Stoicism empowers Christians to have faith and hope, while also being active and intentional agents of our God. Please enjoy this free preview of Build Upon the Rock: A Nephite Guide to Stoicism.
This book will be especially valuable to teens, young adults, and any who wants to learn how to master self control.
Chapter 1: Mastering Your Mindset
Before any victory in life, over fear, temptation, or hardship, there’s a battle that happens in one place: your mind. Win there, and you can stand in peace when the world is shaking. If you lose there, even small challenges will feel impossible.
The Stoics called the mind a citadel, a stronghold no one can conquer unless you open the gates from the inside. The gospel of Jesus Christ teaches the same truth, with something extra the Stoics didn’t know: the mind can be renewed, remade, and strengthened through Christ’s grace.
This chapter is about learning to guard your thoughts, choose your perspective, and live with a calm that storms can’t steal. We’ll see how ancient philosophers and modern prophets agree: the state of your mind shapes the state of your life.
Let’s start at the gates.
Section 1: Your Mind Is the Gatekeeper
Principle
In both the restored gospel of Jesus Christ and in Stoic philosophy, we learn a powerful truth: we may not choose what happens to us, but we can always choose how we think and respond. The ancient Stoics believed that the mind is the gatekeeper of your life. Everything that happens, good or bad, has to pass through your thoughts before it affects your heart. That means your mind plays a powerful role in whether you feel peace or chaos, hope or fear.
Think of your mind like the security guard at a concert. The security guard doesn’t decide who wants to come in, all kinds of people show up. But the guard does decide who gets through the gate. Your mind works the same way. Negative thoughts, fears, and doubts will always show up at the door. But you get to decide which ones you let into the VIP section of your heart.
The Apostle Paul taught this same principle:
“Be not conformed to this world: but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind…”
(Romans 12:2)
The Lord knows how powerful our thoughts are. When we train our minds to focus on truth, peace, and what we can control, we gain spiritual power.
▸ Scriptural Example: Nephi the Stoic Master
Nephi shares a unique perspective in the scriptures, as he is one of the few first person writers from whom we have so much content. More than most scriptural writers, Nephi’s record was very much a journal of his daily activities, and even his thoughts.
Nephi also happens to be one of the greatest Stoics in history, which means we’re going to talk about him a lot. Consider when Nephi was tied up by his brothers. I’ll have to be more specific, because they did that a lot.
This one happened on the trip back from Jerusalem. Lehi had sent his sons back one more time, to bring Ishmael and his family into the wilderness, and it worked. Ishmael agreed to come. But somewhere out in the desert on the way back, half the group decided they’d had enough. Laman and Lemuel, two of Ishmael’s daughters, and two of Ishmael’s sons wanted to turn around and go home to Jerusalem.
Nephi couldn’t let that go. He stood in front of his older brothers and called them out. He reminded them that they had seen an angel, and that Jerusalem was going to be destroyed. He even pointed out how embarrassing it was that they needed “I, your younger brother,” to set an example for them.
You can probably guess how that went over.
They were “exceedingly wroth.” They grabbed him, tied him up with cords, and left him out there “to be devoured by wild beasts.” This was no idle threat, as there were many predators in ancient Israel such as lions, wolves, and bears.
Picture Nephi on the ground, the cords cutting into his wrists and ankles, watching his own brothers walk away. No one is stepping in to help. A lot of people would panic. A lot of people would beg.
And yet, instead of choosing to give into fear, he immediately turned to God, and asked for the power to break his bonds.
“But it came to pass that I prayed unto the Lord, saying: O Lord, according to my faith which is in thee, wilt thou deliver me from the hands of my brethren; yea, even give me strength that I may burst these bands with which I am bound.
“And it came to pass that when I had said these words, behold, the bands were loosed from off my hands and feet, and I stood before my brethren, and I spake unto them again…”
(1 Nephi 7:17-18)
It should be noted that instead of dramatically breaking the ropes, God loosened them.
The story doesn’t end there. His brothers were angry all over again, and they went after him a second time. This time, one of Ishmael’s daughters, her mother, and one of Ishmael’s sons stepped in and pleaded for him until the brothers finally backed down. Then Laman and Lemuel bowed down in front of their younger brother and begged him to forgive them.
And Nephi, who had just been tied up and left for dead, “did frankly forgive them all that they had done.” Then they all prayed together, and kept walking toward their father’s tent.
(1 Nephi 7:1–22)
His brothers would tie him up again years later, on a ship in the middle of a storm, and Nephi’s response that time is so remarkable it anchors Chapter 2. For now, notice the pattern: Nephi couldn’t control his brothers’ behavior, but he could control his mindset. He chose to focus on faith instead of fear. That’s the essence of Christian Stoicism, and it literally saved his life.
