Sabbath; came fifteen miles and camped at a fine place, with plenty of good grass for our weary animals.
It is August 6th, 1836, and the note is the work of Narcissa Whitman, the very first woman to cross the American frontier--Independence, Missouri, to Walla Walla, Washington. She is, in every way, a pioneer, an explorer, although she and her husband and the wagon train with which they're traveling followed a map of the way. Their path will soon become The Oregon Trail, a 19th century superhighway that brought the widely separate edges of a continent together, a continent whose immensity few could even imagine.
August 6th is the Sabbath, and the Whitmans and their traveling companions, very strict Sabbitarians, generally closed down operations on Sunday to create open space for meditation and worship. Not this Sunday. They're traveling, breaking the order of what should be. That may sharpen her desire for personal devotions.
This Sunday morning, we'll leave Mother Teresa in Calcutta, and spend a Sunday morning in the Oregon Territory with Mrs. Whitman and her husband (they're newlyweds, by the way).
On this August morning, they know they're soon to arrive at the place the Society has designated for them. This Sabbath they didn't stop; they kept moving. But Narcissa remembered to praise the Lord.
Thus are blessings so mingled that it seems as if there was nothing else but mercy and blessings all the way. Was there ever a journey like this performed where the sustaining hand of God has been so manifest every morning.
They've traveled long and hard and far; and the truth is, she's loved every minute of it. They would be ministering to the heathens, the Cayuse Indians, and, like all missionaries, they felt the sustaining prayers of those who, back east, prayerfully supported their mission work.
Nor are we forgotten by our beloved churches, at home in the prayers of the Sanctuary, we are too sensible of its blessed effects to believe otherwise; and oh! how comforting is this thought to heart of the missionary.
What was still a fledgling nation was shocked to hear a woman taking passage across the continent. Who knew what dangers laid in store--and for a woman! The frontier was home to wild men and wilder savages, not to mention all manner of flesh-devouring beasts--it was no place for a woman. But Narcissa Whitman loved it, emboldened by a rich sense of calling that sustained her. The hand of God, she says, had led them on their remarkable journey.
Surely the children of Israel could not have been more sensible of the pillar of fire by night than we have been of that hand that has led us thus safely on. God had heard prayer in our behalf, and even now while I am writing on this holy day is the sweet incense of prayer ascending before the throne of Heavenly grace.
They're young and idealistic and tough. . .but neither have they forgotten home.
We love to think and talk of home with such feelings as these. It warms our hearts and strengthens and encourages us in the work of our beloved Master, and make our journeyings easy.
It's August 6, 1836, on the Oregon Trail. But somehow all of that works today too, this morning, wherever you are.
No comments:
Post a Comment