Tribute to Sarah Amelia Sanders

About a month ago I posted my Great-Grandma Sanders History. My Uncle Adrien shared the following tribute with this preface, "I recently finished reading the personal history of Brian Gubler, and in it he included his love and experience with our grandma (Sarah Sanders). He spent a significant part of his growing up years in LaVerkin."
This was just too good not to post and share.

TRIBUTE TO GRANDMA SANDERS

By Brian Tell Gubler

(Son of Tell Gubler who is the son of Henry Gubler)

As I look back over the hundreds of teachers I have been exposed to, I hold many of them in very high regard for their dedication, imagination and the understanding they brought into their classrooms. Nowhere is this more in evidence than with one of the teachers I had as a young lad in Church. She accepted the calling of a teacher where patience, understanding and dedication were embraced with pure love. Her name is Sister Sarah Amelia Sanders. She was born in the little village of Mountain Dell, Utah, in 1876 and grew up under very humble circumstances. When compared with the opportunities of the youth in this day and age, she would have been classed among the truly disadvantaged, for she was only able to go to school for 3 months. However, she came out of those three months with three things that were to place her in good stead for the eight decades that were to follow. She learned to read and she developed a great love for books and a thirst for knowledge. So, her education truly began when she com­pleted her formal education, meager as it was.

Sister Sanders (Wilson at that time) became a Sunday School teacher at North Creek at 14 years of age and continued in that calling until after she married and started her own family. She, her husband and their first three children moved to La Verkin shortly after the turn of the century. Upon their arrival, there were a total of five families, including theirs, in the community. She continued where she had left off, by teaching Sun­day School. By 1904 there were 13 families in the town. Sister Sanders had 9 children of her own to rear, in addition to her work in the local ward, where she was also in the Relief Society Presidency and a Primary Teacher.

Sister Sanders taught my father, and she taught me and had we not moved from LaVerkin, she would have taught my children. I recall her humble classroom in the basement of the LaVerkin ward meeting house. It was located in the southeast corner and measured eight by twelve feet. The cement walls were painted lime green and the floor was covered with linoleum. There was a single window, about one foot by two, high up on the south wall. A lone light bulb, suspended from the ceiling, provided what little light we had and in the late afternoons it was augmented by a shaft of sunlight that came through the window, striking the green wall above our heads on the east side of the room.

Everyone loved Sister Sanders' classes. She was a great story teller. We would all patiently listen to her lessons, because we knew that when she was finished she would tell a story--stories that sparked the imagination and extended our horizons--stories about Pioneers and Indians. We would all sit on the edge of our benches as she would tell us of places far removed and people much different than ourselves.

Each Fast Sunday we would eagerly attend the meeting, because we knew that two things would happen. Sister Sanders would be among the first, if not the first to stand and bear her testimony. The second is that she would always tell a story.

Sister Sanders was a Sunday School Teacher for over 60 years. She was a Relief Society Teacher and Visiting Teacher for 50 years. She was also a primary teacher for some 40 years. By the time she was in her 80's, she had taught three and in some cases four generations of children in LaVerkin. As they would grow up and go on missions, or into the service of their country, Sister Sanders would write to each one of them faithfully until their return. Her son, Owen, told me that he remembers, as a child, her selling their left over eggs and cream. She would get a few pennies here and a few there. And she would always use this money on the children in her classes. She would give them small gifts as a token of the love she had for each of them.

With Sister Sanders, Love was what it was all about. She loved each of Heavenly Fathers Children with all of her heart. She never spoke in anger. Sister Sanders became a legend in her own time, which was not something she sought.

On almost any Sunday, you could catch a glimpse of a group of young people in the corner of the Church, having some type of discussion. And there was usually a white head showing out from among them. As you would get closer, it would become obvious that it was Sister Sanders, talking with them or telling another of her fascinating stories. Sister Sanders was young at heart, even after her body had become wrinkled and bent with age. She had no idea what the "Generation Gap" was, for she was one of us.

I have known many talented and great teachers. Yet, Sister Sanders would have to stand at the top of my list as the most dedicated and loving teacher it has been my great pleasure to know. If she were to read these words, she would be embarrassed, as she did not feel she was doing anything unusual, or different, or even that she had gone the extra mile again, and again and again. She was simply doing what she loved to do most, teaching children. This tiny frail daughter of our Heavenly Father spent a lifetime in the service of the people in that little town. She was an inspiration to all who knew her. She loved life and she loved people. She would say "Life is great!" There was no question that she meant it. She said, "There is so much to do and not a minute to waste." This is the philosophy she carried with her right up until the last day of her life. And I believe she is still teaching those children of our Heavenly Father who never had the opportunity to hear the teachings of Jesus Christ while they were on this earth.

Korean War Experience of DuWayne Squire

The following excerpt comes from the Life History of my dad, DuWayne Gilbert Squire.  This experience occurred during the Korean War in 1951.  He was Sargent First Class in the U.S. Army-213 Field Artillery.

On a few occasions I have had vivid promptings from the Holy Ghost.  At such times the visitation or prompting was given as real as if any person would normally speak to me.  One such event occurred while I was serving in the War in Korea.

