Alma 26

Here’s what Ammon said of it all:

Brothers, are we happy or what? We never could have known how well this would turn out. Are there words to encapsulate the ways God’s blessed us? Don’t answer, let me. The Lamanites lived in a black hole of sin. Now some at least are sunbathing in divinity. Our blessing? God did it through us. Thousands of them unscrewed like fence posts from their old life.

Allow me to go back to that agrarian metaphor: the Lamanites were an overgrown, plump-grained field of wheat. God swung you and me like sickles, slicing the wheat into heaps ready for bundling. Now—pardon the likening of people to vegetation—they’re bales ready for God’s barn.

Unharvested wheat can be thrashed and flooded by storms. Not this wheat. It’s stacked up safe and dry. God owns them and he’ll decide what to do with them in his own good time.

Okay, the metaphors may be breaking down. So enough. Anyone have a song? Because we’ve got to sing to God and thank him for always doing right, usually in ways that you can’t foresee. In our case, for example, if we hadn’t ended up in Zarahemla, those Lamanites would not only not have been saved, they’d have hated our people, not to mention God himself.

[At this point, Aaron said, “You’re starting to boast. Understandable, but technically it’s a sin. Or so you always say.” So Ammon answered:]

Boasting of a sort. But not about me. It’s boasting about God, though yes I am saying he did it through us. Pardon me, but I’m pretty jacked up. Even jubilant—there’s a word you won’t hear me use very often. But not jubilant about how great I am. I’m weak. And frankly tired of touring to indifferent if not hostile audiences. That’s why I boast about God using us. Because it’s obvious we couldn’t have managed without him. And with him one can’t help but succeed in the end. If miracles were an anthology, he’d be the editor-in-chief. So I can’t stop thanking him for including us among the authors.

There’s no way to measure the longterm effects of what’s happened here: thousands of lives changed to start with and countless more for generations. Like a big choir singing that old favorite “Redeeming Love” with the whole earth for a concert hall. If that’s not a reason to get a little giddy, I don’t know what is.

Eternal giddiness: that’s what God has in mind for his servants. So what’s a little quasi-boasting among friends? If we’re doing it right, thinking about God instead of our own dear selves, it’s not possible to boast too much. We should keep talking about him in a thousand different ways, not scrunch down his fame into little soundbites for the nodding orthodoxy. I can’t contain myself. And yet my words can’t embody what I feel. It’s a geyser of happiness.

Let’s go back a ways. Who could even have imagined God would have snatched us from that polluted river we were caught up in? We all know what bounders we were. We wanted to savage the peaceful worship of good people. Why would God use that as a premise for mercy? What’s he up to? I’d always thought you had to be worthy to be blessed. Why wouldn’t he slide us like bread dough into Satan’s eternal oven?

Ouch. I can’t think of what we deserved. But he stayed very cool with us. He acted like a bridge over a ravine of turpitude, one we walked across from misery to bliss. The animal side of our natures doesn’t get it. Only those who tame that side can know what I’m talking about.

Indeed, if a person turns from his old staleness to a fresh new life of optimism and progress—talking to God all along the way—that person will understand mysteries that seemed insoluble. Besides that, such a person will know how to lead thousands of others to a similar life and understanding—in our case that happened, anyway.

Remember, when we announced this proselyting tour to Lamanites, how our alleged friends mocked us? They laughed wildly, questioning not only our intentions but our competence to effect any change. They spewed out all the old stereotypes about Lamanites, as if we didn’t know them by heart: they’re intractable, steeped in error, bloodthirsty, wicked from babyhood on, etc. “Let’s kill them all,” everyone said, “and have some national security at last.”

We headed to meet them as if in battle. But it wasn’t the killing kind, though it was about winning—winning their souls back from the devil. We got very gloomy, you’ll recall. But God wouldn’t give up. And he did all he could to keep us from giving up. “Be patient,” he said, “and let me handle the outcome.”

We were nothing if not patient, even when suffering injustice in every form. We kept knocking on doors, trusting not on Lamanite mercy but on Yahweh mercy.

We taught in houses, streets, open air markets, hillsides, temples, synagogues. For which we got spit on, slapped, rocks thrown at us, roped like cattle and caged like monkeys. But God got us out, like every time before.

It was all worth it, we believed, if we could save even a few. Did we save a few? Look around. “Few”? No way. Thousands, saved by love, nurtured by love, and now overflowing with love for us and for each other. Sincere love, none of that fake, smiley smile phony kind.

They even buried their weapons to show they believed in the whole message of peace we brought.

Now the verdict is in: they’ve made a better society than Nephites ever did. They love not only each other, but their enemies, enough to renounce the slightest opposition to them. You’ve heard of passive aggression? How about aggressive passivity? That’s what these folks have.

So, yes, I’m happy. I’m boasting. I’m kicking up my spiritual heels. God is the reason. His knowledge. His power. His mercy. His patience. I boast of light and life, redemption from grief. We’re wanderers. But we’ve not only found something here. The people here have found our message. I think it’s in good hands with them.

God doesn’t play favorites. Not a priori, anyway. He’s interested in every nation and tribe. They all belong to him unless they sell themselves to another god. He shows mercy to the whole earth.

So keep keeping records. But realize they don’t tell the whole story.

Finally, the obvious peroration: Thank you, God, for everything. And a special thanks for your seemingly boundless patience with everyone. Including us.