The Story of Martha Arnold; Or, How to Be a Kick-A Ancestor

Hey Steph,

So, I finally did it. I recorded one of my songs--a goal that has been on my yearly birthday goal list for a couple of years now. I recorded "Martha's Song," the song I wrote about our kick-A ancestor Martha Arnold Hale. (I know we have already discussed our desire to find another word besides kick-A to describe truly awesome people. I'm still noodling on a good replacement. Come on, Steph--we're logophiles; we should be able to do this!)

I wrote a song about Martha because she has one of the most inspiring stories of faith and fortitude that I've heard. And I may have been struggling on both of those counts when I wrote the song. Let me remind you of her story. Please bear with me as I set up the background. Her story is worth reading through.

So Martha and her husband, Martin Van Buren Hale, lived in Utah in 1882 and were members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. At the time, Mormons were settling all over Utah, up into Idaho, and down into Arizona. Oftentimes, leaders would ask members to move to different areas to establish communities. Such a request came to the congregation that Martha and Martin attended. No one responded to the call to uproot themselves and travel hundreds of miles to unsettled Arizona. After some discussion, Martin and Martha decided that in seeking to be obedient to the Lord's command, they would go.

The family of eleven (yeah, lots of children) gathered their belongings and headed for Arizona in the fall of 1882. After journeying a good portion of their way, the family stopped to recuperate near Flagstaff before continuing onward. During their short stay there, three of the older children (Minnie, Emma, and Marion) attended a dance. Emma danced with a boy that was just getting over small pox. Emma soon got sick, and the sickness spread throughout the family.

Living in a makeshift, temporary home, Martha cared for her children and husband in a quarantined area away from others in the community. But nothing helped.

I often think about Martha. We don't know much about her story, but the death dates of her children and husband say a lot.

Marion, age 21, died March 1883
Minnie, age 20, died March 1883
Emma, age 18, died March 1883
Martha, age 12, died March 1883
Bertha, age 3, died March 1883
Her husband, Martin, age 42, died March 1883
Orson, age 14, died April 1883


 I cannot imagine the fear and sorrow that would drape your life as you cared for your family as one after another after another of them died. How many would survive? When would this disease leave? I imagine Martha, sitting alone after putting her surviving children to bed, on the night after Martin died. I see her tired, sweaty hands covering her tired, hopeless face. She's stopped asking God to spare her family. She's stopped praying for miracles. She's stopped hoping for things to get better. All she sees around her are a few remaining children that have become potential grave sites in her mind. She can't deal with why this is happening. That question attacks the only comfort she has. It attacks her faith.

source

And then, I imagine Martha somehow praying anyway, not for relief but for belief.

You can listen to her prayer (or the words I imagine her prayer to be) here.

Steph, you know the rest of Martha's story. You know how she testified of the goodness of Heavenly Father until her dying day and alone raised the two children that made it to adulthood of the eleven she bore. On those days or in those months when life seems more than you can handle, remember, her blood flows through your veins. Her faith is part of our heritage. And maybe, part of her strength is in us too.

fortitude: continuing on when you have no reason to

Cheers,

Amanda