MARKS OF MEN by Travis Miller

Have you ever had a “What in the world am I doing here?” moment in your life? That is exactly what I was asking myself this past summer, as some unusual circumstances led to my employment based in small-town Vernal, Utah. In order to raise money for tuition and school expenses, I was able to acquire a job as a foreman for a construction company in this little Eastern Utah town. Vernal is a land owned by oil companies who offer big wages for simple but physically exhausting work. As a result, the town and surrounding country are filled with some very unique characters. Often times I would wonder if I was working or watching a wrestling match.
At any rate, I would spend anywhere from ten to twelve hours a day in Central Utah Indian territory, often times being hired out by these oil companies that are currently exploring for oil with their gargantuan oil drills. I would usually leave in a truck with some coworkers, among whom I was the sole English speaker and translator, and we would drive out into the desert to our job location. When we got there, our assigned workload would usually consist picking up garbage and digging holes. This occasion was different. The Company Man had us help by emptying a dizzying amount of hundred pound mud-mix bags into his oil drill. I do not mind heavy lifting, as I appreciate the mild soreness of growing muscles afterwards, and I do not mind getting a little dirty, but I do not like working on the oilrigs. Mainly, my hatred can be attributed to the fact that once your work is done on the oil rig, you are covered from head to toe in dust and muck. The suffering does not end there, as you also have the added blessing to be completely saturated with the smell of crude oil. The fragrance is a smell you are not likely to find over the cosmetics counter. Tuition does not pay itself, however. Our at least that is what I told myself as I climbed up muddy ladder and got to work.
After hefting a couple hundred of the mud bags, my duty as the English-speaking spokesman obligated me to seek for one of the regular rig workers so that we could get another pallet of mud-bags to empty. I waved down a worker and was greeted by a big, dirty, heavily tattooed rig-hand. I asked him if he could carry over the necessary pallet. He said sure, but countered that he had a question for me. I told him to go ahead. He then inquired, “You’re not a full-time roust-a-bout (oil field service worker) are you?” I answered, “Nope.” To which he replied, “I could tell.” I was a bit confused. I had already been working this job for months and was just as sunburned and covered with just as many nicks and cuts as anybody else. In order to clarify his deduction I inquired, “Why do you say that?” “You’re too clean,” was the only answer I received as he drove away.
I stood there for a moment, silently contemplating his meaning, as I looked over my dust and grime covered body. If I was anything at this moment, it certainly was not clean. Once I looked past the oily mud that was caked on my arms and body I realized something. My skin had a few nicks, scratches, and scars from previous job assignments but was untouched by ink and needle. When considering that my day was filled with overhearing language unsuitable for public circles, I recognized that none of those soiling words came from my lips. That is when I caught on to the true meaning of his statement. Though covered in the messiest kind of sludge and cuts, my disfigurement could not disguise my true character and principles.
Upon further reflection, I am reminded of a quote by Apostle James E. Talmage when he said:
It has been declared in the solemn word of revelation, that the spirit and the body constitute the soul of man; and, therefore, we should look upon this body as something that shall endure in the resurrected state, beyond the grave, something to be kept pure and holy. Be not afraid of soiling its hands; be not afraid of scars that may come to it if won in earnest effort, or [won] in honest fight, but beware of scars that disfigure, that have come to you in places where you ought not have gone, that have befallen you in unworthy undertakings [pursued where you ought not have been]; beware of the wounds of battles in which you have been fighting on the wrong side. [Talmage, CR, October 1913, p. 117]
Everyone in this mortal life will mark or stain their bodies. The question is will they be ennobling marks earned by hard work and sacrifice? Or disfiguring scars that come as a result of personal rebellion? Will you carry the dark stain of sin? Or allow the beauty of your character to become your polished gleam? These outward manifestations offer bystanders a glimpse, both past and present, of our lives and more importantly our characters.
More importantly, it is an interesting to ponder why we even bear these little marks on our bodies after some kind of trauma or adversity. What is the purpose behind them? In the Old Testament the Hebrew word for a designating mark or its action is “zkhr” or “zakhar.” This word has an additional definition as well. The alternate definition is “to remember.” The Lord gives us marks, whether received while doing good or ill, in order for us to remember how we received them. They are one of his most important teaching tools. By having reminders of our past, we can work faithfully towards the future. Marks can motivate us to repent, or they can also help us remember the sacrifices behind our testimonies.
