The sister post to this article about Mary Fielding Smith’s experience at the martyrdom of her husband Hyrum can be found at Pioneering Sisterhood here. P.S. Dear Emma, I am very much resigned to my lot, knowing I am justified and have done the best that could be done. Give my love to the children.1 …
“I am Strong Now,” Emma on the Day of the Martyrdom Read More »
Imagine Nauvoo in 1847. The prophet has been murdered. The Saints have been expelled. The once bustling and beautiful city of thousands of Saints now stands “desolate” and “deserted.” After the Battle of Nauvoo, three cannons sit abandoned at the entryway to the temple. Their barrels bear down upon the barren City of the Saints, …
Joseph and Emma were never meant to be together. She was rich. He was poor. She was well-educated. He was just a farm boy. Honestly, when Emma met Joseph she probably should’ve just looked the other way. Not only that, her parents were also entirely opposed to the marriage. But yet, Emma still chose to …
Why Joseph and Emma’s Heartbreaking Love Story Matters to Me Read More »
180 years ago today a group of twenty women gathered with the Prophet Joseph Smith in the upper room of the Red Brick Store in Nauvoo, Illinois.1 Three of them would later become Presidents of the Relief Society.2 “I now turn the key to you in the name of God,” the Prophet said.3 “We are …
Emma’s parents were “bitterly opposed” to her marriage.1 In deciding to marry Joseph she was also deciding to say goodbye to her family, her home, and everything she’d ever known and loved.2 Why would Emma do it? Why elope with Joseph? I remember the first time I met my husband. It felt like my heart …
Joseph wrote to Emma: “My heart is entwined around yours forever and ever.” I can imagine what he meant when he wrote that. We give our heart away when we love someone. It’s terrifying. We give our heart away and hope the person we love will give us their heart in return. Thus, two hearts …
On a foggy morning, I gazed at Nauvoo House from the banks of the Mississippi. I stared at the beautiful structure and pondered the image of Emma in her old age: sitting in her rocking chair each night and looking out the windows at the sunset with tears streaming down her face. Ever since I …
