“To reach the valley, what must I jettison?”

I should think it a very valuable exercise if, like our pioneer ancestors, we had to choose from among our many possessions those things that we most treasure, load those few items into a 4-foot by 8-foot wagon box, and leave the rest behind.

Could you do it?  Could I do it?  I recently helped load the possessions of two families as they prepared to move to other states.  They had each spent the previous months sorting, downsizing, giving away, and throwing away everything that they could.  Even then, neither family was able to condense their belongings into the contents of a 24-foot U-Haul truck.  Additional cars and trailers had to also be stuffed full in order to complete their moves.

My wife and I are preparing to serve a mission.  We won’t need to take much.  Our family will be just fine in our absence.  One of our kids can move his or her family into our home, so our house will be all right, too.  But what on earth are we going to do with all of our stuff?  I woke up worrying about that several weeks ago.  If a family moves into our home, they’ll bring all of their things, too.  They can’t just live around all of our possessions.

Why do we have so many things?  Isn’t it sad that my only hesitation about serving a mission is the worry about what to do with my stuff—most of which I rarely use?

Rather than just downsizing to a 4-foot by 8-foot wagon, it would be instructive if we were under the further necessity of having to jettison most of those things and choose only that which was needful, and fit it into a handcart.

What if, like the handcart pioneers, we found that our handcarts were still too heavy, and that we wouldn’t have the strength to get them and ourselves to the valley unless we lightened them further and kept only that which was essential?

I wonder if we ought to go through that exercise with our personal lives.  What extra baggage are we carrying in our lives and minds that might prevent us from reaching the valley?

Are we weighted down by unrepented sins?

Is there a friend or family member that we haven’t forgiven?

Have we yet to forgive ourselves for the wrongs we’ve committed?

Are we not treating as we should those whom we love the most?

What is absolutely essential that we have on our journey to the celestial kingdom?

I would suggest that a testimony of the Lord’s Atonement and of the restoration of His gospel is tops.

Coupled with our firm testimonies are our covenants.  We absolutely can’t get there without them.  When choosing which things to jettison from your life, be sure to hang onto your testimony and to your covenants.  Elder Boyd K. Packer said about ordinances and covenants:  “They are more than advisable or desirable, or even necessary. More, even, than essential or vital, they are crucial to each of us.”   (BYU Fireside, 3 February 1980).

When we arrive there we need to have our covenants, and we need to be found faithfully keeping them.  Those covenants are the ones that we made at baptism, at ordination to the priesthood, when we received our temple endowments, and when we received our sealings.

We’re sealed to our family members.  Don’t jettison any of them.  We need to bring them along, too.  They’re a help in our journey.  Together we will all arrive to the valley safely.

The knowledge that we gain will go along with us.  Don’t reject any truths that you’ve learned.  Knowledge doesn’t weigh anything.  Accumulate all that you can.  It will be of great benefit all along the way, and will be a huge advantage to you upon your arrival.

The gift of the Holy Ghost that you were given at baptism is a guide, a compass, and an absolute necessity for the journey.  We’re told that angels speak by the power of the Holy Ghost (2 Ne. 32: 2, 3), so you’ll be needing the Holy Ghost when you arrive.  The gift of the Holy Ghost can only be given by mortal hands, so it won’t be available upon our arrival there.  We’ve got to bring it with us; so get it now, and hang onto it for all you’re worth.

I’ve mentioned the essentials that must go aboard our figurative handcarts on our journey to the celestial kingdom.  We must have our testimony, our covenants, knowledge, the gift of the Holy Ghost, and our family members (if they’ll come).  None of those things are material, except family.  Other than family, those things don’t weigh a thing.  He is most unwise who chooses to jettison any of those things along the way.

The things that we need to jettison are the things that weigh us down.  Sins and bad habits have got to go.  Unload them beside the trail.  Confess them and forsake them.  Put them in a pile, and burn them.  If they’re big and especially burdensome, you’ll need help getting them off your back.  Go to your bishop.  He knows how to relieve you of the burden.  He holds those keys.  He can unlock the chains that bind and restrict you, and you can go on your way feeling light, free, and happy.  Having helped you, he’ll feel light and happy, too.  Bishops love being able to remove burdens from people’s backs.

Addictions are extremely burdensome.  They hold you back and weigh you down more than anything.  Get help to get rid of the ones you have, and very carefully step around any that you find along the path you’re following.  When you encounter such a temptation, don’t allow yourself to even stop and ponder on it.  Don’t pick it up.  Don’t touch it, don’t try it, don’t click it.  It’s a trap.  It will stop you in your tracks, and will prevent further progress until someone comes along who’s willing to disentangle you from the adversary’s snare.

Failing to forgive is a huge and unnecessary burden.  How could we hope to enter a place of pure love if we’re carrying hate?  We’ve all been wronged.  We’ve all had the experience of being so wrought up by that wrong that it’s all we can think about.  How much progress did you make with your handcart while trying to carry that burden?  It was exhausting, and all-consuming, wasn’t it?  Remember how light and liberated you felt after you’d gone to the person, extended your hand, had a talk, asked forgiveness, and requested the chance to make a new start?

