Adventures in Paradise Volume 2 #19

Kia ora everone! Our excellent adventure continues with another perspective on the two lines that I cited last week.

 

“We drink from wells that others have dug

  We warm ourselves by fires that others have kindled.”

With tender regard and gratitude for those who have gone before, I would like to share a touching tale of faith, perseverance and sacrifice. For us, this story started when Ward discovered a tiny grave in a secluded country cemetery in the village of Matutuke, New Zealand. This little grave is tucked into a corner, surrounded by Maori headstones and is protected by a two-foot high picket fence. The white paint on the fence is faded and peeling, but the etching on the marker is still legible.

To the Memory

Of

Sarah Jane

Beloved Daughter

Of Wm and K.L. Paxman

Born Sept. 17, 1885

Died March 10, 1887

That simple marker started a two-month quest for Ward that has reaped amazing and touching results .The mystery of who that child was and how she came to be buried among generations of Maoris has become almost an obsession for Ward and we wanted to share the story with you. There is a bit of a surprise ending, so we hope that you will keep reading until the very last sentence.

William Paxman president of the Juab stake in Nephi, Utah was called to serve as a mission president in the late 1800’s. His assignment was to preside over the New Zealand mission and he was to serve for a period of at least three years. Fifty-one year old William was accompanied by his twenty-four year old wife, Katherine Ann Love Paxman, and their six month old daughter, Sarah Jane. One can only imagine and hopefully, appreciate what an arduous journey it must have been for this family. We have no way of knowing exactly how long the voyage was, but we can fathom the primitive conditions they endured, especially while traveling with an infant.

We only assume that the actual headquarters of the mission at that time may have been in Auckland, but we do know that in March of 1887, President Paxman, his wife, Katharine and now eighteen-month old Sarah Jane were in the Matutuke area for some sort of church gathering,. From the papers that Ward has located, it appears that it was a mission conference. Again, we do not know the particulars, but today the drive between Auckland and Matutuke is over seven hours, so we can safely conclude that travel time in 1887 would be equated in days, not hours!  An announcement at that conference would prove to be groundbreaking.

We know that this mission conference opened March 12, 1887. Noting that date, it becomes sadly obvious that two days before that event, little Sarah Jane passed away. We have no information as to the cause of her death, but we can only imagine the grief that two loving parents must have been experiencing. In her hand-written notes, Katherine describes the meetings but does not discuss the death of her child.  Katherine’s narrative speaks of the meeting agenda, including the assigning of missionaries to their districts. She mentions by name some of those in attendance, but there is not a mention of her baby. One must assume that Sarah was buried so far from Auckland because there was no way to return her body in a timely fashion, especially considering that March is considered the end of summer and the heat would have been a factor. I am imagining even as I relate this story, how this young mother must have felt in her loss.

Katherine goes on to write of the history making announcement that was made at that conference. She states that young Elders Richards and Saunders had been assigned to begin the first translation of the Book of Mormon into Maori. While many members of the LDS church believe that Matthew Cowley was the first to translate the Book of Mormon into Maori, we now know that this early translation predates Matthew Cowley by almost 32 years! We also know that this first translation took place in a little village near present day Gisborne where we are currently serving.

My heart is full as I relate what twenty-five year old Katherine wrote only two days after the death of her baby girl. She states that she has been appointed to cook for the translators and has been asked when ever possible, to act as scribe as well. Quoting now directly from her writings, we read , “ I was appointed to go and cook for them and help what I could by recording as they translated; so that my labors will begin shortly and I will be thankful to have something to occupy my time and attention.”  From a mother’s point of reference, Katherine is saying that her heart is breaking. But even then she finds something to be thankful for. She sees the long hours of cooking and acting as a scribe to be a blessing. What a remarkable attitude that is!

There are varying accounts of just how many Books of Mormon were available from that first translation. We have heard that there were between five hundred to two thousand copies made available to the members on the north island, due to the dedication of those two elders and one grieving mother. Their efforts blessed the lives of many people living in the area where we now serve. Their work and sacrifice are remembered and appreciated.

So, we only assume that William returned to Auckland. We do know, however that he continued to serve as mission president for another two years. Again, as a mother, I cannot imagine what Katherine must have felt as she left that little grave behind as she traveled back to the mission home. I also cannot imagine what emotions Katherine must have experienced when she left the country and returned to Utah, leaving her baby in a land so far away from home. I am overwhelmed by the strength William and Katherine and so many like them have exhibited as they worked to serve our Heavenly Father by serving a few of His children.

