“I’m Not ‘Brother’ Anybody!”

I was giving my motorcycle a tune-up one Saturday afternoon on the patio when an old car pulled up in front of our mobile home. The driver, a middle-aged man dressed in a white shirt and tie, got out and started toward me. He had “Latter-day Saint” written all over his face, and I knew immediately that the Church had found me.

I hoped that after noticing the beer can sitting beside me and the cigarette smoldering between my fingers that the visitor would decide he had the wrong house and drive on. No such luck.

“Are you Brother Goodman?” he asked, smiling.

“No, I’m not ‘Brother’ anybody!” I replied curtly. “I’m Joe.”

“Well, I’m glad to meet you, Joe,” he said, extending his hand.

I didn’t bother getting up, but noticing I had grease all over my right hand, I offered it to him. To my surprise, he shook it.

“I’m Brother Orwell Vance, and I’m your home teacher,” he said, still smiling. “I want to invite you to come meet with us tomorrow at church.” He rattled off the meeting schedule, then added, “I would like to come by and pick you up for priesthood meeting in the morning.”

Apparently, my home teacher hadn’t noticed that I wasn’t the church-going type. I decided to end our conversation before I lost my temper. I dropped my cigarette, ground it under my shoe, then walked to the end of our mobile home. Pointing to the chapel spire in the distance, I said, “I can see the chapel from here. If I ever decide to go back to church, I won’t need anyone to show me the way.”

“I’m sure you won’t,” he chuckled. “But it’s so much easier to go when you have someone to show you around and introduce you.”

“Listen,” I said sternly, “I’m not interested, and that’s all there is to it.”

“Okay,” he replied. “But I’ll be over at 7:15 tomorrow morning just in case you change your mind.” Still smiling, he got in his car and drove off.

Change my mind? I was 33 years old and hadn’t been active for many years. I wasn’t about to change my mind.

The next morning at exactly 7:15 I was awakened by a solid knock on the door. I stumbled out of bed and looked out the window. Apparently, Brother Vance wasn’t getting the message. I decided I must have been too nice to him.

“Who is it?” my wife, Carlene, asked.

“It’s that crazy old man from the Church,” I said. “Watch this.”

Wearing only a pair of shorts, I went to the door and threw it open.

“Good morning, Brother Goodman,” he said, smiling broadly. “I see you’re not ready, so I’ll just go on. See you later in the week.”

Who was this guy? Any normal person would have taken the hint by now. But sure enough, next Saturday afternoon here he came again. Wearing that same big smile, he stepped from his car and brought me a paper bag filled with “just a little something from my garden.”

He made small talk for a few minutes, asked if my motorcycle was running better, and inquired about my family. I wasn’t sure why I even bothered listening to him, but he was comfortable to be around—as long as he didn’t bring up the Church. After about 15 minutes, he said, “Brother Goodman, I’d like to come by in the morning and take you to priesthood meeting. I know you would enjoy it, and there are some great brethren who would like to meet you.”

“No,” I said, angry at myself for letting my guard down. “As I told you before, I know where the Church is if I want to go.”

“Well, I’ll be by about 7:15 in case you change your mind.”

He was wasting his time, of course, but at least he was consistent. Sure enough, next morning at 7:15 I heard him knocking. I put some pants on this time and opened the door.

“Oh, I see you’re not ready,” Brother Vance said. “Sunday School begins at 10:30. Maybe you and your family can join us then.”

These same scenes played out each Saturday afternoon and each Sunday morning for the next seven weeks. Brother Vance would drop off vegetables, talk for a few minutes, and offer to pick me up the next morning. I would refuse, but he would show up anyway just in case I changed my mind.

After nearly two months, I began to enjoy his visits and to feel bad about turning him down. But I was not ready to go to church, and I was going to be stubborn about it. I began leaving home on Saturday so that I wouldn’t be there when he came. That turned out to be a mistake, because he began visiting with Carlene.

After another month of visits had passed, I decided the best way to get rid of Brother Vance was to accompany him to priesthood meeting, tell him it did nothing for me, and ask him not to return. The following Sunday morning when he knocked on the door at 7:15, I was wearing a white shirt and tie.

“Good morning, Brother Goodman,” he said, smiling and not looking at all surprised. “I’m glad you’re ready. Shall we go?”

Hoping no one would see me, I got in his old car and we rode to the chapel. Brother Vance talked to me all the way as if we went to church together every Sunday. He was happy that the chapel was paid for and that ward members had played a big part in its construction. He spoke highly of the bishop, telling me I would love him. I wanted to tell Brother Vance to save his praise, as this would be my first and last visit. I didn’t have the heart, though, because he enjoyed so much telling me about the ward.

