There among the mist-enclosed foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains, comes a sweeping, powerfully moving account about the enduring faith of a pioneer family, every bit as pure and simple as this enchanted countryside itself. The Farnsworths were widely recognized as survivors, with more grit and gumption than the black-bottomland soil they took their living from. During the demanding decades that followed their initial arrival, their descendants never lost their abiding faith in each other and in their Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.
Mrs. Sarah Abigail Farnsworth Landrey, the fourth generation to reside on this land, had lived a Godly life. Extraordinary she had witnessed crop failures, droughts, floods, wars, tornados and personal heartbreak. Raising nine children while working the land along-side her parents and husband, today at ninety-five, she was preparing for still one more long awaited appointment. To be gathered unto her people. How did this matriarch realize that today was the day she was going home? Well cause she had a visitor in the wee-hours of that morning. The morning of the tenth-day of March, in the year of our Lord, 1975.
Here in the white-clapboard farmhouse her grandparents constructed, in the bed she was actually born in, she was awakened to a gentle sound that at first sent chills up her spine. Once she became aware of just who was in her bedroom, and why they were there she would never feel more assured that this faith she had always clung too, would truly see her though this final journey. Believing that everyone is born for some reason, some purpose.
Filled with humor and moments that will move you to tears, you will be transfixed as the descendants of Mrs. Landrey ponder on precious recollections that morning, still clinging to their unwavering relationship with the Lord.
