If you know me, you are probably wondering at that title because you know that I don't have any brothers, I only have sisters, 6 of them to be exact. My older sister and I used to pretend that this big puppet my dad had was our older brother because we always wanted one. Anyway, this is one of my favorite stories, I think I got it in seminary and I'm sorry I don't know who wrote it.
When I was just a small boy, I had a favorite big brother. He was great to me. He would put his big arms around me and we would go scampering down some cool dirt path. At times like these I would feel ten feet tall. He didn't seem to mind my tagging a long one bit and there was nothing I loved better.
I was so proud of him. When he was with me I felt that I was beaming brighter than the sun. He was good at everything and I never could seem to match the mountains he would make out of sand. Mine always seemed to crumble and sag; but his would stand firm and tall as the Rocky Mountains.
My father always tried not to show how proud he was of him being the oldest and all, but his smile always seemed to beam a little brighter whenever my brother came around.
I felt my world had all collapsed when he went on his mission. My parents both had to fight back the tears. He called up father regularly and let us know how much he loved us. He even told us how great his mission was so as mother wouldn't worry.
The persecution was really bad there, as the church was just getting it's start. He never seemed to let himself get down. Even though the people wouldn't believe his message he was happy and kept trying.
We would all share in his joys when he would get some new converts. I don't mind saying that I was scared that the non-believers would do something to him. It even got to the point where men were plotting to take his life. My father never seemed to be worried for some reason.
Then one day we received word that his mission had ended, but not as most men's do. I was struck sick by the terrifying news.
The finally got hold of my big brother. The big brother I played with, the one who never seemed to be capable of doing anything wrong.
They beat him and mocked him. He suffered all that, without striking back. Why would anyone want to hurt my big brother? I couldn't understand.
A mob took him to a hill just outside of town and spit on him. They nailed him to a wooden cross. My soul moaned as I heard that he begged father to forgive them. Wracked with unbearable pain, he gave up his life for what he believed.
My big brother, my king, my idol was dead. I cried through what seemed to me to be the darkest day of my life. Where was my big brother with whom I shaped mountains of sand? Why did he of all my brothers have to die like this?
I felt my father's strong arm on my shoulder and heard him say, "He did it for you, for you and your brothers and sisters."
Time passed and I was called on a mission. Sometimes I forget what happened so long ago, but every Sunday a small piece of bread and a cup of water remind me of my big brother and what he did for me. It assures me that he yet lives.