One of the most well known Stoics, the Roman emperor Marcus Aurelius, taught that a mind freed from passion is a stronghold: “man has nothing more secure to which he can fly for refuge and be impregnable” (Meditations 8.48). Guard that inner stronghold, and outside events lose their power to conquer you. As disciples of Christ, we would add: it is through Jesus Christ that we gain this power to govern our thoughts and choose peace.
So here is the truth: Your mind is the gatekeeper. If you open the gate to fear, envy, and anger, they will flood your life. But if you guard that gate, and fill your thoughts with faith, truth, and purpose, you will be filled with strength, clarity, and peace, even in storms.
▸ Stoic Example: Marcus Aurelius and the Rebellion
Before Marcus Aurelius was tested by betrayal, he had already become one of the most remarkable leaders in human history.
Marcus had trained himself since youth to value character over conquest, believing an emperor’s first responsibility was not power, but wisdom. That training was about to face a test that would have broken most rulers.
One of the men Marcus trusted most was Avidius Cassius.
Cassius was no minor figure. He was a respected general, an experienced commander, and a proven leader. Marcus had relied on him to stabilize the eastern provinces of the empire. Cassius had successfully put down revolts, enforced Roman law, and protected Rome’s interests far from the capital. For years, he served faithfully and effectively. Marcus rewarded him with authority, responsibility, and trust.
Then came the betrayal.
In 175 AD, Marcus was far to the north, camped on the Danube frontier and fighting a long, grinding war against the Germanic tribes. Back in the East, a report spread that Marcus was dead. Cassius didn’t wait to find out whether it was true. He declared himself emperor.
Whether he was driven by ambition, by that false report, or by a belief that Rome needed stronger rule, the result was the same. A trusted ally became an enemy. A subordinate challenged the emperor himself.
Picture the messenger riding into Marcus’s camp with that news. The man you trusted to keep the East in order has just told the world you’re finished, and that he’s taking your place.
For most rulers, this would have triggered rage, fear, or swift revenge. History is full of emperors who responded to betrayal with massacres, purges, and cruelty. Marcus had the legal right and military power to destroy Cassius and anyone associated with him.
But Marcus Aurelius did something rare.
He stayed calm.
At first he kept the news quiet. But rumors spread through the camp and his soldiers grew uneasy, so he called them together and spoke to them. The historian Cassius Dio records what Marcus said. He didn’t rage. He told them he hoped for the chance “to forgive a man who has wronged one, to remain a friend to one who has transgressed friendship, to continue faithful to one who has broken faith.” One of his fears, he said, was that Cassius would take his own life out of shame before Marcus could show him mercy. (Ancient historians often polished the speeches they recorded, so these may not be Marcus’s exact words. But everything he did next matches them.)
He never got the chance. Three months and six days after the revolt began, a centurion attacked Cassius and killed him, and Cassius’s head was brought to Marcus.
Picture that moment. The man who betrayed you, who tried to take everything you had, and here is the proof that you’ve won. Marcus wouldn’t even look at it. He ordered it buried.
Then he did something even more surprising. A collection of the rebels’ letters was found, papers that would have named everyone who had plotted against him. Marcus had them destroyed without reading a single one, so that he wouldn’t “learn even the name of any of the conspirators” and be “reluctantly forced to hate them.” He asked the Senate not to put to death anyone who had joined the revolt.
Most of us can’t resist reading a group chat where people are talking about us. Marcus had a whole box of them, and he got rid of it unread.
Marcus understood that an emperor ruled armies, but a wise man ruled himself. His calm was not indifference, it was discipline.
(Cassius Dio, Roman History 72[71].22–30)
Marcus had a crown, legions, and victories, but that isn’t why we still read him. We read him because he could face betrayal without surrendering his character.
That’s what Stoics do. They focus on reason over rage. They stay calm under pressure. They don’t let emotions run the show.
Marcus Aurelius once wrote in his journal: “If someone can prove me wrong and show me my mistake… I will gladly change. It is the truth I’m after.” (Meditations 6.21)
Even in the middle of betrayal and war, he kept control of his mind, and that helped him lead Rome with wisdom.
Application
Think of a time when your thoughts spiraled out of control, maybe you got really worried, angry, or discouraged.
What would’ve happened if you had paused and invited God into your thoughts?
Write about what it would look like for you to “guard the gate” of your mind next time.