One hundred years later, as a show of gratitude and respect, the people of Matutuke erected a white picket fence around Sarah’s grave and to this day, that little plot is maintained by people who appreciate the efforts of those who went before. It is a very sweet gesture and not unexpected as we work with and get to know the hearts of the people living in that little village on the north island of New Zealand.

As Ward began researching this story, the Paxman name rang a familiar bell to him. There are many Paxmans who still live in and around Nephi. There was a Paxman family who lived in the house in Nephi where Ward’s family eventually resided. Even as I write, Ward is checking his facts and hopes that his connection to this story will involve a link to a common home. He asked me to wait to publish this blog until he knew for certain, but I was anxious to tell this story and will be happy to include his discovery as an addendum in a later blog.

As always, we are happy and trying to work hard. We continue to be touched by the sacrifices of others. We are deeply grateful to all those who have given so much in the service of others. King Benjamin reminds us that when we are in the service of our fellow beings, we are only in the service of our God. We appreciate you and the examples of service and sacrifice that you have been in our lives as well. We would not be the same without you.

Love, Ward and Susan    Elder and Sister Belliston, serving in Gisborne, New Zealand

 

 

Sarah Jane's mother, Katherine Ann Love Paxman

 

The little grave in Manutuke

 



In Loving Memory of Sarah Jane

Adventures in Paradise Volume 2 #18

Kia ora! Our excellent adventure continues with some thoughts centered on those who have come before us.  Earlier this week, someone shared a message that I have not forgotten. In fact, I have spent the better part of my free time considering the ramifications of two very insightful little lines.

“We drink from a well others have dug

We warm ourselves by a fire that others have kindled.”

All week I have been pondering on that short reminder. We, who have so much, should be so grateful for those who made it all possible. Naturally, I first thought of my own parents and how they sacrificed to give our family a good life. My father worked two jobs to support us and my mother used great creativity while making do with less. I love them and I miss then. They kindled the fires in our family and I am beyond grateful.

My grandparents lived through a depression and taught us all through example how to be frugal and careful with money and resources. My Grandpa Martin, while out of work in the 1940’s, put on a suit and tie every day and went down to his basement “office”. There he spent an entire work day writing resumes, making phone calls and sending out letters of introduction in hopes of finding a job. His job for that period of time was to find a job. It was that simple. Every day he dressed up as if he were going off to the office, although his reality was only the basement. I have been so impressed by his dedication to do whatever needed to be done in order to support his family. There isn’t a day when I am home (living in the home he built) that upon entering that basement room, I do not have a mental image of him sitting at his desk working at finding work. He kindled the fire of determination and hard work in his descendents and we are grateful.

My great grandma Martin was a seamstress. By the time she was fifteen, she no longer lived at home. She would be hired to spend a period of three to four months living with strangers while fashioning all of the clothing for the women in the family. Having completed that task, she would then move on to the next house full of strangers and begin all over again. I have often thought of what a hardship that must have been for her, but she did it. And she continued that work until she was married. I learned to sew on my great grandma Matins treadle sewing machine. Her early encouragement turned into a life long vocation and avocation for me. When she died at 96, she left me her treadle sewing machine. Others thought it an odd bequest for a sixteen-year-old, but I was thrilled. I still have that machine, and although I have upgraded a tad, where I go, that old Singer goes as well. My great grandmother kindled my creative fire and I am grateful.

My great, great grandfather James Peacock was born in Nauvoo and traveled across the plains as a small child. Most of us are aware of the hardships those early saints faced as they made their trek westward. It was hot, it was cold, it was dusty, it was wet, it was snowy, and it was often miserable, but they did it. I cherish the little hat that young James wore on that journey and can’t help but think of the young mother who made certain that he wore it every day to protect his baby face from the sun. James grew up in the Salt Lake Valley, on the Avenues near City Creek Canyon. Thinking of wells that others had dug made me smile as James Peacock became a member of the very first fire department in the valley. That firehouse still stands in City Creek Canyon, and should you like to have a look at my great, great granddad, please go to the DUP museum at the top of State Street. After wandering through the endless fascinating pioneer exhibits, find your way back to the room dedicated to the first fire department. There you will see his uniform, his hat and his photo. He is the handsome man in the white moustash, who bears a very strong resemblance to Teddy Roosevelt! Although not technically drinking from a well that he dug, many early residents were grateful for the water he supplied as fires were fought and homes were saved. The water he shared was life saving and we are grateful and proud as well for his service.