I have felt the humiliation of the constant reminding of past transgressions that a physical blemish brings. When I was five years old some nearby neighbors bought the lot across the street from my house. The father of this family built a freestanding ten-foot half-pipe for his two teenage sons and their skating enjoyment. His sons were not the only ones who found a new toy. Most of the surrounding neighbor kids, many too young to ride or skate would equally utilize the new half-pipe by running up and down the crescent ramps in an attempt to reach the top, where one could stand as King of the World, for the entire neighborhood to see. While oblivious to any danger in our youth, our parents were a bit wiser and made us promise to stop playing on the half-pipe. In fact, it was always the last command we as children received when our parents would leave.
One spring night, my parents were departing for our Ward Temple Night. My younger brothers and I were all lying in front of the T.V. My parents kissed us their farewells and re-iterated that there was absolutely NO playing on the half-pipe. We, of course, agreed and watched them subsequently drive away. It was then that we did what any adventurous young children would do… run outside to play on the half-pipe! The other neighbor kids had already beaten us to it, but we were determined to reach the top before them. Up and down we went, until at last, my four brothers, two friends, and I were all standing at the top.
My childhood desire for adventure was not quite satisfied however, and I inched my way closer to the edge in order to witness the great height to which I had climbed. As I was staring off the edge, I did not take into account the fact that one of those neighborhood “friends” actually had a personal vendetta against me, and so she snuck up behind me, and unceremoniously pushed me off… resulting in a rather nasty broken arm upon my landing on the solid ground below me.
Needless to say, there was no way I could possibly hide my whereabouts and happenings that evening. My parents were informed after their temple session, and I spent the next couple of hours in a hospital. I wore a cast, like Hester’s scarlet letter, for the following six weeks.
While my story is full of childhood naivety, many of the scars people receive, whether through immorality, substance abuse, or other not-so-visible means, are equally damaging to the spirit and lives of their victims. Yet many times, as was evidenced in the first example in Vernal, our physical marks, while appearing esthetically ugly, can prove to be witnesses of a great testimony and sacrifice, ultimately resulting in becoming marks of nobility and beauty.
One of the best examples of this can be found in an account by Joseph Smith, when a drunken and angry mob abducted him from his bed late one night. He recounts that they burst through the door, grabbed and dragged him outside where after they beat him mercilessly. They halted their blows only so that they could spread tar all over his injured body, and even tried to force a spoonful of tar in his mouth. Joseph’s friends and loved ones spent the rest of the night scraping and prying the tar off of his body. Joseph Smith finished his story, by recalling that even after such a excruciatingly difficult night, that on the next day, being the Sabbath, and “with my flesh all scarified and defaced, I preached to the congregation as usual, and in the afternoon of the same day baptized three individuals” History of the Church, 1:261–65.
Most people would consider Joseph’s disfigurement repulsive, yet the fact that his burned and swollen flesh was earned in the defense of Truth and testimony transformed his marks into badges of honor. His scars were hallowed by the adversity he faced and suffered through while receiving them. Ultimately, the tokens of suffering served as reminders to us all about what possessing a steadfast testimony means.
Joseph’s marks are not the only ones that have great significance. On a small hill called Calvary, our Savior received the most important marks of all in his hands and feet. The cruel tips of Roman nails created one of the most important symbols and witnesses of our salvation. Upon his arrival to the Americas following his resurrection, Christ utilized his scars as a witness when he called unto the righteous survivors, “Arise and come forth unto me, that ye may thrust your hands into my side, and also that ye may feel the prints of the nails in my hands and in my feet, that ye may know that I am the God of Israel, and the God of the whole earth, and have been slain for the sins of the world” (3 Nephi 11:14).
Marks can be both physical and spiritual. While physical marks are easy for others to see, the marks burned deep in our hearts by the spirit can be even more powerful. These hidden tokens of faith offer us reminders of the past, and provide motivation for righteous living in the future. Many people have provided great examples in my life, and many have left invisible spiritual marks that have inspired me in my life.
As children, we often look for heroes and role models that we can strive to imitate. My biggest hero was my older brother Matthew. While it is not strange to look up to your older brother, Matt did not exactly fit the mold of model teenager. He often got himself into trouble. One of his most notorious episodes was getting suspended for a week in junior high because he put itching powder down a girl’s shirt, after which she broke out with a serious allergic reaction. This did not sit well with my parents as he was the eldest of five sons, and he was supposed to be supplying a good example. While definitely was not the worst son in the world, his repeated lapses and unsightly consequences routinely caused great tensions in our house. It eventually reached the point that my brother made a rash promise to move out the day after high school graduation.
My brother kept his promise, and he moved to Oregon to live with his best friend growing up. As he left he made sure we knew that he had made his escape. He lived in a broken down trailer and worked in a cigarette warehouse for a full year. We did not hear much from him, but we he returned he was completely changed. He did not raise his voice at my mom any more. He came home at a decent hour every night. Most of all, he decided to take a more serious interest in the lives of his little brothers.