Section 2: Thoughts Are Not Facts
Principle
Have you ever thought something like:
“I’m going to fail,”
“Nobody likes me,”
“This is never going to get better“?
Most of us have. But here’s the truth:
Just because a thought enters your mind doesn’t mean it’s true.
This idea is a powerful way to combat the modern lie that every emotion and thought you have is true, valid, and needs to be fully expressed. How destructive would it be if all of humanity lived by that rule? We wouldn’t be able to rely upon each other, or have healthy relationships.
The scriptures teach: “For as he thinketh in his heart, so is he.” (Proverbs 23:7) This means your thoughts literally shape who you become. That’s why it’s so important to question them instead of just believing them.
The Stoics warned that the human mind can deceive itself. We often react to what we imagine rather than what’s really happening. The Christian scriptures agree. That’s why we’re told to “look unto [Christ] in every thought; doubt not, fear not.” (Doctrine and Covenants 6:36)
That means God is aware we’ll have anxious, fearful, and negative thoughts, but He’s also asking us not to let those thoughts take over.
In fact, one of the most common commandments in the scriptures is, “Fear not.”
In other words, “Don’t be afraid. Don’t be anxious. Don’t be depressed. I know it’s hard, you’re going through a lot right now. But, remember, I’ve got you. Trust me. Give me a chance to help you work through this.”
▸ Stoic Example: Seneca and the Pain You Imagine
Seneca lived under real danger, serving as advisor to an emperor who could turn on him at any moment. Eventually, that fear became reality, when Nero ordered Seneca to take his own life.
Yet long before that final moment, Seneca had already mastered something most people never do. He learned to separate real suffering from imagined suffering.
That is why he wrote:
“We suffer more in imagination than in reality.”
Seneca observed that the human mind is incredibly good at borrowing pain from the future. We rehearse disasters that never arrive. We replay worst-case scenarios so vividly that our bodies react as if they are already happening. The result is that we experience pain twice, or sometimes endlessly, even when the feared event never comes.
He knew this from the inside. Seneca was sick for most of his life, and the worst of it was asthma. He wrote that he had been through “all the ills and dangers of the flesh,” and nothing was harder than this one. His doctors even had a grim nickname for it. They called it “practising how to die,” because every attack felt like a last breath.
In one letter to his friend Lucilius, Seneca describes an attack he had just come through. It hit suddenly, “like that of a squall at sea.” Picture it: your chest locks up, every breath is a fight, and you can’t get enough air to say a word. Your body is screaming that this is the end.
Seneca couldn’t speak, so he talked to himself silently instead. “What?” he said to himself; “does death so often test me? Let it do so; I myself have for a long time tested death.” He kept reasoning with his own fear like that until, “little by little,” the gasping slowed down and finally stopped.
His comfort came from believing that death is simply nothing, the same nothing as the time before we were born. Seneca never had the Plan of Salvation. He couldn’t answer the questions every one of us eventually asks: Where did I come from? Why am I here? Where do I go when I die? We can. We lived with our Heavenly Father before this life, we came here to learn and grow and choose, and death is a doorway back to Him, not the end of us. Even so, look at what Seneca was doing with his mind. The attack was real, and he didn’t pretend otherwise. What he refused to do was let fear pile a second suffering on top of the first.
When it was over, he made Lucilius a promise: “I shall never be frightened when the last hour comes.”
Years later, Nero’s soldiers surrounded his house, and he got the chance to keep that promise. The historian Tacitus says Seneca was “quite unmoved.” When his friends started to cry, he asked them where their philosophy had gone, “the preparation of so many years’ study against evils to come.”
He had been practicing for that day his whole life. Every asthma attack was a rehearsal.
(Seneca, Letters 54; Tacitus, Annals 15.60–62)
Think of your thoughts as a flashlight in the dark. When aimed carefully, they reveal what is actually in front of you. But when shaken by fear, they cast wild shadows on the walls. The shadows feel real. They look threatening. Yet they are only distortions of something much smaller, or sometimes nothing at all.
Seneca believed that discipline was a survival skill. It wasn’t optional. If a person allowed their imagination to run unchecked, they became their own worst enemy. But if they learned to pause, examine their thoughts, and ask whether those fears were grounded in truth, they could reclaim peace even in unstable circumstances.
This is why Seneca remains so important to Christian Stoicism. He did not teach denial of pain. He taught clarity. The trial may come. The loss may happen. The pain may be real. But borrowing tomorrow’s suffering today doesn’t prepare you, it weakens you.
Seneca’s wisdom reminds us of something deeply Christian as well. God gives us strength for the day, not for imagined futures. When Christ says, “Take no thought for the morrow, for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself,” He is not calling us to irresponsibility. He is calling us to trust that grace arrives when it is needed, not before.
