Lola Wilcox

1909 - 1996  (86 years)  Submit Photo / Document    Has no ancestors but 3 descendants in this family tree.

• Name	Lola Wilcox
  Birth	11 Sep 1909	Clearfield, Davis, Utah, United States
  Gender	Female
  Initiatory (LDS)	1 May 1930	SLAKE
  FamilySearch ID	KWCM-1WT
  Death	25 Jul 1996	Pocatello, Bannock, Idaho, United States
  Burial	29 Jul 1996	Heyburn, Minidoka, Idaho, United States
  Headstones	Submit Headstone Photo
  Person ID	I152481	mytree
  Last Modified	25 Feb 2024

  
  

  Family	Howard Burdell Jensen,   b. 26 Aug 1906, Ovid, Bear Lake, Idaho, United States d. 24 May 1986, Burley, Cassia, Idaho, United States (Age 79 years)
  Marriage	7 Dec 1929	Rupert, Minidoka, Idaho, United States
  Children	1. Reed W Jensen,   b. 21 Aug 1930, Rupert, Minidoka, Idaho, United States d. 30 Jun 2016, American Fork, Utah, Utah, United States (Age 85 years)   2. Lucille Jensen,   b. 29 Sep 1932, Heyburn, Minidoka, Idaho, United States d. 1 Feb 2012, Pocatello, Bannock, Idaho, United States (Age 79 years)   3. Colleen Jensen,   b. 12 Sep 1935, Heyburn, Minidoka, Idaho, United States d. 26 Mar 1939, Burley, Cassia, Idaho, United States (Age 3 years)
  Family ID	F39078	Group Sheet  |  Family Chart
  Last Modified	5 May 2024

  
  

• Event Map

  Birth - 11 Sep 1909 - Clearfield, Davis, Utah, United States Marriage - 7 Dec 1929 - Rupert, Minidoka, Idaho, United States Initiatory (LDS) - 1 May 1930 - SLAKE Death - 25 Jul 1996 - Pocatello, Bannock, Idaho, United States Burial - 29 Jul 1996 - Heyburn, Minidoka, Idaho, United States  = Link to Google Earth

  
  

• Notes

  written in tribute to Howard and Lola Jensen for their 50th Wedding An n i v ersary by their daughter, Loretta When I was a little girl, I loved to walk with my father and hold onto H i s hands. They were strong and warm and covered my tiny ones completely. My dad was a farmer. As I looked at his hands, I wondered how he go t c u t s so often and even purple fingernails now and then. But I usuall y n e ve r asked him. I just held tightly to his fingers and went where h e gu i de d me. Years passed by, and I became a teenager. My hands were busy learn i n g t o care for me. Once when I was with my grandmother, my gaze fel l up o n he r hands. They were big-knuckled and wrinkled with the veins s tandi n g out. The skin was work-worn and the knuckles on her right han d wer e l arge r than those on her left hand. I didn’t ask her anything a bout h e r hands. I was busy thinking about other things. And I barely gl anc e d at my ow n mother’s hands. Years passed by, and I became a bride. I still love to hold my husba n d ’ s hands. His love, understanding, and guidance have always been th e r e i n the gentle touch of his hand through all the years. Then I became a mother. These were the busy years caring for our ba b i e s whose hands were pink and sweet and a gift from God. Their hand s w e r e soft, smooth, sweet smelling, muddy, clean, busy and helping ha nds. Now my hands are engraved with lines of experience - they are carve d w i t h lines that came from helping our growing children through sickn es s a n d health. Today my hands are big knuckled and wrinkled with vein s s tan di ng out. The knuckles of my dad’s right hand are larger than th os e o f hi s left. Our skin is work worn. If I could place my hands on m y g ra ndmot her’s and my mother’s hands, we would see our hands look ali ke . W e woul d not have to ask each other how they became so lined and c rea sed. We wo uld just smile, recognizing that time has taught us much. These are the hands of goodly parents whose tender loving care of u s o v e r the years is reflected in the carved creases of their hand s - a sym b o l of caring and doing for each of us and for each other - w hich neve r s ee ms to cease. They have always been there whenever we nee ded them a n d sti ll are. Mother was with me for all of my own babies. Dad is still concerned and helps with the farming. They came to help with every move we made. They gave of themselves all the time and never wanted to receive anyt h i n g in return. These are the hands which taught me to milk cows and other farming ski l l s. Dad’s hands taught us to clean the end of the beet rows thoroughly . Needless to say these hands also had to discipline. We all rememb e r t h e times we had to be taught obedience. After the spanking he to l d m e h e expected me to obey him. Then he held my hand in his all th e wa y ba ck t hrough the fields to the house. I knew he loved me. His ha nds h av e alwa ys played with all of our children and grandchildren. H e tease d t hem an d made them laugh. Oh, the memories of watching his ha nds shov e l ditches, milk cows, cut hair creating the best looking hayst acks arou n d. Mother’s hands taught me persistence and to push ourselves by workin g a l o ng with us. “O, we can do another row - we’ve got almost 500 sac k s o f po tatoes - come on!” We learned how to work. Her hands signed en ou g h card s alone to keep the card companies in business. I loved to wa t c h her mak e pies and skin chickens. Her hands always moved faster th a n a nyone else ’s, and when she ironed I felt the board would break. H e r han ds filled o ur home with the fragrance of fresh baked bread. Cook ie s an d meals foun d their way into many homes - gifts of love from he r ha nds. Her hands ta ught me cleanliness by making me scrub my first fl oor t hr ee times. Thes e hands nursed our hurts, cuts and bruises. And t hen s h e would sit dow n at the piano where her hands poured out the mel odie s le arned years ago. It was her hands pressing temple clothes tha t creat e d within me the wi sh for a temple marriage. Together their hands provided clothes, food and shelter and the exam p l e o f hard work and love of God. We, your children, thank you for the gift of life, the guidance towa r d r e sponsibility and the model your lives have been in caring for oth er s. I t is a privilege to share this celebration with you. We honor y o u a nd lo ve you. Thank you for the work of your hands, and for the war mt h o f lov e and security and caring that has so closely knit our live s to geth er. Years will pass by, and the time will come when we may see our Savio r ’ s h ands with their lines of supreme love and sacrifice. His sacred , na i l sc arred hands may then gently touch ours - if we are worthy t o hol d su ch pr ecious hands.