We did not have a spare room for him anymore so my parents decided to have him share mine. During the following couple months, as he prepared for a mission, he told me a lot of his life experiences and mistakes and counseled with me not to do the same. We spent a lot of time just staring at the ceiling talking, me about my junior high experiences and interests, and him about his adventures in Oregon. Many times I would talk to him about the new grown up opportunities that I faced. He would listen and tell me about similar experiences he had had.
Those long nights and soft words by my older brother were permanently branded in my mind. The principles that he shared deeply influenced the attitudes and spiritual desires that I had for the rest of my teenage years.
While my experiences with my brother were unforgettable, the deepest grooves of my testimony were made by my faith in our Savior Jesus Christ. As a young inexperienced missionary, I found myself in charge of a struggling area with an even more inexperienced companion. The days were filled with a lot of prayers as I considered the day a success if one out of three people in our little Argentine town even understood what my companion and I were saying. Days of language practice and hard work did not seem to be helping our area progress. That is until we met the Martinez family…
In small roughly put together house by the river, Manuel and Martha Martinez struggled to provide for their three children. The house had a large thin blanket acting as a wall for two rooms, a living-dining-kitchen room in front and a single bedroom in the back. While not having many material goods, the family had a deep sense of unity. Manuel, however, always sensed that something was missing.
Our daily tracting efforts eventually led us to the Martinez’s riverside home. After several lessons and trips to church, the Martinez family was excited when we challenged them to get baptized. In order to fulfill this dream, the only lacking requirement was the marriage of Manuel and Martha. While making plans for the wedding one night, Manuel and Martha’s sad countenances were a glaring contrast to my companion’s and my enthusiasm. When we asked them what their doubt was, Manuel answered. “Since Martha and I are not married, we both receive individual poverty benefits from the government every month from our jobs. If we get married, we will lose one of those payments – it’s more than 400 pesos! We can barely eat in our current situation! We can’t give that up.”
My companion and I just sat with our mouths open. Speechless until we offered our assurances that the Lord takes care of his own. That faith comes before miracles. We all knew the right thing to do was to get baptized. Manuel and Martha, however, would not commit to it. So after many questions and pleadings, my companion and I at least succeed in committing them to have a heartfelt prayer to tell their Heavenly Father about their decision.
That night I held nothing back in my prayers to my Heavenly Father. The Martinez family had struggled through so much. I knew that fully embracing the gospel would allow them to receive all kinds of new blessings. My prayers were desperate pleadings for the Lord to give the Martinez’s courage and faith. I slept with a heavy heart as I anxiously waited for events to play out.
The next night we went back to the Martinez house to see how the parents’ prayers went. We sat down with the family, and after exchanging greetings and a prayer, we asked the parents about their prayer. Manuel blurted out, “We’re getting baptized!” Manuel and Martha’s eyes were completely aglow. We congratulated them as Manuel continued, “We just couldn’t find words to justify our actions to Heavenly Father. We’ve had so many lessons on faith, I guess this is what it is all about?” We eagerly agreed, and they were married at the end of the week.
Finally the day for their baptisms arrived. Ward members turned out in earnest in order to support them, as we tried to fit everyone in to the room with the font. A few minutes before the baptism started, Manuel asked if he could talk to me alone. A sudden sense of dread snaked its way into my heart. We went into a classroom, and I asked Manuel if something was wrong. “Let me explain,” he said. “I went into work today and my boss called me into his office. They had been laying people off because the harvest is over so they don’t need as many guys working the fields. I was afraid, but after he closed the door to his office he told me that he liked my effort and he was going to give me a raise! And better yet, he said that both my wife and I can still get our government grants!”
Manuel’s face was covered in tears of joy, and my face looked like a mirror image as we just held each other and cried. “We always said that there were miracles,” I finally said. We both laughed and left to join the rest of the ward and his family for the baptisms.
Never have I seen simple faith so amply and deservingly rewarded. That experience has seared on my soul the love that our Heavenly Father has for each and every one of us. This memory is a mark earned by diligent toil and effort in the missionary field, and I will carry it forever.
From these great examples we can draw strength when the only solution to our challenges is the time-tested antidote of hard work. As the Lord counsels us in the Doctrine and Covenants 64:33, “Wherefore, be not weary in well-doing, for ye are laying the foundation of a great work. And out of small things proceedeth that which is great.” We may receive some nicks and scratches in the service of the Lord, but these guiding marks will offer us little remembrances of the testimonies that we bear. May we remember the words of Paul to the Galatians, and answer ridicule with his declaration when he said, “From henceforth let no man trouble me: for I bear in my body the marks of the Lord Jesus.” (Galatians 1:17).