one of those people and the last night we saw the production, he watched the coming of the Savior in awe as he always did, but as the Savior passed Luke looked up into Jesus’ face and said softly, reverently, “My name is Luke.”
That incident summarizes the feelings. When in Palmyra I felt like I was conversing with those who have gone before and with my Savior. While I didn’t say it, the thought was, “My name is Sherrie, and I am one link in this amazing history. This is my story, too.”