2 Nephi 4

Okay, this is Nephi again. I want to say some things about Joseph of Egypt, whom my dad brought up. Joseph talked about us, predicted our fate, our destiny. It’s all in the brass plates, so I’m glad we got those.

After Dad finished that long monologue, he called together everyone in Laman’s family, including the kids, to tell them they should not forget his message, which could be summed up like this: keep God’s law and you’ll prosper here. Flake out and you’re toast.

Still, he said, “I can’t snub you when I’m about to die. I’ve got to give you a blessing, though I know that if your parents do their duty you’ll do right, blessing of mine or no. If you’re cursed by God, the best I can do is give you my blessing, hope he’ll back off and curse your parents instead. If God likes my blessing he’ll at least have mercy on you and not kill you.”

He then summoned Lemuel’s children. He gave them the same blessing as he’d given Laman’s family. A smart move. Why start more fights?

Then he spoke to Ishmael’s group, who were getting a little lost in the shuffle, given how much my brothers and I were fighting. Then Sam, to whom Dad gave the blessing of essentially getting the same inheritance I got, which is always easy to say when you know you’ll be gone when the inheritance comes up for dividing.

Well, you know what happened next. Dad had said his peace and he would soon die and be buried. Then after he did, Laman and Lemuel got angry with me about what Dad had said, belittling them but not me, as usual. I took that as my cue to assure them that God was speaking through Dad.

(For more information, they should read my book, spread onto the other plates and these ones. If anyone wants to really know me, as I think they should, they should read these plates. The other, bigger ones are a bit more pro forma.)

By the way, I’m getting into songwriting lately. Here is one to help get you softened up for the harsher words I’ll say later:

I’m digging on the Lamb’s messages and deeds Can’t stop thinking ‘bout how he’s met my needs

But though he’s been good to me all the time I feel like I am not worth a dime. I’m breaking his laws, my flesh gets the best

I can’t give these lusts and desires a rest.

My heart sometimes curls in a ball out of shame. But I still know I have to trust in his name.

I rode on his back through the perilous sea,

I’ll swim through his goodness eternally. His lovingness laps at my heart like a fire My enemies wither as I’m rising higher …

I think I’ll stop trying to rhyme here: my translators will throw up their hands and just prose it out anyway.

Jesus hears me cry in the daytime, which I do a lot. And he shows me things in dream-visions at night. I’m out of breath praying to him. Angels have lighted on the ground beside my bed. My own body has wings too, it seems, when he fuels my mind up with these incendiary images of the future—stuff I can’t even begin to write. My brain sometimes feels like it will explode at the insights. So why do I keep getting depressed and forget to eat, lie on my back half the day?

And the really big question: why can’t I stop sinning? The devil tempts me, I try to fight it, but he’s got this suction-hold on my heart. Or he feeds on my grey matter like it’s his dessert. I’m so mad at my enemies. But that’s just a cover for how mad I am at myself.

I want to shake my own soul, just like I tried to shake my brothers, and tell it to wake up. Stop flopping over like dead flowers, I tell it. Yank the devil from your heart like a weed. Stop getting mad at your enemies and start getting happy about all you have that they don’t. And, please, enough self-pity.

I’ve got to learn how to praise. I will, I will, I will … I’ll keep saying it until it becomes so.

But just tell me, God: will you really save me from what’s coming? From what’s already here? From the people trying to ruin me? From my own sins of the eye? Will hell’s gates stay locked when I pass by? Will all this sorrow and angst I’m laying down give me a pass in your eyes? Will I ever learn the strictness that, at some level, rules the universe? Will I ever calm down enough to pursue the simple life? Will I ever slip comfortably into a robe of righteousness? Will you ever let me escape from your severity?

So many questions, I know. But sometimes that’s all I’ve got. I just want you to clear my path and kick the stones out of it, kick them onto my enemies’ path—oh, there I go again. I need to stop that.

Look, I trust you and plan to keep doing so. I can’t trust in anything or anybody else. If anything’s a curse, it’s expecting people to treat me right. It’s the same curse for everyone.

You’re known as a giver. And if I want you to give me what I need, I know I have to keep asking. Keep writing songs like this, even when the words start to skid off the rails. I mean every one of them. If I were to burn them all they’d keep floating up to you like the smoke from our cooked lambs. Amen.