Facing Zion
Faith Through Hardship
“Tell John I died with my face toward Zion.”
Everyone walks through wilderness seasons.
Sometimes the promised land feels like a dream — a place beyond the next ridge, beyond the next trial. There are moments when the dust and weariness of the journey cling so thickly to us that we wonder if we’ll ever reach it at all.
It’s in those moments that faith shows itself.
Not in the easy days, but in the ones where all we have left is the choice of where to turn our face.
For me, this truth isn’t just an abstract principle.
It’s my legacy.
My great-great-great-great-grandmother, Mary Murdoch, understood this better than I ever could have imagined.
Mary Murdoch — A Journey of Faith
Mary Murray Murdoch was born in 1782 in Scotland.
By the time she found the restored gospel, she was a widow, a grandmother — and yet her heart was still young enough to answer the call to Zion.
She stood only about 4’7” and weighed under 90 pounds.
She was often affectionately referred to as “Wee Granny” — a name that reflected not just her small physical stature but also the tenderness and admiration people felt for her immense spirit.
In 1856, at the age of 73, she left behind everything familiar to join the Saints gathering in Utah.
She traveled with the Martin Handcart Company — one of the most harrowing pioneer treks in history. Pulling handcarts by human strength alone, facing early blizzards, dwindling supplies, sickness, and exhaustion, the company pressed forward across the American plains.
Mary pressed forward too — until she could go no farther.
On October 3, 1856, near Chimney Rock, Nebraska, she laid down her life.
As Mary lay near death along the trail, she spoke her final words to a fellow traveler, asking them to tell her son John, saying:
“Tell John I died with my face toward Zion.”
Simple words.
And yet, everything I hope to be is captured in that sentence.
When I think of her, I remember the Savior’s invitation:
“Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.”
— Matthew 11:28
Mary had labored with all her might — and she found her rest in the Savior she trusted.
What It Means to Face Zion
When I think of Mary’s last words, I realize she wasn’t just giving a physical description of where she was pointed.
She was giving a testimony.
To face Zion is to live by faith, not by sight.
It is to believe that the promises of God are worth every step, even if you don’t live to see them fulfilled.
It is to value the journey — and the destination — more than the comfort of staying put.
Mary didn’t reach the Salt Lake Valley.
But she reached Zion — because her heart was already there.
Facing Zion means:
- Hoping when there’s no visible reason to hope.
- Moving forward even when progress feels invisible.
- Trusting the covenant path more than your current comfort.
The Apostle Paul said it perfectly:
”For we walk by faith, not by sight”
— 2 Corinthians 5:7
Facing Zion doesn’t mean we always get to finish everything we set out to do.
It means that when the time comes to account for our journey, we can say honestly, “I was still moving, still hoping, still believing.”
Could I Be That Faithful?
I wonder about it sometimes.
If I had been born into her time, would I have packed my life into a handcart and trusted my soul to the mercy of the elements?
Would I have pulled through snowstorms with bleeding hands?
Would I have kept walking when my legs gave out?
Even today, with my relative comforts, there are moments I wonder:
Am I as faithful as she was?
Could I still be found facing Zion, even when I stumble, even when I’m tired, even when the outcomes are uncertain?
I hope so.
But hoping isn’t enough — faith must be practiced.
As President Dieter F. Uchtdorf once taught:
“The promises of the Lord, if perhaps not always swift, are always certain.”
— General Conference, October 2011
Mary’s story isn’t just a history lesson for me.
It’s an invitation.
How I Can Live With My Face Toward Zion
I can’t pull a handcart across the plains like Mary did.
But in my own way, I still have a journey to make.
There are days when the road feels long and the weight of life feels heavy — when prayers seem to stretch toward heaven unanswered, when hope flickers low, when the future looks more like a blank wilderness than a land of promise.
In those moments, I think of “Wee Granny,” trudging forward despite the cold in her bones and the weakness in her frame, still setting one foot in front of the other, still facing Zion.
I want to live like that.
I want to trust God’s promises even when I can’t see the end of the road.
As Nephi taught in the Book of Mormon:
“I will go and do the things which the Lord hath commanded. “
— Nephi 3:7, Book of Mormon
Even when the path is unclear, I can trust that God prepares a way.
I want to keep moving forward, even in small, faltering steps.
Sometimes faith isn’t some grand act of courage; sometimes it’s quiet endurance — offering a kind word when I don’t feel like it, choosing patience when frustration burns, kneeling in prayer one more time when weariness says it won’t matter.
I want to learn how to accept suffering without letting it steal my hope.
Pain is part of the journey. Mary knew that. She didn’t deny her hardships, but she also didn’t let them define the ending of her story. Neither should I.
I am reminded of the Lord’s words in the Doctrine and Covenants:
“Behold, I have refined thee, I have chosen thee in the furnace of affliction.”
— Doctrine and Covenants 136:31
Facing Zion sometimes means enduring the refiner’s fire.
And I want to remember — really remember — who I am.
Mary’s small frame might have gone unnoticed by the world, but she stood tall in the sight of God.
The world measures success in strange ways, but heaven measures by faith, by effort, by love.
Facing Zion means knowing that my identity is rooted in something far deeper than circumstance — that I am, first and always, a child of God.
Finally, I want to speak faith to those who come after me.
Mary’s last words were not for herself. They were a gift to her son — and, through generations, to me.
I may not know who will read my journals or remember my name one day. But I want to live in a way that leaves no doubt about the direction I was facing.
I want my life to whisper to those who follow:
“The road was hard, but I kept facing Zion.”
As President Russell M. Nelson recently taught:
“In coming days, it will not be possible to survive spiritually without the guiding, directing, comforting, and constant influence of the Holy Ghost.”
— Russell M. Nelson, General Conference, April 2018
Facing Zion means seeking that constant companionship and following where it leads.
Honoring the Legacy
I didn’t choose this legacy — it was given to me.
A gift of blood and spirit, handed down across oceans and plains, written in sacrifice and faith.
But now that it’s mine, I want to carry it well.
When I lift my head in prayer instead of letting it hang in despair — I honor Mary.
When I forgive instead of hardening my heart — I take one more step toward Zion.
When I trust instead of giving in to fear — when I keep walking when sitting down would be easier — I pull my own little handcart a few inches closer to home.
The Savior himself promised in the Book of Mormon:
“Wherefore, ye must press forward with a steadfastness in Christ… feasting upon the word of Christ, and endure to the end.”
— 2 Nephi 31:20, Book of Mormon
That is the path to Zion.
I am grateful beyond words to be part of Mary’s story.
But I am also sobered by it.
Because this isn’t just her story anymore.
It’s ours.
And when my own journey reaches its final horizon — whether in triumph, in heartbreak, or simply in quiet completion — I pray that someone might look back at my life and say:
“Tell them he died with his face toward Zion.”
Not because I was perfect.
Not because I conquered every obstacle.
But because, by the grace of God, I never stopped facing home.
Wherever the journey leads —
Whatever the hardships —
May we be found facing Zion.
Just like Grandma Mary!
