Famine in Zion
Note from the Author
I don’t lose sleep over many things. I’ve lost sleep over this.
For quite some time, I’ve carried a growing concern about the matters addressed in this book. Normally, I keep such thoughts to myself. I had other projects in mind, other responsibilities I expected to be pursuing at this stage. I didn’t want this to be a book. In many ways, I still don’t. But, as I explain in the preface, the pressure to write this became too strong to ignore. It built steadily over weeks, manifesting with the kind of spiritual discomfort people often describe when resisting a prompting to bear testimony during a fast and testimony meeting.
I began writing on May 11, 2025, and completed the initial draft in the early morning hours of May 18. What occurred during that week was unlike anything I’ve experienced before. Words flowed through me with an urgency and clarity that I can only describe as inspired. The text poured out at a rate of about 10,000 words per day, which is categorically abnormal for me, and frankly, categorically abnormal in general. When I reached the final page, though there was still editing and refinement ahead, I felt a deep and liberating sense of relief. A burden had been lifted from me.
Now, a different kind of burden presses on me—the feeling that I must share what I have written. At first, I hoped to quietly publish it online, with no marketing, no attention, no public association, and perhaps even under a pseudonym. This is the kind of work that could draw misunderstanding or criticism, and I don’t desire either. I’m a private, introverted person. I avoid the spotlight. The idea of sharing this with local or general Church leadership has made me want to shrink back into silence.
But the more I resist the prompting to share it, the more persistent it becomes. I feel a spiritual pull that I cannot ignore. I am now persuaded that I must share this, not only with my bishop and stake president, but with the First Presidency, the Quorum of the Twelve, and the Sunday School General Presidency. Even writing that sentence makes me squeamish. But I cannot shake the impression that this is what I am supposed to do.
I believe this work could only have been produced under the influence of spiritual inspiration. And if that is true, then I must act accordingly. The words of Christ to Peter echo in my mind—“When thou art converted, strengthen thy brethren” (Luke 22:32). To withhold this out of fear or self-consciousness may amount to willful silence in a moment that demands a voice. I have asked myself whether I bear a moral or covenantal responsibility to make this work known, however small my voice may be. I do not wish to run from the Spirit if He is prompting me to speak.
Yes, there is risk in sharing this. But there is greater risk in withholding it. Should this book ever surface more broadly in the future, I would rather be remembered as someone who brought it forward in faith and transparency than be seen as secretly critical or evasive of counsel. Sharing it now, while it is still quiet, allows for honest and constructive engagement within ecclesiastical channels.
Even if my leaders do not agree with all of my conclusions, perhaps this effort could foster better-informed relationships, create space for mutual understanding, or contribute to spiritually accountable dialogue in my ward or stake. I can only hope so.
I wonder if thoughts like these crossed the mind of Samuel the Lamanite as he prepared to climb that wall…
Above all, I want to say that I may be wrong about some of what I’ve written. I’m open to correction. But I have chosen to speak because I love the Church too deeply to remain silent and simply hope for the best. My hope is not to tear down, but to build—to warn where warning is needed, and to lift wherever I can. This book is offered in that spirit.
— J.M. Sobczak
May 25, 2025