That’s why Stoics trained their minds to pause and examine what they were thinking. And as Christians, we don’t just rely on logic, we turn to the Spirit of God.
The Apostle Paul taught this exact principle:
“Casting down imaginations, and every high thing that exalteth itself against the knowledge of God, and bringing into captivity every thought to the obedience of Christ.”
(2 Corinthians 10:5)
We are commanded to capture our thoughts, to take control over them. That means when you feel fear, stress, or anger rising, you can pause and ask:
- Is this thought true?
- Would Jesus say this to me?
- What does God want me to remember right now?
▸ Scriptural Example: Peter Walking on Water
It had already been a long day. Jesus had just fed more than five thousand people, and that evening He sent the disciples ahead of Him by boat while He went up a mountain alone to pray.
Out on the Sea of Galilee, the wind turned against them. Matthew says the boat was “tossed with waves: for the wind was contrary,” and Mark says they were “toiling in rowing.” Picture it: hour after hour on the oars, soaked with spray, and barely moving. By the fourth watch of the night, somewhere between three and six in the morning, they had to be exhausted.
Then, through the dark and the spray, they saw a figure walking toward them, on the water.
They were terrified. “It is a spirit,” they said, and they “cried out for fear.” But Jesus spoke to them right away: “Be of good cheer; it is I; be not afraid.”
Now here’s where it gets interesting. Peter, impulsive, passionate Peter, doesn’t just feel relief. He sees an opportunity. “Lord, if it be thou, bid me come unto thee on the water.”
Jesus gives him one word: “Come.”
And Peter does something absolutely incredible. He steps out of the boat.
Remember, Peter was a fisherman. He’d spent years on this lake, and nobody in that boat knew better than he did that water doesn’t hold you up. Picture him climbing over the side, the boat rocking under him, one hand still gripping the edge. Then he lets go, and puts his weight on the waves.
And they hold.
Think about that for a second. No one had ever done this before. That is, no one but the literal Son of God.
Peter left the safety of what he knew, the solid wood beneath his feet, and stepped onto something that should have been impossible. For a few amazing moments, he actually walked on water. The same laws of physics that applied to everyone else were suspended for him because of his faith.
But then something shifted in Peter’s mind.
The scripture says: “But when he saw the wind boisterous, he was afraid; and beginning to sink, he cried, saying, Lord, save me!”
Notice what happened: The storm didn’t get worse. The wind was already blowing when Peter first stepped out. Jesus didn’t suddenly become less powerful. The water didn’t change its properties.
In that moment, Peter shifted his focus from faith to fear. Instead of looking at Jesus, the same Jesus who had just given him power to do the impossible, Peter looked at the waves. Instead of remembering “I’m walking on water because Christ called me,” his thoughts went somewhere else. The scripture doesn’t give us his words, but you can probably guess them: This is impossible. I’m going to drown.
And immediately, he started to sink.
But here’s the beautiful part: even as Peter was sinking, Jesus was right there. “And immediately Jesus stretched forth his hand, and caught him, and said unto him, O thou of little faith, wherefore didst thou doubt?”
Jesus didn’t abandon Peter. He didn’t say, “Well, you blew it. Swim back to the boat.” He reached out and lifted him up.
Then they climbed into the boat together, and Matthew records one more detail: “the wind ceased.” The same disciples who had been fighting that wind all night “came and worshipped him, saying, Of a truth thou art the Son of God.”
(Matthew 14:13–33; Mark 6:48)
What This Teaches Us About Our Thoughts:
- Faith-based thoughts give us power beyond our natural abilities. When Peter focused on Christ’s call, he could do the impossible.
- Fear-based thoughts sink us, even when nothing external has changed. The storm was the same, but Peter’s perspective shifted from “Christ has called me” to “This is too scary.”
- Our Savior is always within reach, even when our faith falters. Jesus didn’t wait for Peter to swim back or figure it out on his own. He immediately reached out.
- The question isn’t whether we’ll have moments of doubt, it’s what we do when they come. Peter could have stayed in the boat out of fear. Instead, he took the risk to step out in faith. And even when he faltered, he called out to the Lord.
Application
Write down a thought you often hear whispered in your mind from the Devil (like “I’m not good enough” or “I am alone”).
Then ask:
- What does God say about this?
- How can I take this thought captive and replace it with truth?
Now write down five truths (the more the better) you learned from the Spirit that counteract the lie, and cross out the lie so it is erased from your mind.
