As a Grain of Mustard Seed
My Grandma Stone was a spitfire woman; she solved many a problem in her life through blunt force. So on the days that I fasten a delicate gold chain around my neck, I find a certain irony when my thoughts inevitably stray to her. The necklace is one she gave me while speaking at my baptism, the day after my eighth birthday. Its two charms hang in the center: one, a small glass bead with a yellow seed encased inside. The other, a tiny plaque with the inscription “If ye have faith as a grain of mustard seed, nothing shall be impossible unto you.”
Those familiar with the verse may notice what’s missing from the necklace’s version. It is here, in Mat. 17:20, that Christ tells his disciples that with “faith as a grain of mustard seed,” they can move mountains. I’ve thought before how this teaching seemed at odds with what I saw around me. I thought Christ was telling me that, if I have a tiny bit of faith, I can make miracles happen right now. And so when things didn’t go the way I hoped or when my prayers weren’t answered the way I wanted, it became a problem of the size of my faith. Clearly I hadn’t even reached mustard seed status.
But what if Christ was using the mustard seed to teach us something else? What if he wasn’t saying, tiny faith can yield big results now, but instead, tiny faith grows upon itself? The way a seed grows day by day into a tree? What if that little bit of growth every day is what makes impossible things possible? What if our faith is already moving mountains, but they’re moving one pebble at a time?
Sometime shortly before covid hit, I was thinking about Nephi and his task to build a boat. I realized that, to me, building a boat seemed just as daunting as moving a mountain, if not more so. I could take down a mountain with enough dynamite, but building a boat requires finesse and precision: much more difficult in my opinion. It then dawned on me that maybe I move mountains in the same way that Nephi builds ships; piece by piece. Nephi didn’t pray with “enough faith” and suddenly see a ship in front of him. He made tools, built a frame, and it took shape one piece at a time. I asked myself, “Why can I look at Nephi and his ship and say, ‘wow, he had such amazing faith’, but not do the same for myself?” If I’m being honest with myself, I know the answer. It’s because I haven’t seen the finished product yet. I haven’t seen my mountains “moved” yet. It’s a lot easier to give grace when you know how it ends.
That day as I sat with Nephi, I decided to stop short changing myself. I decided that I do have faith, and it matters just as much as any prophet’s or saint’s. And I don’t know what my mountains will look like ten years from now, but I have a promise from God that the final outcome will be glorious. I choose to believe that. So I look at the pebbles in my hands now, and admire them as I throw them off the mountain. I put on the necklace from my grandmother —who I also think is on the other side with a stick of dynamite in her hand telling me to light it— and I give thanks for the chance to climb a mountain and see the magnificent view.