Our National Guard Unit, The 213 Field Artillery, was called into active duty and we boarded a troop ship on 1 January 1951 at Seattle, Washington.  We went to San Francisco, California and picked up some more troops and then headed for Osaka, Japan.  After a couple of days in the Japan Harbor where we picked up supplies we headed on over to Pusan, Korea.  Pusan is on the Southern tip of Korea and at the time we arrived there the North Koreans had pushed the South Koreans all the way down to within 45 miles of pushing the South Koreans into the ocean.  So that is where we joined the South Korean (ROK) Army along with the 24th U.S. Army infantry troops in trying to stop the North Koreans and start pushing them back into North Korea.

To make a long story a short one - We were having a hard time in digging the North Korean's out of their entrenchment and fortifications.  That is when General MacArthur got the bright idea to make a landing at Inchon, which is up near the middle of Korea.  So we were pulled out  of the Pusan Harbor and we along with our heavy equipment were shipped up to Inchon.  That put us right in the middle of the enemy with half of their army South of us and the other half North of us.  It was a great tactical move which caught the North Korean Army off guard.  Within a week we had retaken the Capital City of Seoul, and became strongly entrenched.  We eventually were able to remove the enemy from the area South of Seoul and then concentrate on the enemy North of Seoul, which was in North Korea.  For the next few months we were making some headway in pushing the enemy to the North above Seoul and then China dumped a multitude of soldiers (some estimates ranged from 200,000 to 300,000) across the Northern border.  Each Chinese soldier had a pack sack on his back in which they carried a supply of rice and ammunition and they were armed with AK-47 automatic rifles.  Needless to say, when they reached our front lines their vast numbers overwhelmed our forces in a hurry.  We were pushed back to the North perimeter of Seoul.

 At this point I will state that I was the Supply Sargent for our Unit and had been assigned a half track vehicle which had a fifty caliber machine gun mounted on a circular track so we could swing the gun around to be able to shoot anywhere on a 360 degree angle, either at aircraft or men and equipment on the ground.  While we were setting up camp for the night I turned on the short wave radio in my half track and was listening to the U.S. pilots who were flying over and attacking the oncoming ground forces of the enemy.  One of the pilots said the enemy were all on foot without any form of transportation.  He went on to say the enemy were so numerous that all of the hills looked like ant hills covered with moving ants - and all were heading South toward us.  If that wasn't enough to put the fear and trembling into me - I saw several truck loads of Marines going up to the front to fill in a gap where the South Korean (ROK) Army had all broken ranks and fled South.  Then a couple of days later I saw 3 big trucks with high side racks all returning from the front with dead Marines stacked in the trucks like cord wood, 10 feet deep.  As we were setting up camp on the north edge of Seoul our Commanding Officer came over to my half-track and told me that since I had the only 50 caliber machine gun I was to position my half-track on the North East corner of our encampment because that is the most likely place where the enemy would attack from.  He then commanded me to remain awake and be on guard duty all night and that I was to shoot at anyone that came from the North - He said there will not be any "Friendlies" coming from the North so I was to shoot without a challenge!

I stood in the five foot diameter circular gun mount with my hands on the trigger guards and my thumbs on the two triggers.  I was cold and miserable, and I might add very tired.  But after listening to the pilot's warning concerning the numerous enemy coming our way I couldn't have slept if I had wanted to do so.  The hours passed and just as the sky began to lighten up a bit indicating that morning would soon be coming - I heard the padding of several feet coming from the North directly toward my position.  When they got about 30 feet away I began to see movement of several shadowy figures. I was ready to squeeze the triggers but was stopped by a voice telling my mind, "Don't Shoot."  I answered in my mind that I must shoot because I was given a direct order to do so.  So I was about to squeeze the triggers again and the voice told my mind in no uncertain terms that I should not shoot.  I held off shooting and within a few seconds I could see about 20-30 people coming and I was able to discern that they were very old men and women and several children, some small children were even carrying babies on their backs.  I discerned that they were poor refugees just trying to get out of the way of this cruel war.  They walked within 2 or 3 feet of the side of my half-track.

How grateful I was that the Holy Ghost had so firmly warned me to not kill those poor innocent Old civilians and their Children!  Had I done so, I doubt there is any way I could have ever forgiven myself.

Morris Wilson, Jr.

This is a great story of faith and forgiveness written by my maternal great-grandfather.

An Experience of Morris Wilson, Jr. While in the Mission Field

Kershaw County, South Carolina 20 August 1897

            For six or eight weeks men had been working together to organize a mob to drive us out of the state.  Many threats were made and the homes of some of the saints were visited and threatened with violence if they let us stay with them.

            The Church had burned down in Fairfield County.  We had five Sunday Schools to look after so we kept moving from place to place and kept out of the way of the mob. 

On the above date, the Methodists were holding a Sunday School convention at their church about a half mile away from where we had a number of Saints and a Sunday School organized.  They learned that we were there, and about 11 o’clock at night they came to the home of Brother James Dixion, broke the door down, and about 35 men rushed into our room, drawing their guns and pistols on us.  They ordered us out of bed.  We got up and dressed.  Two men took a hold of me and two took a hold of Elder Behrmann, and marched us into the woods.  There they gathered around us, and the leader of the mob told all of those present to take a good look at the Mormons.