If I am to be truthful, and I always try to be, this blog started out to be something very different from the one you are reading. Last month, we discovered a tiny little grave in a remote cemetery out in the country. Two-year old Sarah Jane Paxman is buried in that grave, which is protected by a little white picket fence. It was her story that I was going to share when speaking of those who have gone before. It is the story of sacrifice and it seemed to fit perfectly with the two lines that I quoted at the beginning of this blog. Somehow, as it often does, my blog took on a life of its own and the result was an homage to a few of my family members. Offering no apologies for my moving off course, I will give my readers the opportunity to do a little research before my next blog. Look up the name Sarah Jane Paxman and see what you find……………..

As always, we are happy and trying to work hard. We are profoundly grateful for those who have dug our wells and kindled our fires. We hope that were they here, they would not be disappointed with the results of their labors as it relates to the lives that we choose to live. We appreciate also, the examples that you have set for us and the many ways that you have enhanced our lives by being the people that you are. You have nourished us and kept us warm in more ways that we can name. Thank you!

Love, Ward and Susan    Elder and Sister Belliston, serving in Gisborne, New Zealand

 

After finishing this blog, it occurred to me that we had no family photos with us here in New Zealand. We are grateful that Wards daughter, Teresa sent us a beautiful calendar for Christmas. This photo of our home was on the last page. For thirty-two years I have been grateful for the opportunity to live in the home my grandparents built. It has served as a connector between me and those who went before. My mothers bedroom is behind that window partially obscured by the tree. My grandparents planned and saved a very long time to be able to build this house. I am grateful. Ward, I believe is equally indebted to Henry Ford!

Adventures in Paradise Volume 2 #17

Kia ora, our excellent adventure continues with some thoughts on what we see and what we wish not to see. We have new friends here who face challenges far beyond what most of us will ever experience. Both Samantha and Jason are blind. Jason was born blind and Samantha lost her sight as a child due a sudden infection. This couple has two beautiful dark-eyed children and my first thought on meeting Samantha was that it was such a shame that she will never see the sweet faces of her two little boys.

As we became better acquainted, I welcomed the opportunity to learn more about how Samantha goes about her life. We were invited to dinner and I will admit to a certain amount of trepidation concerning how she navigated in her kitchen. It turns out that she is a master at making a roast beef dinner and her homemade bread is delicious. But my curiosity was more directed towards the question of how she accomplishes many of the tasks associated with parenting. When I asked her how she could discern whether her baby’s bottom was clean after a nappie change, she simply smiled and answered, “it’s instinct”.  Sensing that I was about to ask other probing questions about child care, she smiled again and gave me the same answer. Being blind does not blind her to the fact that her child needs attention, it simply means that she can detect that need more instinctively that most. In an interesting juxtaposition, her three-year old instinctively knows that he needs to stay close to his mother and is not prone to wander off as most toddlers would be tempted to do.

Once, when we were having a little chat, Samantha said something that I have been pondering ever since. She told me that in many ways, she felt sorry for all sighted people because they are forced to see things that are ugly. She expressed gratitude that she would never see physical suffering. She would never see people mistreating one another and although she might know or hear of the atrocities of war, she would never view photos or news items of any of those conflicts. There would never be any mental image of the cruelty involved etched indelibly in her mind. She said that she is not the least bit unhappy about not being able to view television programs or movies, with their questionable content.  And she is pleased that she will not be confronted with views of graffiti, or slums. As fascinated as I was with her stance, I wondered aloud to her about the fact that she would never see the faces of her children. Would being able to see them, be worth seeing all of the worlds’ ugliness?

While Samantha prefers things the way they are, I have been considering what those of us who can see should do about the view. If we see suffering, do we try to do something to alleviate it? Are we concerned enough to try to make things better. Should we speak up when we see injustice? Unlike Samantha, who has no choice, we do have the option of seeing or not. Who we are, I think in large part, depends on what we choose to see.

Since I have started wearing contacts, I have been grateful every morning for the miracle of seeing well. In that moment where fuzziness is replaced by clarity, I marvel about the blessing of being able to see. I am so grateful for the little unexpected moments every day where something I see makes me smile. While I am sympathetic to Samantha’s viewpoint, I find the world far more beautiful than perhaps she thinks it is. And just possibly because we can see the ugly, seeing it may give us the opportunity of making some things just a little less unattractive. I am grateful for a Creator who has given me an endless supply of reasons to smile.

As always, we are happy and trying to work hard. We see that so many of you look for ways to make our world a little more beautiful and we thank you for all the times that you have made us smile. Our photos this week have no particular theme, save it be that they have all brought smiles to our faces. Our world here is beautiful and we would like to share it with you. Please enjoy

 

Love, Ward and Susan    Elder and Sister Belliston, serving in Gisborne, New Zealand

 



Gathering this bouquet from my own yard makes me smile!

