The most recent of these was in February of this year. My husband broke a foot at Church ball and then, three days later, broke his other foot. Doesn’t sound too bad, but when you think of the implications they are huge! He literally couldn’t walk or drive. We had to rent a wheelchair, buy medical equipment for disabled and install bar in the bathroom so my husband could just get on the toliet to use the bathroom. We also had to build a wheelchair ramp. When I think of the brothers and sisters in our ward who gave us the lumber then built the ramp, who brought us meals, who watched my children, I am humbled. My life was turned upside down as I became the sole means of transportation for all of our family. The help that was provided rescued me from being overwhelmed.

I still like to ponder the image of a loving father reaching down and pulling one of his children away from and out of harm’s way.

The Friday before the Saturday of our rescue I had called the IRS to find out how much longer we would have to wait to receive the funds. I was told by the clerk that our check would not arrive for at least five more weeks. I decided to spend the weekend enjoying Provo rather than packing as we would not be moving for a bit.

Saturday morning was spent sunning and swimming at DT pool. The single students were mostly gone, Education Week and EFY were in full swing, and married student children filled that pool every day.

We returned home hot and sun burned early in the afternoon. The phone was ringing as we entered the apartment. My husband paused, and turned to me, said it was my mom with bad news. As I picked took the phone mom said it was very bad, that my only brother and his oldest son had died in an accident on a small road leading out of town that morning. The rest of the day became a blur. We needed to go home. Today. Not a few weeks from now.

My husband called our Relief Society president, a good friend to me, and everyone in the ward. Joan Palmer is a saint. I know that without a shadow of a doubt. She had lost a brother some time past, and knew just what I needed. First a big hug, then she rounded up all the families in the ward who had yet to move. In the span of two hours our home was packed and loaded on to a truck. A lunch had been prepared and placed in a cooler for our long drive across the desert. Joan said she’d call the housing office for us on Monday and let them know we had gone. And why.

In the hustle and bustle of the day, the mail still needed to be retrieved. There in the box was the tax return check we were told a day ago would not arrive for five weeks.

We were rescued that day by our Father in heaven, and some choice and wonderful people acting as his agents. I’ll never forget the BYU 110th married student ward, and certainly never Joan Palmer. It seems like only yesterday, yet the faces of all of them rendering service like it was no big deal, is etched upon my memory. The loss of my brother and nephew was terrible, but made better because of the ward and their kind act. How does one ever say thank you properly? By rescuing someone else, is the only answer I’ve ever found that seems adequate.

Why do some people get rescued and others don’t?
I don’t know. It is a humbling thing to admit that you need rescue from someone other than God. Humbling and terrifying. Allowing yourself to be rescued requires that you trust the rescuer.

Interesting thoughts–thanks, Leslie.

I am especially grateful for caring Visiting Teachers and Bishops/Branch Presidents who took the time to rescue me when I wasn’t even sure I wanted to be rescued. I hope that I will someday be ready to continue the chain of rescuing.

I am not sure if that is the actual title, but it is the title that I have given it in the context of the post today. Basically the small rescue party placed quilts on top of the snow so that they could walk on the quilts instead of sinking in the snow. Hence–instead of snow shoes they used quilts.

Here is a blurb from one of the Panguitch sites:

Panguitch, Utah, basks in the summer sun in a lovely valley between high, forested plateaus along scenic U.S. 89. Central to many scenic and recreational attractions, Panguitch makes a handy hub from which to explore national parks and monuments, state parks, national forests and scenic side roads.

Panguitch lies about 240 miles from Las Vegas. The shortest route follows Interstate 15 north from Las Vegas into Utah through St. George and Cedar City to the Highway 20 junction.

Highway 20 follows the pass through the foothills used by the first Mormon settlers sent out from Parowan in the spring of 1864. They labored to build shelter and carve fields from the pretty little valley. They nearly starved the following winter because at 6,600 feet elevation late frosts killed their crops. A small rescue party struggled through deep snows to bring help from Parowan. They used the handmade quilts they all carried to walk over the snow, an event celebrated the second week of June annually during the Panguitch Quilt Walk.