Section 3: Choose Your Perspective
Principle
Life doesn’t just happen to you, it happens through you. Two people can go through the same challenge and have totally different experiences. Why? Because of the story they tell themselves about what’s happening.
That’s why the Stoics taught:
“It’s not things themselves that disturb us, but our opinions about them.” (Epictetus)
In other words, your perspective, not your situation, is what shapes your experience.
As Christians, we know this truth too. When trials come, we are taught to respond with faith, not fear. The Apostle James wrote:
“Count it all joy when ye fall into divers temptations;
Knowing this, that the trying of your faith worketh patience.”
(James 1:2–3)
Suffering isn’t fun. But the way you look at your trials changes what they become.
The same hot water that hardens the egg softens the potato.
That little kitchen proverb is more scientific than it looks. Researchers who study people after wars, disasters, accidents, and losses keep finding the same pattern: the event matters, but it doesn’t decide the outcome. The meaning your mind assigns to the event (“I’m ruined forever” versus “I survived, and I can grow”) plays an enormous role in what the pain becomes. (We’ll dig into that research, and what it means for healing, in Chapter 4.)
The Stoics would say: the event strikes the body, but the meaning strikes the soul. And you get a say in the meaning.
Brandon Sanderson says this beautifully in Oathbringer: “Accept the pain, but don’t accept that you deserved it.”
▸ Scriptural Example: Nephi and His Brothers: A Tale of Two Perspectives
I told you, we’re going to talk a lot about Nephi, at least in this chapter.
When Lehi’s family left Jerusalem, the journey was long, uncomfortable, and uncertain. But what made it even harder was how differently the brothers viewed the experience.
Laman and Lemuel focused on what they had lost. They constantly complained and blamed others for their pain.
“Behold, these many years we have suffered in the wilderness… and we have suffered whatsoever thing he hath caused us.”
(1 Nephi 17:20)
They saw themselves as victims. They believed their father and brother had intentionally and selfishly made their lives miserable. Their perspective led to anger, resentment, and spiritual blindness.
Nephi saw things differently. He knew the journey was hard, but he believed God had a purpose. Instead of murmuring, he chose to be faithful, so completely that he could stand before his brothers and declare that if God commanded it, he could do anything, even command the water to become earth. (That bold declaration, and the ship he built to back it up, gets its full story in Chapter 3.)
You can see the difference most clearly in one terrible stretch in the wilderness.
The family had stopped to rest and hunt. Nephi went out to find food, and his bow, “made of fine steel,” broke. His brothers’ bows had already “lost their springs.” Now nobody could hunt. They came back to camp empty-handed, to families already worn out from traveling, and “they did suffer much for the want of food.”
Picture that camp. Everyone exhausted, everyone hungry, and no way to get food for tomorrow.
Laman and Lemuel were angry with Nephi for breaking his bow. They and the sons of Ishmael began to “murmur exceedingly.” Even Lehi, the prophet, began to murmur against the Lord. That’s how bad it was. When even your prophet father is complaining, it would be easy to believe you’ve earned the right to complain too.
Nephi had the same empty stomach as everyone else, but he chose to focus on faith instead of fear. He made a new bow out of wood, and an arrow out of a straight stick. Then he went to his father, the same father who had just been murmuring, and asked him, “Whither shall I go to obtain food?”
Think about how much humility that took. Nephi could have gone off on his own. He could have even said, “I’m in charge now.” Instead, he honored his father’s role as the patriarch of his family, and gave him the chance to turn back to the Lord. Lehi did. The Lord answered, calling Lehi to repentance, then told him where Nephi could find food to hunt. Nephi climbed to the top of the mountain and came back carrying food for everyone. “How great was their joy!” he writes.
Same desert. Same hunger. Same broken bows. One group complained, and one man moved in faith.
(1 Nephi 16:17–32)
Where Laman and Lemuel saw suffering, Nephi saw an opportunity to grow and trust in the Lord.
Let’s pause for a second.
Imagine two brothers walking through the desert.
One says:
“This is miserable. I’m hungry. I’m tired. Why did anyone bring us here? I just want to go home.”
The other says:
“This is hard, but we’re not alone. God led us here. There must be a reason. If He brought us this far, He can get us through.”
Now ask yourself:
Which brother would you rather be friends with?
Which mindset brings peace to yourself and others, and which one brings internal and unnecessary pain?
This isn’t just a scripture story. This is your life, too.
Every day, you’ll face moments where your mind can go either direction. You’ll be tempted to complain, compare, or panic. But you’ll also have the power to pause, choose your thoughts, and reframe the situation.
