Taking Counsel from God’s Hand (Jacob 4)

I wondered this morning if I was going to be taught about real sacrifice.

I don't want that to become my focus because I addressed it recently, but I continue to be fascinated by the drive Book of Mormon prophets had to write and preserve their records. It was hard work. There were no pens, paper, notebooks, or binders—just their own hands to make the tools and then engrave the words. Would I have been that faithful? I don't know. But I do understand the drive to write.

Another question came to mind: How do we worship the Father (Elohim, God) in Christ's name?

Moses 5:8 makes it clear that everything we do must be done in the name of His Son. We repent. We call upon God. The sacrifices Abraham offered were certainly a reminder of the sacrifice God Himself would make if, as we are taught, all things are given in similitude of Christ.

That led me to another thought. Jesus was the one who performed the atoning sacrifice, but Heavenly Father was the one who sacrificed His Son. That is a huge thought and not always where my mind goes when I think about the Lamb of God. The Father had an eternal perspective great enough to ask it of His Beloved Son and then allow it to happen.

I also love the thought that if God fulfills one prophecy, we can trust Him to fulfill all His promises. The people knew Christ would come because they had seen other prophecies fulfilled. Jerusalem had been destroyed just as the scriptures foretold. Likewise, we know Christ will come again because God has always kept His word.

Jacob 4:9 will forever fascinate me. When I ponder the Creation, I often think in physical terms. Yet the Lord created by priesthood power—the power of His word. Think about that for a moment. It is the same power He shares with His covenant children. We have so much to learn before we are truly like Him. For now, I need to work on overcoming my human weaknesses and trust that the rest will come in the Lord's time. Today, I must be content to practice what I already know.

Then the very next verse teaches us to take counsel from the Lord's hand. What does it mean to let God prevail in our lives?

First, we seek to understand His desires. We ask for His counsel. I love the visual Jacob gives us. I can't fully put it into words, but I picture the Savior extending His hand and me willingly receiving what He offers, almost as if I were feasting upon it.

I sat with that thought for a few minutes. Then I held out my own hand as if I were offering something to someone. Suddenly a light went on. I made a temple connection. I won't elaborate on that here, but the image of giving and receiving through an outstretched hand deepened my understanding of what it means to take counsel from the Lord's hand.

The Nephites had faith that Christ would come. They worshiped Him and rejoiced in His resurrection as though it had already happened. They believed completely. It is hard not to marvel at that kind of faith.

Sometimes my margin notes give me as much to ponder as the verses that inspired them.

When we disregard the plainness of the scriptures and the counsel of living prophets, we are turning our backs on God. It follows naturally that we begin to lose our understanding of His words. Jacob explains why:

". . . God hath done it, that they may stumble."

At first glance, that seems counterproductive. Why would the Lord want us to stumble?

But perhaps stumbling is one of the ways we learn. When life becomes hard enough, a glimmer of memory returns. Like Alma, we remember what we have been taught. We remember Christ. We remember that He can heal us and help us.

So it is with all of us.

That thought leads me to an uncomfortable question. Should we always rescue our children when they stumble? The lessons they need to learn rarely come through our attempts to remove every consequence. Even when our rescue succeeds, the relief is often forgotten as soon as the pain passes.

The rescue that lasts is Christ's rescue.

He saves.

He heals.

And then Jacob leaves us with a cliffhanger.

To be continued.

(I did peek ahead.)

The allegory of the tame and wild olive trees deserves a blog of its own.