From the Improvement Era, May 1954 –

My Father’s Mansion

By Lily N. Hortnagl

One early spring afternoon Martha Gentry sat in her big chair, humming a tune while stitching on her embroidery. As she laid her work down, the floss clung to her finger. Releasing it, she consciously brushed her hand over the persistent wrinkles she knew rightfully belonged there, although she did not feel her sixty-three years. She pushed her gray-streaked locks from her high forehead and smiled as her brown eyes glanced about the parlor.

“At last it is here! My life’s dreams!”

“What dream, Martha?” Sam looked up from his book.

“You know, Sam, I’ve always wanted a lovely home like this and time to keep it in perfect order. Now that all seven of our children are married, I’m going to take life easy and do fancywork for my mansion,”Martha fondly touched her embroidery.

A knock came at the door. Martha opened it to greet her bishop.

“Bishop, come in. How are you?”Martha greeted him warmly, looking inquiringly in his keen, brown eyes.

“Have a chair, bishop,” Samuel Gentry said after a hearty handshake.

Martha felt her cheeks burn. Why had he called? Was it for something important?

“Your home is certainly beautiful,” the bishop smiled.

“Yes, I call it my dream home — my mansion. I have looked forward to this day, Bishop. Now that my husband has retired, we are enjoying it so much together.” Her round face beamed.

“How would you both like to go on a mission — I mean a two-year mission?” The bishop turned to Sam.

Martha caught her breath and gulped hard. Her thoughts ran fast. How could she ever leave her home, her children? Oh, no! Not now, after waiting so long for these things!

Martha glanced at her husband. His face was flushed. He cleared his throat.

“Well,” he hesitated. Martha wondered if he were going to refuse. She felt as if she were going to faint.

“Well — we’ll have to fix up our business. We’ll talk it over and let you know, Bishop.” Martha gave a sigh of relief.

“What do you think about it, Sister Gentry?” His question demanded an answer.

“Well — I think it would be a — a — grand privilege,” Martha hesitated, for she was not quite sure whether she really wanted that privilege. “Don’t you think we are rather old to go on a mission?”

“No, no! You both are full of faith and rich in experience. You have been faithful in all your callings in the Church. Such fine people as you, are the ones we want to preach the gospel to the world.”

“We’ll consider it, Bishop.” Sam’s voice was calm now.

When the Bishop had gone, Martha looked at her husband speculatively.

“We’ll have to sell our home if we go on a mission.” He looked into her troubled eyes.

“Yes, I suppose we will.” She caught her breath. Her body trembled. He must never know her inward struggles. She realized that this was an opportunity to do much good and increase their knowledge of the gospel of Jesus Christ, but could she ever have faith enough to accept the call?

Martha paused before the large front window with its drapes and Venetian blinds, where the sun streamed in through the curtains and formed a lacy pattern on the clean rugs.

Her husband glanced up from his book, stirred in his chair, and then resumed his reading. Was it a challenge to him, too?

Martha locked her fingers tightly together and glanced around the living room. She admired its high bar- rel ceiling and its three big cheerful windows; the overstuffed furniture, not elaborate, but neat and clean and substantial; then the dining room with its antique table, chairs, and buffet, that were a joy to them when entertaining friends and family.

She could see the children’s happy faces and hear their cheerful voices, as they all surrounded the Thanksgiving table that extended out from the dining room into the living room. She loved and appreciated the preparations for their homecoming.

As the panorama passed, she admired the precious gifts from the children: the what-not shelves, the beautiful lace tablecloth, the gorgeous crystal set, and the electric ship clock sent her from New York by her son while in the service of his country. She wondered if a man ever felt sentimental about his possessions?

She glanced at the clock. It was five o’clock, time to start dinner. She straightened her slightly bent form and went into the kitchen. She was smiling a tender, misty smile that wasn’t far from tears.

How different were her emotions, her feelings. Had something come to rob her of her contentment? As she looked about the kitchen, her thoughts burned. She loved its clean white walls and cupboards, tile drainboards, and shining linoleum.

When Martha finished fluting her pie, she opened the hot oven and slipped it in. Her white enamel stove, clean and shining, was her pride and joy. She recalled the days when she used the wood stove. What a vast difference now! No need of black polish to keep it shining. Then she never dreamed of such luxury as this.

Martha opened the refrigerator and reached in for her vegetables. A sharp tingling sensation ran through her whole body. She remembered how thrilled she had been when Sam brought it home. It was her first real luxury. . She recalled the time when perishable food was wrapped in a wet cloth, placed in a bucket, and tied to the end of a rope that hung in the well.

Martha set the table in the kitchenette. She loved its gay wallpaper of pink and white rose pattern and its three cheerful windows. Here she and Sam ate their meals, studied, or listened to the radio. Sometimes he would read aloud while she embroidered. Martha paused reverently. She and Sam knelt in prayer every night and morning before their meals. She would never forget the strength she received from this sacred practice.

Martha put the steaming food on and called, “Come, Sam, it’s ready.”

When Sam prayed, it was with more gratitude for their home. Yes, Sam is clinging to the home as well.

“My, Martha! This pie is the best you’ve ever made,” he looked at her. Was he, too, thinking of his own comfort? After dinner he helped her wash the dishes and put them away.

She lay awake many hours after retiring that night— thinking. Was she like Martha of old, fussy about her home, while Mary was sitting at the Savior’s feet. Martha recalled Jesus’ answer: “Martha, Martha, thou art careful and troubled about many things: But one thing is needful: and Mary hath chosen that good part, which shall not be taken away from her.” No . . . no — I can’t afford to lose that good part, she thought, tossing her arms above her head, trying not to disturb her husband. She noticed him stir and wondered if he too were trying to make a decision.

