I have since learned to go where I am called, and not set up my judgment against that of those who are called to lead in this kingdom.
When the temple was enclosed, in a meeting of the brethren, called to consult about its completion, the Prophet desired that a hard finish be put on its outside walls. None of the masons who had worked on the building knew how to do it. Looking around on the brethren, his eyes rested upon me; he said, "Brother Lorenzo. I want you to take hold and get this finish on the walls. Will you do it?"
"Yes;" I replied; "I will try." The following day, with horse and buggy I went to Cleveland, twenty-two miles, determined, if possible, to find a man who understood the business of putting a hard finish on the walls. I had been there but a short time, inquiring after such a man, when I met a young man who said he understood the business, had just completed a job, and wanted another. I employed him at once, put him and his tools into the buggy, and returned to Kirtland.
We soon had the materials and fixtures on hand to make the mortar. In a short time the finish was being put upon the walls.
I made a suitable tool and, before the mortar was dry, I marked off the walls into blocks in imitation of regular stone work. When the finish was on I commenced penciling.
It was then the last of November, and the weather daily grew colder. A Brother Stillman assisted me a day or two, but said that he could not stand the cold, and quit the work.
I continued, day after day, determined, if possible, to complete the job. When I got badly chilled I went into my house, warmed myself and returned again to the work.
I completed the task in the fore part of December, but was sick the last two days. I had caught a bad cold, had a very severe cough, and, in a few days was confined to my bed.
My disease was pronounced to be the quick consumption. I sank rapidly for six or seven weeks. For two weeks I was unable to talk. Dr. Williams, one of the brethren, came to see me, and, considering my case a bad one, came the next day and brought with him Dr. Seely, an old practicing physician, and another doctor whose name I have forgotten. They passed me through an examination. Dr. Seely asserted that I had not as much lungs left as would fill a tea saucer. He appeared a somewhat rough, irreligious man. Probably, with what he considered a good-natured fling at our belief in miracles, he said to my father, as he left the house:
"Mr. Young, unless the Lord makes your son a new pair of lungs, there is no hope for him!"