Doing Hard Things

In modern America, an experience like that of Kumen Jones is virtually nonexistent.
 
At the age of sixteen, Kumen went to work delivering mail between Cedar City, Utah and Boullionville, Nevada, a round-trip distance of 225 miles. It was a lonesome job. He traveled by himself and spent nights with families from settlements along the way. Each trip lasted six days and he did this for three years.
 
Anyone who travels this same stretch in our modern era knows that it continues to be a desolate area. Imagine a sixteen-year old boy making this journey in the bitter cold of winter in a foot of snow—depending solely upon his own merits for survival. Even under ideal conditions, an experience like this would quickly transform a boy into a man.
 

Kumen Jones

At age nineteen he began work for a cattle company from Cedar City. He tells the story of spending the winter on the east fork of the Virgin River at a place they called “lower herd.” In February, he and a friend started back for Cedar on what was known as the “Shoonsberg Trail.” This would take them through the settlements of Shunsberg and Toquerville, and up the Black Ridge toward home.
 
They hadn't traveled far along the fork of the river when it began to snow. Soon, the trail was obliterated and the two men lost their bearings. For two days they wandered without food and the snow piled two to three feet deep. They prayed fervently, knowing the desperate situation they faced. Even their horses were exhausted.
 
Then, on the morning of the third day, the storm broke and they recognized the hills near their original starting point. At last their prayers were answered, as Kumen put it, “by the kind Father above.”
 
These experiences helped shape Kumen for the rest of his life. He went on to be a member of the infamous Hole in the Rock Expidition, where he played a key role in assisting with a seemingly impossible trek. He later helped build a city and became a leader in the community.
 
Stories like these aren't limited to Kumen Jones. After the violent death of his father and uncle, Joseph F. Smith was required to drive one of the ox teams from Montrose, Iowa to Winter Quarters, and later to the Salt Lake Valley at the age of nine. Many of my ancestors built towns from land that had scarcely been seen by white men. Say what you may about teenage marriage, but the truth is that many women married young and it was really hard work. They matured quickly. My Grandmother Workman buried seven of her own children before any of them passed the age of twenty-five. Our progenitors didn't have the conveniences we enjoy. They washed clothes on a wash board, grew their own food, and built their own homes.
 
Even in more recent history, my wife's grandfather, Howard Smith—at the age of eighteen—was a tail gunner in the South Pacific during World War II. My own grandfather, Claude Lacy, walked seven miles home every evening after football practice when he couldn't hitch a ride. They made-do during The Great Depression, living in conditions far below our current standards.
 
The truth is, we live in luxury. It is generally agreed upon that we, as a society, have become much softer than we used to be. In my view, we are not as often doing those hard things that our ancestors did—the things that made them tough. Even the arduous jobs of manual labor we are passing off to immigrants.
 
I have thought about this lately—a lot. Although we as adults are not exempt, I have particularly observed the youth. Anxiety rates are climbing steeply. I watch as youth and young adults get anxiety and quit over seemingly small tasks. The age that kids tend to “grow up” is continually on the rise. The first-time mother that once matured quickly at age fifteen has now morphed into the “man-child” that plays video games and lives at home into his late twenties. We have become seekers of pleasure rather than choosing to accept greater responsibility.
 

In light of all this, I would like to tell you about my daughter, Kaitlyn, who right now is definitely doing a “hard thing.”
 
For the past two months she has attended Basic Training in Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri. It has been the most physically draining thing she has done in her entire life. At barely five feet, she is the shortest soldier in her platoon. She trains alongside the males, where the rigors and abuses of boot camp do not discriminate by sex.
 
Through her letters we have been able to capture a small glimpse of her world—the sub-zero temperatures, ruck-marches in the dark, drill sergeants yelling in her face and a run through the gas chamber.
 
Even “chow” is no cake-walk. As she describes it: “You must be silent, keep your heels together, bring your bowl to the food when you pour something in it, and if you mess up on anything you will probably get caught and they will make you sing the Army song at the top of your lungs for 5 minutes, or repeat a phrase over and over again. For example, if you forget to keep your heels together they'll make you say, 'heels together makes the food taste better!' while everyone else eats.”
 
One of my favorite stories is of the night that one of the males in her platoon lied to the drill sergeant. Instead of going to bed, they had to go outside in the rain with rakes and “organize the mud.”
 
She wrote about another incident: “Last night once we finally got to go to bed a drill sergeant came in our bay while we were sleeping and found a weapon that was left on semi instead of safe, so we got woken up and smoked. They had us run up and down the stairs changing into different uniforms in very small time periods. Then, when we were late to change into the next uniform, we would have to do exercises.”
 
To say the least, it was a difficult two months. She was sleep-deprived, pushed to the limit physically, and psychologically tested to the max. She was almost completely cut off from the outside world. Except for a couple of brief, five-minutes calls, she had no access to her cell phone. Every minute of her life was dictated.
 

Upon completion of Basic Training, Jenelle and I traveled to Fort Leonard Wood for Kaitlyn's graduation. Families of soldiers crammed into Baker Theater and watched four platoons march into the auditorium in their dress blues, all in cadence, and all returning song to their drill sergeant. It was quite a sight to see. I was impressed with the polished professionalism of the soldiers. I was surprised at the diversity of people serving our nation, which included many from different countries and territories.
 
It felt good to talk to Kaitlyn face to face. I thought she might call us “sir” and “ma'am,” but it was still “mom” and “dad.” We could tell that she made many friends as she was continually greeting fellow comrades after graduation. We were able to spend a majority of two days together, catching up on the last two months, and enjoying our final time with her before she left for advanced training in San Antonio.
 
Kaitlyn told us that Basic Training made her tougher mentally. Her discipline and character had greatly improved. When asked what was the biggest thing she learned, she gave two answers: 1) How much she appreciated her friends and family back home and how she was raised, and 2) To have faith in your failures. This means to trust that you can overcome your failures and to let them teach you to become better.
 
This now brings us back to the original topic. How do we become a better people if we don't get out of our comfort zone and do difficult things that may involve failure?
 
We may not be forced into a situation where we have to drive an ox team across the plains, or fight a war in the South Pacific. Boot Camp may never be a thing that falls within our life plans. But all of us can accept greater responsibility and look for opportunities to do hard things. ♠