 

 

A simple "sheep parade" makes us smile. 

 

We smile when we see a bountiful tomato harvest.

 

 

Seeing two small boys on a huge horse made us smile. I love seeing their little feet hanging down.

 

Our young friends smiled when they thought Ward was sleeping as they styled his hair.

 

 

I am smiling because I married a very patient man.

 

 

We all smiled when we visited Rere Falls for the first time last month.

 

 

It makes me smile to see ten little toes in our tree.

 

 

I smiled that I didn't get car sick on this mountain road! We take this road at least once a week!

 

 



We smiled quietly as we entered Grays Bush, an ancient forest. It was lovely and serene.

 

Adventures in Paradise Volme 2 #16

Kia ora! Our excellent adventure continues with some thoughts on staying the course. It is tricky traveling to Gisborne and surrounding towns. The whole Gisborne district is situated in a series of small valleys and the only way of accessing these hamlets is by traveling on winding, narrow one-lane roads. This travel is not for the faint of heart or the timid driver. In most areas, the speed limit is 100 kilometers per hour, which roughly translates to about 60 miles per hour. It’s not a speed that we are particularly comfortable with, especially given the fact that there are logging trucks sharing our road and impatient drivers who seem to always be in a rush. As we are preparing to make yet another trip up the coast this afternoon, the harried and dangerous nature of that drive has been on my mind.

We have watched countless times in admiration and with a certain amount of foreboding, as one logging truck passed another, each going in the opposite direction at 100 km. Sometimes those same trucks pass us, coming up behind  so closely that all we can see is the truck grill in our rear-view mirror! We have marveled as we have realized that there is no margin for error. To say that there is most probably less than two feet separating these trucks as they encounter each other on those narrow roads, may be a miscalculation on our parts. It could easily be less than two feet and that is entirely too close for comfort for us. Ward once asked his friend, Tom, about these trucks and how it was that there are so few accidents. Toms’ answer was both simple and profound. He replied simply that each driver  knows where he  need to be and he stays there. 

 



What a profound statement! That could easily be a metaphor for life. The best way to keep out of trouble is to stay in your own lane. I have been pondering on this thought for a few months since someone very dear to me has decided to sever our relationship. This person feels that we are not only traveling in different lanes, but in different directions. My road seems not to be compatible with theirs and for that reason, the person that I have loved forever has chosen to no longer be part of my life. It has been a painful process for me and as I have thought about it, I have come to realize that as hurt as I am, my pain would increase substantially if I were to change lanes as it were. Changing my direction or the road that I have chosen to travel would not make me hurt any less. On the contrary, I would hurt even more. Having decided what is important to me in respect to the road I have chosen, were I to forgo that journey in hopes of making someone else happy, I would lose more than I already have. I would lose my own way and my direction.

Those enormous logging trucks would encounter almost certain disaster if they were to veer even a foot. A change of two feet could have deadly consequences for the truck drivers as well as the other vehicles traveling that same stretch of highway. It wouldn’t take a complete lane change for there to be a dangerous situation. A movement of only a few inches could be catastrophic, so great care is taken to stay on the correct and safe side of the road. So this afternoon, on yet another drive on curving roads with impatient drivers and massive trucks, I will remember how important it is to decide what lane to choose and then to stay in it. It’s equally important to know where you want to go and then to make a plan on how to get there. That roadmap can serve as the guide we need when the road gets bumpy. It will remind us that even if it looks like the road is under construction, or there is no one else on it, this is still the way that we personally should be going. Sometimes we just need to pull off to the side and let the logging trucks and impatient drivers pass us so that we aren’t tempted to go faster than we are comfortable just to make other drivers happy. That driver will forget all about us a few miles down the road, but we will still be safe traveling in our own lane. We will still know where we are going and how we are to get there. I also am aware that roads often have ways of converging; that on some occasions one road will loop back and eventually merge with the original. You never know, but when traveling on life’s highway, it’s always a good idea to watch for merging traffic. Someone may choose to follow you because they are aware that you know where you are going.

As always, we are happy and trying to work hard. We acknowledge and appreciate all of you and the roads that you choose to travel. Your roads merge with ours on many occasions and we are glad to have the company of fellow travelers.

 

Love, Ward and Susan     Elder and Sister Belliston, serving in Gisborne, New Zealand

 

 

It's a frightening sight to see one of these trucks pass on the right!

 

 

We always worry that another truck will be coming around the curve at the same time.

 

 

At least on this part of the road there is a little maneuvering room.

 

 



The same cannot be said this time

The message for the day: Pay attention and always know where you are going!