As the days passed by, a feeling of apprehension tugged at Martha’s heart. Would Sam refuse the mission call? Would they lose the great privilege?

A few days later Martha was ironing and Sam sat reading when the mailman dropped two letters in the mailbox. . . . “It’s our call! I wonder where we are going?” she gasped.

She had been satisfied as it was, but now her feelings had changed. She knew it was the gospel and not worldly things that had made her contented and happy. Now she must be about her Father’s business.

Later when Sam came in from the garden, he asked, “What are you reading, Martha?”

“A certain ruler asked the Master, ‘What shall I do to inherit eternal life?’ ‘Keep all my commandments.’ The ruler said he had done that. And Jesus replied: ‘Sell all thou hast and come follow me.’’”

Martha looked up at her husband. “Sam what are we going to do? Today we must make our decision. Shall we follow him?”

“Yes, we will notify the bishop tonight that we will accept the call.”

The following Sunday at stake conference Sam and Martha were to have their interview by one of the General Authorities. It was a thrill.

A few days later Martha was ironing and Sam sat reading when the mailman dropped two letters in the mailbox. Martha rushed and picked them up.

“It’s our call! I wonder where we are going?” she gasped. Her hand trembled as she broke the seal and pulled out the contents. Opening it, she scanned the headlines. Then suddenly she cried out, almost frantically, “Oh, Sam, it’s foreign, the Swiss-Austrian Mission.” For a moment she covered her face with her hands and leaned on the ironing board. Her form trembled, and tears gathered. How could she go across the ocean among a strange people to preach the gospel when she had never heard their language? If they could only have stayed in America. She bowed her head and whispered under her breath, “Oh, Father! Give me the courage to do thy will. ‘I will go where you want me to go, dear Lord, over mountain, plain, or sea.’!”

The next few weeks Martha was too busy to worry. There were clothes to buy that would have to last the two years, and preparations for the long journey. The doctor gave them shots for immunity from various diseases.

There was a lot of red tape in getting their passports to enter a foreign land. Martha wondered if all this would help them get a passport to enter the kingdom of heaven.

“We will rent the house and store our things and sell the car,” Sam said one day.

“It doesn’t matter now that we are working for a mansion in our Father’s kingdom,” Martha said with decision.

With the farewell parties, Martha and Sam were in a whirl of events. Martha had always been free in giving, now she was receiving till it hurt.

“Mother, we are going with you on this mission,” her daughter said as she shared her choicest hand cream and cosmetics with her. She had never used such expensive products.

It was at the train Martha had her greatest trial. When she heard, “All abroad,” and twenty-five of their children and grandchildren clamored to get the last hug and kiss, hot tears stung her eyes. Her eldest son put his arms lovingly about her shoulders, “Mother, dear, keep up your weight.” In spite of it all, she chuckled.

“God be with you ’till we meet again,” kept singing in her heart like a prayer.

When the train puffed out of the station, Martha leaned out of the window. Her handkerchief fluttered in the breeze and through tear-dimmed eyes she could see the family waving. Soon they were miles on their way to Salt Lake City. Martha sank heavily into her seat. As the distance lengthened between her and her family and their home, a loneliness gripped her heart. There was a conscious nagging within, for she knew that they were facing new and strange situations. It would take a great deal of faith to learn a new language and to adjust themselves to another way of life. “Thy will be done, dear Father,” she prayed.

After the two weeks training in Salt Lake City, Sam and Martha were sent with the others to their field of labor. It seemed a long journey by train to New York, and there they embarked on the S.S. America for Europe. New scenery and new experiences renewed their spirits, and they began to realize their great responsibility.

As the ship plowed the ocean foam their interest heightened. Then came the thrill of once more being on land but vastly different land from American shores.

“So this is Le Havre, France!” Martha cried. Then came the travel overland. By the time they arrived in Switzerland, Martha had fully resigned herself and was anxious to begin the missionary work and learn the German language.

“Backward, turn backward, oh time in your flight. Make me a child just for tonight,” Martha said. “Do you know, Sam, it seems to me that is what we have done. We have no refrigerator, no bathtub, no car, and have gone back to wood stoves. This life in Switzerland is in the horse and buggy days.”

“Mark 16:15 — Gehet hin in alle Welt und prediget das Evangelium oiler Kreature.” Martha could hardly realize it was she who was saying those words in German. She looked up with a twinkle in her eyes.

“Do you realize, Sam, our mission here will close with our last baptism tomorrow?”

“Yes, time passes by quickly when we are in the service of the Lord,” he rejoined.

“We have made so many friends and learned much of the language.”

“Yes, a smile and friendly handshake is a language everybody understands,” he exclaimed.

Sam and Martha were up early. It was an important day in May. The birds were singing, and flowers were blooming to make a perfect setting for the sacred ordinance.

Martha stood breathless when her husband led the little mother down into the waters of baptism. The peaceful influence that prevailed in the surroundings which seemed to envelop them all, was the Spirit of God.

Then came the parting of the ways. The little company who had witnessed the baptismal service saw Martha and Sam off on the train. As the train puffed out of the station, Martha with tear-dimmed eyes leaned out of the window and waved till they were out of sight. Then she sat down by the side of her husband.

“Our mission is finished, Sam. It is like leaving our own. Sister Scharff is such a lovely person and young to be a widow with those three sweet children. I never saw anyone so happy as she when we taught her the gospel, especially the principle of eternal marriage and the hope of reunion with her husband and children.

“Yes, that was a great help in her conversion to the gospel of Jesus Christ.” Sam looked tenderly into the eyes of his wife. “The worth of a soul is great,” he said.

“. . . For in my Father’s house there are many mansions.”

Sam gently stroked her hand and smiled contentedly.

Joy was singing in Martha’s heart as the train sped on.