When we arrived, men seemed to be waiting for Brother Vance. Most came up to him and shook his hand. As he introduced me to each one, I felt that these brethren loved this man and that the welcome they extended to me was sincere. Brother Vance was right about the quality of the priesthood brethren. I was especially touched by the bishop, who was warm and down-to-earth.

When we separated for quorum activities, I discovered that Brother Vance’s calling was to work with the ward’s prospective elders. I quickly concluded that he had been so persistent with me because of his calling, not because he was my home teacher. Immediately, I felt ashamed of the thought. Here was someone who had given a lot of his time doing what the Lord asks of his sons, and I was trying to discredit him so I could feel better about not doing what the Lord wanted.

Our class instructor invited me and the other two newcomers to the class to talk about ourselves. I thought that I could probably take the whole class time telling these people why I didn’t belong with them, shock them a little in the process, then not be bothered by them anymore. I couldn’t do it, though, not with kind Brother Vance smiling at me as I talked.

I grudgingly admitted to myself that the meeting was not as bad as I had anticipated—or hoped—it would be. The other two men seemed to have many more problems than I had, and I was by far the most comfortable participating in the class discussion.

“Well, Brother Goodman,” Brother Vance said on the way home, “I guess you’ll want to bring your family back for Sunday School, won’t you? I know Sister Vance would love to have you in her Gospel Essentials class.” This was some years before the consolidated Sunday schedule we now have.

I wasn’t excited by the prospect of having to go another hour and a half without a cigarette or becoming a focus of attention for Sister Vance. I decided that I had to keep him away from my family when he dropped me off, or I would be doomed to another Church meeting.

“See you in about an hour,” he called after me when I hopped out.

Not in your wildest dreams, I thought. I sat down on the patio and lit a cigarette, relieved that I had gone to a meeting and could now refuse other invitations. I wasn’t ready to change my life, even if something did feel right about the priesthood meeting.

Carlene came out a few moments later and asked if we were going to Sunday School. The children were already dressed and looked forward to going. She looked disappointed when I told her no.

I realized that I had to put my foot down before Brother and Sister Vance arrived at 10:15 to ask if we were ready. To make sure that didn’t happen, I gathered up my family and left at 10:10—driving them to Sunday School myself.

The brethren I had met that morning were quick to greet us and introduce their families. Brother and Sister Vance escorted us to opening exercises and to Sister Vance’s Sunday School class. We enjoyed her lesson on Church history, and I was surprised how much I remembered and how many questions I could answer.

“Brother Goodman, I know you’ll want to bring your family back for sacrament meeting this evening,” Brother Vance said afterwards. “We’ll look forward to seeing you.”

We didn’t make it to sacrament meeting, and I made sure we were not home the following Saturday. Early Sunday morning I got everyone up for a trip to the desert—something we had always enjoyed in Arizona. Carlene knew what I was doing, and she chastised me. “You know you can’t avoid him for long,” she said.

She was right. Before long, Brother Vance was back. But I was ready. I told him that I really didn’t get much out of the meetings and saw no reason to return.

“Well, Brother Goodman,” he said, “I can’t help but think you felt a little better after those meetings. I’ll be by tomorrow morning in case you change your mind.”

We were ready for him the next morning. We attended all three meetings, and Carlene and the children never seemed happier. The following Saturday, Brother Vance was back with more vegetables. As he approached me, I was overcome by his love. I had no doubt that what he had been doing for me and my family resulted from his honest love for his neighbor. At that moment, I knew that my life had been changed.

As we sat and talked that day, he told me that I was going to have new home teachers who were closer to my age. He would bring them by to meet us, and he promised that we would become friends. I didn’t say anything. I had just decided that this man was going to love me back into the Church, but then I felt that he was abandoning me. Brother Vance then said something I needed to hear.

“Brother Goodman, if you don’t mind, I would still like to come by and have you ride to priesthood meeting with me. I’ve really enjoyed that.”

Brother Vance was right. It didn’t take long before we learned to love our new home teachers. But he still stopped by most Saturdays and continued to pick me up Sunday mornings at 7:15 until he had a new “special” brother who needed him.

Brother and Sister Vance were there to support and love us when Carlene and I were sealed in the Arizona Temple months later. I will never forget his smile and the love that shone from his face as we met in the temple’s celestial room. I could not hold back the tears.

Eighteen months later, in 1971, Brother Vance was called home. I often think of him still and the fruits of his love: the stake mission I served, the full-time missions of five of our children, and the more than 100 people who joined the Church as a result of our labors—all because of one man’s love and faith. I look forward to meeting him again, seeing his loving smile, and thanking him for showing me the way.