Gathered in Grace: Finding Home in Arkansas

For years, I’ve been captivated by my family history. The story of my great-grandfather, Benjamin Franklin Weaver, has particularly intrigued me—especially since completing the work to have him sealed to his biological father, Benjamin Franklin Sipe. This experience, coupled with an innate curiosity about the people who shaped my past, kept me focused on this family line.

My search for answers intensified when I discovered letters from Eva Helm, a first cousin of Benjamin Franklin Weaver. These letters, shared with my mother years ago, were a treasure trove of family history. They revealed intimate details about our family, including hidden lineages, names, and places. Eva’s generosity in sharing these stories provided valuable sources that completed our knowledge of Benjamin Franklin Weaver.

One night, while sitting on my bed surrounded by piles of letters and documents, I said a quiet but audible prayer, thanking Heavenly Father for Eva’s help in finding our family. Shortly after, I felt—or perhaps heard—a quiet, “What about me?” Startled, I went downstairs to my computer to see if Eva’s temple work had been done—it had not. She had blessed our family with her knowledge and now it was my turn to bless hers.

A Google search revealed that Eva had one surviving son but no daughters to carry on her family’s temple work. I knew it was my opportunity to step in.

The Discovery

One night about a year later, I had a vivid but fleeting dream containing just one word: “Elkanah.” Intrigued, I searched through my records and found the name there in our family tree, my third great-grandpa and Benjamin’s grandpa. As a young boy, Elkanah had survived the tragic loss of his older brothers, killed during the Civil War by the infamous jayhawkers—a band of guerilla fighters who terrorized the South.

As I dug deeper, I discovered that Elkanah’s father, my fourth great-grandfather, Jacob Sipes Jr., had built a cabin in Arkansas long before the Civil War—a cabin that, according to my research, was possibly still standing today. In that moment, my heart quickened. I realized the significance of the location: Arkansas. I had already planned a trip to Arkansas to see the solar eclipse in April 2024. As suggested by my son Brady, Little Rock was our destination, and it lay directly in the path of totality for the eclipse—precisely where my ancestors had lived in Izard County. The alignment of these events felt like divine orchestration, offering a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to connect with my family’s past in a tangible way.

Using FamilySearch, I found several cemeteries in Izard County, where hundreds of my ancestors were buried. I even pinpointed the possible location of Jacob Sipes Jr.’s cabin. Despite contacting historical societies and local towns, I still lacked a definitive address. Regardless, I felt compelled to visit. Even if the cabin location remained elusive, the journey itself would be exciting.

A Family Effort

Over the next six months, our family worked diligently to complete more than 400 ordinances for these ancestors. Everyone contributed in meaningful ways to the temple work; just days before leaving for Arkansas, we completed the final ordinance. A profound sense of relief and gratitude settled over me and I felt deeply that our family members on the other side of the veil shared in that joy.

The Miracle Connection

After months of engaging in temple work, our profound sense of peace and joy felt complete. However, in Arkansas, an unexpected connection unfolded. After an evening of sightseeing and dining, we planned to visit the cemeteries and search for the cabin the following day. While some of my children enjoyed the live music in the town square, I ventured into a shop filled with locally made furniture. There, I found a beautiful rocking bench that seemed to call my name. It was an uncharacteristic purchase for me, but something about the trip made me feel that it was the right thing to do. I wanted something big and special as a souvenir. As I paid, I casually mentioned to the girls behind the counter the names of my family and asked if they knew any locals with those surnames or where I could find Blue Church Lane. One of the girls smiled and said, “I live on that road!” She also knew the names I mentioned and offered to ask her dad about them. She took my number and promised to call with more information. I didn’t hold much hope, given that our phones weren’t working well in the area, but I felt a glimmer of excitement that we might be closer to finding our family’s past.

The next morning, as I prayed, I felt overwhelmed with an anxious list of requests for the Lord. In the midst of my prayer, a gentle prompting interrupted me, encouraging me to pause. I sat still for a moment and then sincerely asked, “Heavenly Father, will you plan our day?”

