(Note:  In 2018, Russell M. Nelson—president of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints—made an impassioned plea to members of the Church and to the media to always use the full and correct name of the Church instead of referring to it by its various nicknames.  This led to the renaming of many Church entities, including its famous choir, which is now The Tabernacle Choir at Temple Square.  Thus, I'm trying to think of a new name for my "Mormon Mentions" feature.  Any ideas?) 

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In Beyond Valor, the authors discuss how various Medal of Honor recipients react to the award, which often honors actions taken on the worst day of their lives.  On Page 96, it says:

"Some recipients have battled depression, post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), and periods of great despair and failure in civilian life.  Pvt. Thomas C. Neibaur of Idaho was the first Mormon to receive the Medal of Honor, which recognized his actions in France on October 16, 1918.  In 1939, discouraged by misfortune and unable to feed his family, Neibaur mailed his Medal of Honor and other decorations to Congress, stating, "I cannot eat them."  Within three years, both he and his wife died, and their four sons were sent to an orphanage in Michigan."

I'm not sure what to say about this except what a terribly sad story.  I did find this article about Neibaur, which gives more details about his life and military service.  

Imagine you're the radio operator on a B-29 Superfortress airplane flying over Japan on a bombing mission during World War II.  As you're dropping the explosives through a chute, one backfires, filling your aircraft with smoke.  Blinded and knowing you have only seconds to act before the bomb detonates, killing you and the rest of the men on board, what do you do?  

If you're 23-year-old Henry "Red" Erwin, you grab the bomb, make a desperate, sightless crawl through the aircraft, find an available window, and force it outside.  You save your buddies but at an incredible cost to yourself.  With third-degree burns over at least 20-50% of your body, you spend the next few years undergoing agonizing operations and procedures to save your skin, reconstruct your ear, and rebuild your face.  Even then, you must go through the rest of your life with a damaged body.  Your face will always bear horrific scars, the kind of disfigurement that scares children and makes adults gasp.  You receive the Medal of Honor, a prize that comes with its own weight.  Was it worth the sacrifice?  If you're Red Erwin, the answer is a resounding yes.

In Beyond Valor, Red's grandson, Jon Erwin along with co-writer William Doyle, tells the story of Red's heroism during World War II.  They also explore the two things that most strengthened Red during his ordeal in the B-29 and throughout his long, painful recovery—his marriage and his faith.  Although Beyond Valor is less than 200 pages, it's packed with a lot of interesting information, which made it a quick but impactful read.  I especially enjoyed learning about Red's constant reliance on God and would, in fact, have liked to hear more about that.  Still, I found his story to be a powerful example of how faith can help us through our darkest hours.  Although Red's tale is both intriguing and moving, my favorite part of Beyond Valor might actually be a section at the end of the book entitled "Seven Prayers."  It details seven instances in which American presidents called on their Creator to help them in times of great national stress.  Again, it's a faith-promoting testament to the power of prayer and faith.  All of these elements combined to make Beyond Valor a touching, uplifting read.  I don't always enjoy non-fiction books about war, but this one engaged me, made me think, and touched my soul.

Jon Erwin and his brother, Andy, are the creators of faith-based films like their 2018 hit I Can Only Imagine.  The duo plans to make a movie based on their grandfather's World War II experience.

(Readalikes:  Unbroken by Laura Hillenbrand)

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Monday, September 21st: @hannah_reads