Your favorite "Tennis Shoes" heroes return in a whirlwind of nail-biting action and suspense across the vivid spectrums of space and time!

Join Jim Hawkins as he walks side-by-side with the mortal Messiah on His eternal pilgrimage to save the souls of humankind. Journey with Joshua Plimpton - a chief captain of the Nephites - as he pursues the vilest villians to rescue the golden plates of the Book of Mormon. Experience the exhilarating and heart-wrenching exploits of Apollus, Steffanie, Gidgiddonihah, and the rest of the "Tennis Shoes" clan who seek to outwit the most mysterious and dangerous adversaries of their lives.

All of the teeth-gnashing forces of the Lamanites and Gadiantons converge upon the Hill Cumorah as the prophets Mormon and Moroni desperately strive to comprehend His full earthly mission as Gethsemane and Golgotha loom ever nearer.

It's an adventure of breathtaking magnitude as the most common an fallible of human characters must embrace the unconquerable light of heaven and defeat the raging forces of evil to save their loved ones, themselves, and the fragile fabric of the universe!

The greatest Book of Mormon storyteller is back with his most riveting adventure yet!

Jim

“The Son of God.”

I am a wretched man. Yes, Jim Hawkins is a wretched man.

Don’t stop reading or toss the book. Indulge me for a minute. After reviewing my last words from the previous volume, the reality of my state of being pulses inside me like a star verging on supernova or the heartbeat of an earthworm.

I confess my wretchedness in utter humility. No ulterior thread of pride. No secret whisper of, “Okay, you’ve confessed the obvious. You may now feel superior to those who will never confess.”

I say it merely because it’s true. One of the truest statements I could ever make. And I don’t feel particularly wise for having stated it. It just . . . is.

When a person meets perfection—when he stands face to face with a perfect Being, someone who is nevertheless so physically similar . . . two arms and legs, eyes to see, a nose to smell, and ears to hear . . . one’s weaknesses, his wretchedness, can become particularly glaring. Or so it was for me.

The thing of it is that I had tried so hard. Aspired so sincerely. And still, the end result was the image that I faced in the mirror. I trailed so embarrassingly far behind. As I considered the spiritual progress He had made in only two-thirds of the time that I had presently spent in mortality, I felt deeply, hopelessly ashamed.

Yes, He was the Son of God. It’s easy to point out that His ancestry was far superior to my own. Yet He’d come into this world in circumstances far less advantageous. And still, He’d progressed line upon line, precept upon precept, just like any other child of our Father in Heaven who’d come to this earth to receive the glorious
blessing of a mortal body. This is what made the difference between us all the more astounding. It came down to choices. For Him, every choice was correct. Every minute. Every moment. Every consequence. While for me . . . I can’t even count the number of my sins and mistakes in any given hour. But the emotion I felt in His presence, along with the whole range of every other spectacular emotion, was not jealousy. Never jealousy. Just . . . shame. Resignation. And
worthlessness.

But I wasn’t worthless, right? I was a soul of infinite worth. And why? As far as I could figure out, the reason that I wasn’t worthless was because He didn’t see me that way. But why didn’t He see me that way? Why in the world would He, did He, utilize the very fact of His perfection, the incomparable power that He gained from that perfection, to save . . . me?

My failure to comprehend His reasons, His motives, consumes me. Haunts me. For what purpose did He love me so much? Why did He love us all? Why was He so willing to do what He did? That is, what He was about to do? Why would He endure it? The only hint I’ve ever found is from a scripture in the Pearl of Great Price. The book of Moses says that it brings Him joy. This same verse proclaims that God’s entire work and glory is to bring to pass mankind’s immortality and eternal life.

His work.

His glory.

My eternal life.

And His joy.

But just as I cannot comprehend the why, I also cannot fathom the how. Most of all, I can’t comprehend the distribution and dissemination of His love—how He is able to project and express such love to each of His children. There are so many of us! Billions and billions! Yet I can sincerely report, whenever I’ve truly felt the love and comfort of God, the feeling has been so intimate, so individual, that I weep even now to think of it.

And now, on this day, and over the next several days, I was about to feel that individual love again, and in a way that would pierce my heart and penetrate my psyche more deeply than I could have ever expected. Ever imagined.

During this same time, as I witnessed the unfolding of so many staggering events in ancient Jerusalem, something else struck me. Perhaps it should have been obvious. But in the context of my current circumstances, I found it quite profound. I realized that the Savior’s love and His power were one and the same. The source of His power was His love. Two phenomena, inseparably connected.

So, to follow this line of logic to its towering apex, if the source of God’s power is love, it must also be the source of our power. The power to receive revelation. To obtain wisdom. To transform and influence events and elements through faith. The power
literally to move mountains is based not only on faith, but upon love. Too bad.

Sometimes we’d love to think that such power can be obtained and exercised for our own personal benefit. It just doesn’t seem to work that way, at least not in the beginning. God gave to Nephi, the son of Helaman, his amazing powers to bring to pass anything he so desired, to bind whatsoever he willed on earth and in heaven, because God trusted and knew that Nephi would not ask for anything contrary to Heaven’s will. In other words, God trusted Nephi’s love. He was fully cognizant of Nephi’s love for Him, and Nephi’s love for all of God’s children.

I know that whenever I’ve felt consumed by anger or bitterness, whenever I’ve felt lost and alone and without hope, a part of me has been able to open itself up to the love of God, and everything else evaporates. Just the feeling, the mere hint of the full depth and breadth of God’s individual love for me, and suddenly I am endowed with the power to act, to shake off the shackles of despondency, and do precisely what needs to be done. That’s the power of love. That catchy song from the 1980s had it right. That’s the literal power of love.

So if love is power, then selfishness is weakness. Selfishness seems to me a far better antonym for love than hatred. After all, hatred is rooted in selfishness. And if selfishness is the opposite of love, it must also be the opposite of power. When we are selfish, or act in some way that serves only ourselves, we physically and spiritually cut
ourselves off from Heaven’s power and progress, like yanking the plug from the outlet or blocking the light of the sun. Only by losing ourselves in service, in charity—in love— can we become like God.

Profound thoughts, eh? Or maybe not. I know they’re just words. And I’m no better than anyone else in my ability to turn mere words into life-altering actions. Undoubtedly that explains why we couldn’t just take a class on mortality before we came to earth, with God as our personal instructor. It explains why we had to experience the entire spectrum and minutia of life in mortality for ourselves. Words must be coupled with events, memories, and experience to have a lasting, eternal impact. These same criteria are also necessary in learning how to love.

So how is such love best expressed? How can we know that we possess this gift? I suppose the answer isn’t complicated. It’s obedience. Obedience to God’s commands. Actually, in my life I can hardly recall when my obedience was inspired by love. Normally, it’s been inspired by fear—fear of the consequences for disobedience. As it
states plainly in Doctrine and Covenants 130:20–21, blessings are predicated upon obedience. So, to me, it seems logical to conclude that a lack of blessings—roadblocks, brick walls, or curses—are predicated upon disobedience. Unfortunately, this deduction often became my motivation for living the commandments. Rarely had my spiritual willingness to act and obey been motivated purely by my love for God, neighbors, or self.

So perhaps that explains why I was here. Why I was destined to witness the extraordinary, wondrous, and catastrophic things that I was about to witness. It seems to me that there is no greater instigator or inspirer of love than gratitude. And, sadly, gratitude was too often the very thing I lacked.

But never again. Not after what I would see. Not after what I would feel.

Please. Help me, God.

Never, ever again.