This kind of strength doesn’t come from pretending things are easy, it comes from deciding how you will see them.
The ancient Stoic Cleanthes knew this truth, too.
▸ Stoic Example: Cleanthes and the Open Cloak
Cleanthes came to Athens with almost nothing. Zeno taught during the day, so Cleanthes worked at night, drawing water for the gardens around the city. Picture him out there in the dark, hauling bucket after bucket while the rest of Athens slept, then dragging himself to class in the morning and trying to stay awake. (Eventually the city hauled him into court over it. That story, one of the best in this book, is waiting for you in Chapter 6.)
He couldn’t afford paper, either. So he wrote down Zeno’s lectures on oyster shells and the flat shoulder blades of oxen. Think about that the next time you run out of notebook paper. His study notes were a pile of seafood leftovers and cow bones.
The other students noticed. They called him “the Donkey,” and he let them. He told them that “he alone was strong enough to carry the load of Zeno.”
Then one day he was leading a group of young men across the city to a public event. Picture a crowded street, people everywhere, and a gust of wind that catches his cloak and throws it wide open. Every head turns. Now everyone can see he isn’t wearing a shirt underneath. He doesn’t own one.
Most of us would replay a moment like that in our heads for years. If it happened to you at school, you’d probably want to transfer.
The Athenians didn’t laugh. They applauded him.
Diogenes Laertius, who recorded the story, doesn’t say why they clapped. My guess is they saw a man with nothing to hide. Cleanthes wasn’t pretending to be richer than he was, and he wasn’t ashamed of being poor. The wind just showed everyone what he had already made peace with.
Athens isn’t known for snow, but winter nights there still get cold. If a single cloak is what Cleanthes wore in public, it’s not hard to guess what he wore to haul water in the dark.
We don’t have his own words about how he saw all of this. But you can read it in the way he lived: the cold was not something to shiver under, but a chance to practice endurance. His poverty was not deprivation, but freedom from distraction. The hardship was not a burden, but training.
Cleanthes didn’t go looking for suffering, but he didn’t waste it either. He understood that pain is an inevitable part of mortality, but it becomes unbearable when we interpret it as meaningless, unfair, or personal. When hardship is seen as training, it strengthens rather than destroys.
He treated difficulty the way a runner treats resistance. Not as an enemy, but as a tool.
A disciple of Christ can see hardship the same way, and has even more reason to, because we know Who is doing the training.
Choosing your perspective means refusing to let suffering define you as a victim. It means asking better questions when life presses in.
You can ask:
- What is God teaching me through this?
- How is this shaping my character, not just my comfort?
- What truth can I hold onto right now, even if everything else feels uncertain?
Cleanthes reminds us that growth rarely feels impressive in the moment. It often feels cold. It feels slow. It feels unnoticed.
But when spring comes, the person who practiced endurance is standing taller than the one who only practiced comfort.
When you shift your perspective this way, you do not just survive the winter. You come out of it stronger.
Application
Think about something difficult that happened recently.
How did you choose to see it?
Now ask yourself: What would Nephi or Cleanthes have seen in that same situation?
Write a new version of the story where instead you used a faith-based, growth-focused mindset. This practice of rewriting a negative experience can help us move on from it, and envision better outcomes in the future.
Section 4: Be the Calm in the Storm
Principle
Storms come. That’s not a question, or even just an inevitability. Heavenly Father promised them, because He wants us to grow.
But while the storm is outside you, peace must be inside you.
The Stoics believed you shouldn’t wait for your surroundings to become calm, you must become calm yourself, no matter what is happening around you. They trained their minds and hearts to stay steady when everything else shook.
Christians are taught the same. Jesus said to His disciples:
“Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you.”
“Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.”
(John 14:27)
The world offers temporary calm: a relaxing playlist, a distraction, or a break from responsibility. But the Savior offers something deeper, peace that stays, even during pain, loss, or fear.
▸ Scriptural Example: Helaman’s Foundation of Peace
The Book of Mormon teaches this principle in one of its most intense and dangerous moments.
Helaman was not speaking to his sons during a peaceful season. He was not giving casual advice or offering poetic encouragement. He was preparing two young men, Nephi and Lehi, to live in a world that was openly hostile to righteousness. Their society was unraveling. Pride, violence, secret combinations, and spiritual confusion filled the land. Prophets were mocked. Believers were threatened. Choosing Christ was no longer socially safe.
Helaman knew his sons would face storms that were not hypothetical. They would face pressure, fear, rejection, and real danger. He also knew he would not always be there to protect them.
So instead of giving them rules, or strategies, or warnings about specific threats, he gave them a foundation.
