I’ve heard of pilgrimages before: travel to an historic
place to pay homage to one’s beginnings.
There are pilgrimages to the Holy Land, pilgrimages to Mecca,
pilgrimages to a cemetery to see the gravesite of a loved one. Anyone who
believes deeply in something has an innate desire to visit his foundations—the
place where his beliefs and character and very purpose for being were established.
This summer our family took a patriotic pioneer pilgrimage.
And our travels convinced me that pilgrimages are a vital and heart-changing
piece of life.
Our first stop was near Kansas City, Missouri. We toured the
Liberty Jail where Joseph Smith was held captive during the long, cold winter
of 1839. The jail is small and crude, but the crowd that came to view the
underground cell was large—a kaleidoscope of families from around the country. We
sat together in silence while the narration told of damp, cold, moldy food and
God-fearing saints. The experience made us better.