I’ve gone on many a campout and 50-miler with the boy scouts.  A favorite activity of boy scouts is to put rocks in their companions’ packs.  One young man slyly slipped rocks into the packs of the other boys.  They discovered them and removed them.  When the scouts reached their destination, the practical joker was so upset to find a big rock in his own pack that he pouted for the rest of the trip.  Don’t put extra burdens in others’ packs.

Girls who are in their fifth year of girls camp are offered the opportunity of making a long hike to some interesting place, and of camping there for several days.  On three occasions I’ve had the privilege of picking the place, and of going with the girls as the priesthood leader and chaperone.  On the first trip we had a steep, one-mile climb to make, through the forest of the Blue Mountains, to Summit Lake, the most beautiful, pristine lake I knew.

The girls helped one another put on their packs, and we set off climbing up the trail.  It was hard work, but the girls climbed steadily, and did wonderfully well.  Each of them had followed the first rule of backpacking, which is that your loaded pack should not weigh more than 1/4 to 1/3 of your body weight.  The 23-year-old sister who was their leader, however, played out before she’d gone 300 yards.  She lagged farther and farther behind.  I could see that she was in trouble, so I told her to take off her pack, leave it beside the trail, and that I’d come back for it later.

After everyone had reached the lake, I went back down the trail to get the abandoned pack.  It was all 170-pound me could do to shoulder that over-100-pound pack and climb the steep trail.  With all the good intentions in the world, that wonderful leader had stuffed her huge pack with prizes and treats for the girls.  The girls got their prizes and treats, but they wouldn’t have if the lake had been farther than a mile.

The handcart pioneers found that they had to lighten their loads if they were going to reach the valley.  Treasured books were jettisoned.  All clothing was left behind except that which they could put on.  Even extra bedding which later would have been so welcome in the freezing, cold nights was piled beside the trail and burned.

Good intentions might be a good thing for us to jettison from our lives.  Good intentions weigh us down.  We know we should act on them, but we tell ourselves that we’ll do it later; so we lug them along, and they hold us back.  Let’s get rid of them.  Go act upon your good intentions now.  Write that letter, give that compliment, take that meal to your neighbor, visit your friend, give a Book of Mormon, ask that person to meet with the missionaries, apologize to the person you’ve offended or who has offended you.  Having acted upon your good intentions will get them out of your pack, and I guarantee you’ll feel lighter.

 

On my second fifth-year girls’ camp adventure I led the girls on a 4-mile hike to Echo Lake in the Wallowa Mountains.  The girls all shouldered their packs and were awaiting the signal to set off up the trail.  I visually sized them all up.  My gaze came to rest on a girl with a big pack on her back, and who was holding the bail of a cast iron Dutch oven in her hand.  I immediately knew who would end up carrying that thing.

“Grandma insisted that I bring it,” she said.

“And I insist that you leave it,” I answered.  “What else do you have in your pack?”

We lightened her load.  She wasn’t a strong girl, and the 4-mile hike was a struggle; but she made it, learned much about herself, and had a wonderful time.

On the third fifth-year girls’ camp hike, my wife and I took the girls to Twin Lakes back in the Elkhorn range of the Blue Mountains.  This one was a 5-mile hike.  The leaders would be two women and their husbands.  To make things easier for the two women, I enlisted the help of some young men, and together we took the backpacks of the four adults to the lake on the day before the big hike.

It was good that we did so, because my problem on this trip was a 16-year-old girl who was loaded with an excessive amount of pride.  She was an athlete.  She put on her pack, and began running up the trail.  She was going to show the rest of the girls how physically fit and superior she was.  She insisted on leaving the rest behind—and did.  A girl alone in the mountains in unfamiliar territory is not a good thing.  Her leaders were unable to hold her back.  Very fortunately, since I’d already taken my pack to the lake, I was unburdened, and could keep up with the pack-carrying jogger.

I’m sure I was a great irritation to that hard-working, determined-to-show-everyone girl; but I kept right behind her, showed her which forks in the trail to take, and kept her from getting lost.  Where she might have ended up otherwise, no one knows.

Pride is a burden we’d better divest ourselves of right now.  There’s none of that where we’re going, and we can’t get there if we’re carrying any.  If you’re carrying pride, you’re on the wrong trail, and you’ll be lost in the mountains forever.

Let’s check our packs, go through our handcarts, and analyze our lives.  What’s there that’s weighing us down and holding us back?  Let’s get rid of unnecessary burdens now.  Let’s also be sure that our testimonies and covenants are intact.  If you’re male, be sure you’re worthy to carry the priesthood.  You can’t get there without it.  Gather all the knowledge you can.  Get, keep, and use the gift of the Holy Ghost.  Keep your family members around you, and help each other up the trail.

Together, and having jettisoned unnecessary burdens, we’ll all safely reach the valley.