He taught them this truth:
“And now, my sons, remember, remember that it is upon the rock of our Redeemer, who is Christ, the Son of God, that ye must build your foundation; that when the devil shall send forth his mighty winds, yea, his shafts in the whirlwind, yea, when all his hail and his mighty storm shall beat upon you, it shall have no power over you to drag you down to the gulf of misery and endless wo, because of the rock upon which ye are built, which is a sure foundation, a foundation whereon if men build they cannot fall.”
(Helaman 5:12)
Notice what Helaman did not say. He did not promise that storms would stop. He did not say the world would become fair, calm, or kind. He did not tell them how to avoid suffering.
He told them how to stand firm.
A foundation is something you build before the storm hits. Once the winds are howling and the waves are crashing, it is too late to pour concrete.
Later in the story, Helaman’s words are tested in the most extreme way possible.
Nephi and Lehi go to preach to the Lamanites in the land of Nephi. An army captures them and throws them into prison, and then leaves them there. Many days. No food.
Picture what that does to a person. Days in a dark cell, your stomach cramping, your body getting weaker, and no idea whether anyone outside even knows where you are. There is no legal appeal coming. No rescue plan. No way out. Every time you hear footsteps, you wonder if this is it.
For these two men, the storm of mighty winds, and the shafts in the whirlwinds has arrived.
One day the footsteps are real. Men come into the prison to take Nephi and Lehi out and kill them.
Then something extraordinary happens.
Fire surrounds Nephi and Lehi. It doesn’t burn them, but it’s real enough that the men who came to kill them don’t dare touch them. They just stand there, “as if they were struck dumb with amazement.”
When Nephi and Lehi see that the fire isn’t burning them, their “hearts did take courage.”
Think about what they do with that courage.
They do not shout.
They do not threaten.
They do not beg for their lives.
They turn to the men who came to kill them and say, “Fear not, for behold, it is God that has shown unto you this marvelous thing, in the which is shown unto you that ye cannot lay your hands on us to slay us.”
The men holding the weapons are the frightened ones now, and the two prisoners, weak from days without food, are the ones comforting them. They don’t take any credit for the fire, either. They point straight to God.
Then the earth shakes, and the prison walls tremble like they’re about to fall. A cloud of darkness covers everyone in the room, and “an awful solemn fear” comes over them. A voice speaks from above the cloud: “Repent ye, repent ye, and seek no more to destroy my servants.”
And the voice isn’t thunder. The ground is shaking and the walls are trembling, but the voice of God is “a still voice of perfect mildness, as if it had been a whisper, and it did pierce even to the very soul.” Even in the middle of an earthquake, God doesn’t need to shout.
The voice comes three times. The men can’t run, because of the darkness, and they can’t move, because of their fear.
In that crowd is a man named Aminadab. He was born a Nephite, and he once belonged to the church of God, but somewhere along the way he left it. Now here he is, in a Lamanite prison, standing with the people who came to kill two prophets.
Aminadab turns, and through the darkness he sees Nephi and Lehi. Their faces “did shine exceedingly, even as the faces of angels,” and they’re looking up, as if they’re talking with someone only they can see. He calls to the others to look. They ask him what it means, and who these men are talking to.
“They do converse with the angels of God,” he tells them.
“What shall we do,” they ask, “that this cloud of darkness may be removed from overshadowing us?”
Aminadab knows the answer. He must have learned it years ago, back when he still belonged to the church. “You must repent, and cry unto the voice, even until ye shall have faith in Christ.”
So they cry out, all of them, until the darkness lifts. When they look around, every one of them is surrounded by fire now, with Nephi and Lehi standing in the middle, and no one is burned. The Holy Spirit fills their hearts, along with “that joy which is unspeakable and full of glory.” Then the whisper comes again, and this time it says, “Peace, peace be unto you.” The heavens open, and angels come down and minister to them.
About three hundred people saw and heard all of this. The men who walked into that prison to commit a murder walked out as missionaries. They taught so many Lamanites that most of them laid down “their weapons of war, and also their hatred and the tradition of their fathers.”
(Helaman 5:20–52)
That’s the part I don’t want you to miss. Nephi and Lehi spent many days starving in that cell before any fire appeared. When it came, they recognized God’s hand right away, and the first thing they did with their courage was comfort their enemies. Long before the prison, long before the mob, they had built their foundation upon the rock of their Redeemer. When the storm hit, it could not reach their inner world.
That is what happens when you become the calm in the storm. Calmness and faith are a righteous contagion that spreads, and builds up the Kingdom.
