The Fourth Nephite

The pain gripped Kelilah, hollow pangs, jagged and fierce, stabbing at her empty stomach.

Is this what it had felt like, all those years ago? To spend the day fasting, using her hunger to turn her heart to God? Or in the days of darkness, waiting until light and the Savior arrived? Once, the memories had felt vivid, but over the centuries they had softened, losing definition and immediacy.

Kelilah tried to ignore the hunger as she shoveled mud out of the basement. Push, scoop, dump. Push, scoop, dump. Normally, service soothed her, but not today. It seemed almost unjust to experience physical pain on top of her ever-present trials: the burden of the endless heartbreak, sin, pain, and anger of the world, and the fear that her efforts weren’t making a difference.

Sweat trickled down her neck, and mud stained her yellow “Helping Hands” vest. Push, scoop, dump.

Almost two thousand years ago, she had stood on the steps of the temple as Christ gave promises to three of his disciples: “Ye shall not have pain while ye shall dwell in the flesh, neither sorrow save it be for the sins of the world.” Kelilah had heard His words and desired the same blessing—she wanted to live until His Second Coming, ministering to others and bringing souls to Him. She had pleaded with the Lord for the same opportunity, and He had granted her request, placing His gentle hands upon her head. Since then, she had spent almost two thousand years serving.

But now she was hungry.

She finished cleaning the basement and returned the “Helping Hands” vest. One of the other volunteers shared a gigantic pot of soup. Kelilah ate a large bowl, but still, the hunger gnawed at the walls of her stomach, a monster that would not be satisfied. She ate another serving, but like the hungry caterpillar in a book she had read to a child, she was still hungry.

The next week passed in a painful, famished blur. She tried eating large portions of food. She tried giving her food to those in need. She tried focusing on others, but her emptiness consumed her. She decided that in some ways hunger was easier than sorrow for the sins of the world, because it was only physical.

The next day, she changed her mind. Physical hunger was worse than anything else—worse even than the time she and the Three Nephites had been buried alive.

“Why?” she pleaded. “I thought I understood your plan for me. I thought I would be spared this, as long as I did Thy will.”

She received no answer.

Kelilah prayed that she might visit the Three Nephites—maybe one of them knew what to do.

Nothing happened.

Finally, she prayed to be brought wherever God needed her most.

Moments later, she found herself at a stake Relief Society activity.

“How are you?” “It’s good to see you again!” “Thanks for coming.” As often occurred, everyone assumed they recognized her, though she’d never met them before.

She looked around the crowded room. Was anyone sitting alone? Did anyone seem sad? But Kelilah felt no inspiration, only hunger.

This was why she wasn’t supposed to experience pain—it made it harder to serve. Sighing, she stood in line for dessert.

The dessert table featured Costco muffins cut into quarters, three-tiered cakes, and homemade jam-filled cookies worthy of The Great British Baking Show. (She’d watched a few episodes while ministering to someone, and now the memory made her even more ravenous.) Most of the trays—silver platters, porcelain plates, and decorative cake stands—were missing at least half of their original contents. Except for a single paper plate, which was full of rather plain-looking brownies.

Suddenly, Kelilah craved chocolate. They didn’t make chocolate the way they used to—she preferred it bitter, in a drink with chili peppers—but these looked appealing.

Kelilah picked up a brownie, her hand trembling from hunger. She couldn’t wait to eat until she sat down, so she took a gigantic bite, then almost choked in shock.

It was one of the best things she had ever tasted. Not too sweet, the chocolate rich and warm. The top of the brownie flaked. The inside was moist but not gooey. This was heaven.

Kelilah devoured the rest of the brownie, then placed two more on her plate. She sat at the closest table, next to a woman holding a small infant. The woman had bags under her eyes.

It’s the woman’s first child, Kelilah suddenly knew, just by looking at her. She is recovering from mastitis. She’s hardly slept in days and is barely holding herself together. And her name… her name is Jamie.

“Jamie, have you had one of these brownies?” asked Kelilah. “They’re amazing.”

“I made them,” said Jamie.

“That’s a lot—to make brownies, with a little one.”

Jamie sniffed. “Yeah. The Relief Society president asked me to. But they aren’t very pretty compared to everyone else’s desserts. Maybe next time I’ll put frosting or powdered sugar on top.”

“No, they’re perfect,” said Kelilah. “They’re the best thing I’ve eaten in at least five hundred years.”

Jamie laughed. She thought Kelilah was joking. Then her laughter faded, and she looked down at the floor. “No one wants them,” she whispered. “I shouldn’t have bothered.”

“Clearly I want them.” Kelilah took one of Jamie’s hands in her own. “Jamie, it doesn’t matter if others notice or accept your sacrifices. God accepts your offering—He accepts all of your offerings.”

The baby in Jamie’s arms cooed, smiling up at her. And Jamie smiled back. She hesitated, then said, “He accepts your offerings too. And you are making a difference—a big difference.”

Kelilah blinked away tears. How did Jamie know her struggles, her doubts, her fears? How did she know just the right thing to say?

Kelilah gave Jamie one of the brownies and they ate together. As Kelilah chewed, a fullness spread through her, a sense of warmth and completion. And Kelilah realized that in the last two thousand years, she had forgotten what it meant to be hungry, so she had forgotten the joy of being filled.

Katherine Cowley is the Mary Higgins Clark Award-nominated author of The Secret Life of Miss Mary Bennet. She has also published two other novels and numerous short stories. She lives in Kalamazoo, Michigan with her husband and three daughters. 

Art by Charlotte Condie.