Just as we were about to head out, my phone rang. It was a man named Gary Dale, who had received my number from the girl at the shop. He explained that he had the key to the gate leading to Blue Church Lane and offered to guide us. Throughout our journey through the Ozarks, Gary’s phone seemed to ring at precisely the right moments, providing the next set of directions. Step by step, we followed him through the rugged Arkansas hollers. At one point, after crossing a river deeper than was wise for our vehicle, we had to abandon our car and join Gary and his hounds in his 4×4. Eventually, we reached the overgrown Blue Church Cemetery, where the Sipe brothers were laid to rest. As we navigated the terrain, a sense of familiarity washed over me as I recognized the surroundings. Before leaving on our trip, I had reviewed some of my mom’s family history records and photos. Many of the places and faces in those photos were unlabeled and unfamiliar to me at the time. Now, as I stood there, I realized my mother had visited these very same places. I was quite literally following in her footsteps.

Gary spent more time with us than we could have hoped for, taking us through the entire area and eventually escorting us to the very cabin I had seen on the internet. The cabin was still standing, nestled beside a serene river. This was the very home where Elkanah had hid from the jayhawkers. As we marveled at the beauty and peace of the area, I couldn’t help but be amazed by the strength of the foundations of a home that had been built over a century ago. It was humbling to stand there with my children, touching the same stones they had laid. Standing in front of the majestic old stone fireplace laid so carefully by Jacob Sipe, Jr., I thought about its enduring strength, mirroring the Savior’s unshakable foundation in our lives. Just as the stones were carefully placed to hold the cabin together, Christ and our covenants hold our eternal family together.

A Family Reunion

While touring the area, I shared with Gary how I had come to know about all of this through a woman named Eva Helm, whose letters had been sent to my mom decades ago. Gary stopped dead in his tracks and said, “Wait, Jack Helm is our historian and resident storyteller. I believe Eva is his mother, or grandmother maybe.” Gary immediately called Jack and soon we were speaking on the phone. It turned out that Jack recognized my mother’s name, Donna Snideman, and confirmed the connection. Later that day, we met Jack and his dear wife, Katie, at a local cemetery, where I was able to visit Eva’s grave. I also had the privilege of visiting the cemetery where Elkanah is laid to rest. While there, Katie reached her arm around me and said, “We’ll all wait for you down at the cars. You take a minute and visit with your grandpa.” We spent hours together that day, including lunch, where Gary, his wife Shelly, and her brother Gary (both my cousins) joined us as we all shared stories and enjoyed the company of newfound kin. Later that night, when we arrived back at the hotel, Katie called to make sure we arrived safely and added that Jack had realized something special, today was Eva’s birthday—April 6th.

They invited us over to their home the next day. Jack and Katie’s home was cozy, and they eagerly shared family history, photos, and stories. During our visit, Jack asked me out of the blue, “Do you know what you are, Carol?” I had a feeling he knew, so I let him explain. “You’re Indian. You look like Nancy Mathis.” The picture he showed me proved it. Nancy Mathis, Elkanah’s wife, was a full-blooded Cherokee. This revelation was a stunning moment of self-discovery, especially since I have a rare mark on my shoulder—a Mongolian spot—that had never faded. It’s a daily reminder to me of the mysteries our family heritage can hold, and in this moment with Jack, one of them was answered. That evening Jack and Katie invited us to join them on their family’s land to watch the eclipse the next day. This was the invitation of a lifetime—a chance to see the eclipse from “Top of the World,” the highest mountain in the area, a place where our common ancestors had lived for generations.

The Eclipse

As we sat together atop the hill, sharing Kentucky Fried Chicken, meeting Jack’s donkeys, and enjoying each other’s company, we watched the eclipse in awe. The moment was made even more meaningful by the connections we had formed. Surrounded by newfound family in a place that felt like home, we experienced a celestial event that crowned our journey. We were blessed with miracles unique to us, a testament to God’s perfect timing, guidance, and boundless love for our family circle.

Every family’s history is rich with stories, places, and people waiting to be discovered. For those who seek, intensely personal journeys await, along with the opportunity to be gathered in grace, connected and sealed through Him.

My testimony is this: when we turn our lives over to God, He orchestrates our days in ways much better than we could ever plan ourselves. 

Watching the moon pass over the sun, I couldn’t help but think of the stone rolling away from Christ’s tomb. For a few moments, we sat in hushed darkness. But as the stone did then, the moon moved on, and the light returned so quickly—as will He.

Nothing can eclipse that truth.