It is important to note, this does not mean pretending the storm is not real. It does not mean denying pain exists. It means anchoring your soul so deeply in Christ that the storm cannot reach the center of you.
The waves may come. The winds may howl. Life may shake everything around you. But when your heart is built on Christ, your peace doesn’t depend on circumstances, but on who you trust.
Both Stoicism and the gospel teach this same truth from different angles. External events are unstable. Power, comfort, reputation, and safety can all be taken. But a person who has trained their inner world, who has placed their foundation on something eternal, remains steady even when everything else moves.
▸ Stoic Example: Epictetus and the Stolen Lamp
Epictetus did not begin life with freedom, comfort, or safety. He was born a slave, endured real suffering, and later taught his students using nothing more than a simple, pointed question: What do you actually control?
Then someone tested him, and he tells the story himself.
Not long before, Epictetus had gotten an iron lamp, a good one, and set it beside the little shrine in his home. The lamp was one of his few prized possessions. Most people didn’t own much in those days, and this lamp mattered enough to Epictetus that he told his students about it. One night he heard a noise at the door. He ran down to check, and the lamp was gone.
Picture standing there in the dark, your heart still pounding, staring at the empty spot where your brand new lamp used to be. Most of us know some version of that moment, maybe a bike that vanished from the rack or a phone that disappeared from a locker. That hot, sick feeling of “how could someone do this to me?”
Epictetus doesn’t tell us whether he felt that at first. What he tells us is what he did next: he thought the loss through. The thief hadn’t done anything strange, he decided. Thieves steal. So tomorrow he would get a cheap clay lamp instead, “for a man only loses that which he has.”
He even admitted, and it sounds like he was smiling a little when he said it, that he lost the lamp because “in wakefulness the thief was superior to me.” In other words, the thief was just better at staying up late.
But Epictetus also saw what the thief had really paid. “The man bought the lamp at this price: for a lamp he became a thief, a faithless fellow, and like a wild beast.”
And he didn’t hate him for it. He taught his students that people who steal are “mistaken about good and evil,” and then he asked them, “Ought we then to be angry with them, or to pity them?”
(Epictetus, Discourses 1.18; 1.29)
That response only sounds simple if you miss what it represents.
Epictetus was not minimizing loss. He was demonstrating eternal perspective. He understood that objects only have power over us if we give them power. The thief lost something far more valuable than what he gained: his integrity. And Epictetus kept the only things that were ever really his: his peace, and his character. The moment your peace depends on what you own, you hand control of your soul to chance, thieves, and circumstance.
Epictetus didn’t measure freedom by location or status, but by whether you let external events command your inner world. A slave could be free if he ruled his thoughts. A king could be miserable if he did not.
That is why Epictetus taught that the world can take your body, your property, and your comfort, but it cannot take your soul unless you surrender it.
This lesson fits perfectly with the idea of being calm in the storm. The storm may strip away what is temporary. It may shake what is visible. But the person who has trained their mind, anchored their values, and chosen virtue over reaction remains unshaken.
Epictetus did not wait for life to be gentle before he chose peace. He chose peace first, and that choice made him unbreakable.
You don’t control the storm, but you do control the anchor.
Peace isn’t the absence of struggle.
Peace is the presence of God in the middle of it.
Remember: Mastering your mindset is not about becoming emotionless or pretending everything is fine when it’s not. Christian Stoicism is about becoming so grounded in truth and faith that external storms can’t shake your internal foundation.
As President Russell M. Nelson taught, “The joy we feel has little to do with the circumstances of our lives and everything to do with the focus of our lives.” That focus, that mental mastery, is what both ancient Stoics and modern prophets have been trying to teach us all along.
Application: The Stoic Pause
Next time you feel overwhelmed (big test, friend drama, family conflict), try the “Stoic Pause”:
- Stop and take three deep breaths
- Ask: “What can I control right now?”
- Ask: “What do I need to let go of?”
- Choose one small action you can take, one thing to start with
- Trust God with what you cannot change
Try this for a day, and see how things change in your life. Write about your experience.
Optional bonus:
Write a short “anchoring scripture” or phrase of your own that you can remember when things get hard.
Examples:
“I cannot fall, for I am built on Christ.”
“I don’t control the storm, but I do hold to the anchor.”
Guard the gate. Question the story. Choose the meaning. Build the foundation before the wind arrives. Those four moves are really one move practiced in four directions: deciding, on purpose, what gets to run your inner world. That is the whole of this chapter, and it is also the easy half. A mind you have learned to govern still lives in a body with appetites, inside a world that does not take requests, surrounded by noise that would very much like to do your thinking for you. That is next.