I tried to talk to them, but they would not listen.  They had two leather straps about 2 ½ inches wide and 6 to 7 feet long, with which to whip us.

The two who held the straps asked me to take off my clothing.  As I was warning them regarding their proposed actions, they started to whip me over the head.  I knelt down and four men grabbed me and took my clothing off my body.  When they came to my garments, they examined them closely, but made no attempt to remove them.  They took hold of my hands and feet and stretched me out on the ground, while the two men whipped me until they were satisfied.  Then, two more men took the straps and satisfied their hatred.  Thus, six men poured out their vengeance upon me.

Then, came Elder Behrmann’s turn, and they ordered him to remove his clothing, which he did, leaving the garments on.  As in my case, they did not remove them.

As they were whipping him, I lay on the ground not far away, looking at them, when a big ruffian struck me with his fist over my temple.  This is the only time that the spirit of anger came upon me, and I doubled up my fist to hit him, but in a moment that anger left me, and I smiled at him and said, “Oh, you poor wretch,” and he left.

When they finished whipping Elder Behrmann, they came back to me and said, “This is the one you want to whip, as the kid will go wherever he takes him.”  So they stretched me out on the ground and whipped me again.

The leader then asked if we would leave the state.  I told him yes, but did not say when.  Then, a voice said to me, “Forgive these men.”  I stood up and a power came over me so sweet and peaceful and I said, “Men, we forgive you for what you have done tonight, and we will ask God to forgive you.”  They then fled, cursing and in a moment we stood alone.

Just then Brother Dixion (in whose home we were staying) came.  He being absent from the home when the mob overtook us.

The power of the Lord was with us and gave us strength.  We were perfectly calm, and no fear was upon us.  They tried to hurt us with all the power they possessed, but we were protected by the power of the Lord.

The next morning we arose from our beds and felt no ill effects from our experience.  The people were surprised and the Saints rejoiced with us for the gift of God in our behalf.

Missionary Experience of Joseph Edward Gubler, Sr.

MISSIONARY EXPERIENCE OF JOSEPH EDWARD GUBLER, SR.

Written by his granddaughter, Helen Gubler Squire

(As told to me by my parents, Joseph Edward and Thora Wilson Gubler, 1977)

This spiritual missionary experience of my grandfather, Joseph Edward Gubler, Sr., happened while he was in the mission field while traveling without purse or script in Mississippi. This experience happened near the end of his mission in the year 1906 and was told to my grandmother and to my father, who was eleven years of age when grandfather returned home.

This experience bears record to the truthfulness of the scripture found in Doctrine and Covenants Section 24 Verse 18, "And thou shalt take no purse or script, neither staves, neither two coats, for the church shall give unto thee in the very hour what thou needest for food and for raiment and for shoes and for money and for script."

My grandfather and his companion had been traveling for several days in the farming country where the homes were few and far between and they had many rejections and doors slammed in their faces and had been unable to obtain any shelter or food and nourishment of any kind. They were very weak and discouraged since they were tracting in an area in Mississippi which was very hostile and bitter towards the Church.

As they were walking down one of these country lanes, my grandfather and his companion went down into some bushes by the side of the road and knelt down and proceeded to pour out their hearts to the Lord, explaining their need for nourishment and telling the Lord of their desire to serve Him, but explained that the were very weak and were in desperate need of food to give them strength to go on. They then arose and as they came onto the road, they noticed a white object in the middle of the road. When they got to it, they picked it up and found it to be a warm loaf of bread wrapped in a white dish towel. He said, "I don’t ever remember anything tasting so good!" They gave praise to their Heavenly Father for this miracle and went on with renewed hope and vigor!

Grandfather had packed the dish towel in his suitcase and after returning home, my Grandmother, Mary Amelia Hunt Gubler, began unpacking for him. When she came across the dish towel, she exclaimed. "Joe, where did you get this dish towel?" He then related this account to her. Grandmother then related this story: "I had baked several loaves of bread that day and had taken them out of the oven and placed the loaves on the window sill to cool with the dish towel covering them to keep the flies off the bread. I then went out on some errands and upon returning noticed that a loaf of bread, along with the dish towel, was missing. I thought someone had come along who had need of bread, and since I was not home, had gone ahead and taken it and would return the dishtowel later and explain their need. I then put it out of my mind and never thought any more about it until now, two months later, having found the same dishtowel in your suitcase."

As a postscript to this, while we (DuWayne and Helen Squire) were on one of our trips down to LaVerkin, we attended a fast and testimony meeting where I, Helen Gubler Squire, stood and bore witness to this experience of my Grandfather. After I sat down, a stranger stood up and related that he was from a town in Idaho and was on vacation and wanted to attend sacrament meeting. They happened to be in the area so they had joined their war. He went on to say how thankful he was to have attended the LaVerkin Ward meeting because, he said, his father was Joseph E. Gubler’s companion when this incident occurred. He said he had heard his father tell this story several times. This was yet another witness to this missionary miracle.