Six houses that belonged to my ancestors still stand in Nauvoo; nice brick and frame homes, with lawns and gardens and trees and carriage houses. I can hardly imagine the stretching and commitment necessary for their owners to gather up a wagon load of non-perishable goods, sweep the floor a final time, and follow the prophet of God across the Mississippi and into the setting sun. My own home is large and lovely, with a wrought iron fence and roses and fruit trees and a garden. My children grew up here. My grandchildren identify this as the ancestral home. I wonder how I would respond if circumstances and revelation were to require an uprooting and transplanting . . .
