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Several months ago, I learned that a young adult in our neighborhood had changed the pursuit of her professional career. After graduating from college in a rigorous and competitive field, she realized that path wasn't for her, and set about to discover where to go next after such a heavy investment of her time and money. I've found myself thinking of that brief conversation often. I admire her deeply for her pluck. It's generally counter to human nature to invest highly in anything - only to then leave it and go another direction. Somehow, we tend to think we've wasted something in the switch. Humans must hate changing direction for more than just the fact it involves change. Boyd K. Packer said it this way: "I am reminded of the statement "There are two many who struggle and climb and finally reach the top of the ladder, only to find that it is leaning against the wrong wall." ( https://speeches.byu.edu/talks/boyd-k-packer/arts-spirit-lord/ ) This recent conversation has gotten me thinking how passionately we humans invest in some choices - how committed we can become even when it's looking like those choices aren't good ones. Or worse - if the choices are downright disastrous - even, potentially - spiritually fatal. How do you develop the integrity necessary to recognize and admit you've leaned your ladder against the wrong wall? How do you develop the courage necessary to climb down that ladder? And finally, how do you develop the humility necessary to start at the bottom again, choose another wall, lean your ladder against it - possibly with any advantages of what was invested in the previous climb completely lost - and start over? These are the qualities someone will need who has leaned a spiritual ladder on a wall with more serious importance than even a career choice. If you've chosen a worldly wall that will lead right into the great and spacious building, how do you possibly recognize that that choice even needs to be reconsidered? It takes great integrity to recognize and admit you're in the wrong place. It takes great courage to withstand the mocking and derision and climb down. It takes great humility to grab the rod instead, and start climbing towards the Tree of Life. There are scriptural models of people who have invested their lives at the top of a ladder on the wrong building, and their stories are remarkable because they recognized it, climbed down, and sacrificed all that was invested in getting them to the top of that wrong building. Likewise, there are scriptural models of those who made that same unwise investment of their lives, and have gone to incredible lengths to justify their choice and stay exactly where they are. In the Book of Mormon, the leaders of the Zoramites - a group who dissented from the Nephites - quietly went among the people to see how the preaching of Alma and Amulek had affected public opinion. They did this via stealthy, dissembling polling. They were angry at the teaching because the scripture states "it did destroy their craft" (Alma 35:3). The phrase - " destroy their craft " captures the idea of not wanting to face the reality of having made a bad investment. It perfectly describes a person atop the ladder propped up against the wrong building, needing to climb down and start again. What does it cost to climb down the ladder, find the right building, and climb up again? Is it really so painful to admit the original building was wrong - that the time invested in the original climb was a waste of time? The Zoramite leaders were prepared to create an ancient cancel culture to keep from facing that reality. Not only did they eject community members who had accepted Alma's and Amulek's teaching, but they became angry at the neighboring community - the people of Ammon - who were willing to give them a place to live. And when the people of Ammon ignored their demand, the Zoramites petitioned Lamanite neighbors to intervene forcefully (see Alma 35:1-10). That is some pretty serious commitment to the wrong building. The most obvious scriptural example of refusing to recognize a wrong-minded investment is the Pharisees in the time of Jesus. If what this young Rabbi from Nazareth was teaching was true - if He really was who He said He was - they were most definitely at the top of a ladder leaning against the wrong building. Such was their commitment to their wrong investment - when confronted with the idea that it WAS wrong - the Pharisees went to incredible lengths indeed to protect their "craft." Rather than climb down and reclimb with new ideas - saving ideas - they resorted to plotting the crucifixion of the very Messiah they claimed to preach of. Again - tragically serious commitment to the wrong building. But the scriptural stories of Alma and Amulek, Zeezrom, Paul - are beautiful examples of men who had the courage, humility, and integrity to start over again, being willing to sacrifice the investment of possibly years of being atop the wrong building. Every repentance story is the story of someone who got to the top of a ladder against the wrong building - recognized it - and had the courage, humility, and integrity to do something about it. As I so often find myself praying for loved ones atop the wrong building, I've found myself asking that they have enough of all three of these qualities in order to sacrifice the "craft" they've committed to and climb back. It takes courage, humility, and integrity to repent. C. ourage H. umility I. ntegrity CHI is the Asian philosophy of a vital life force which gives all living things energy, health and well being. I've decided spiritual chi is having the courage, humility, and integrity to correct course as quickly as you're able to see you've committed any part of yourself - your heart, your mind, your commitment of time or resources - to a wrong thing. No matter the cost. That's what courage and humility and integrity are for. Because I don't know about you, but my life has been starting over again too many times to count. I'm learning to look at my own reluctance to NOT want to start over as a huge red flag. Why? What am I unwilling to give up? Thanks to the atoning sacrifice of Jesus Christ, we have wasted nothing climbing to the top of wrong buildings. It's all counted as experience for our good if we're willing to start over at the bottom of another ladder (see D&C 122:7). I just want to be willing to scamper right down the minute I recognize there's a better building to invest in

Knowing I have a Heavenly Father who created me for a reason (see Colossians 1:16) has given me a very important project: learning what He sounds like so I can recognize His voice. I mean, if He created me because for some incomprehensible reason He needed a “Me”, I don’t want to miss any important messages, instructions, or assignments. I wish I could tell you I had this one down, but there’s been a pretty steep learning curve. I’m definitely getting better, but can’t say I’ve mastered it. But I do have some clues… I have to mention here, that someone else has a voice too – and it’s nasty. It’s a voice of blame, criticism, accusation, and condemnation. It is the snarkiest, most cutting voice I know, and it does not belong to my Heavenly Father. Let me repeat this important reality: that nasty voice in your head that hates your guts and tells you everything you do is a mistake? No, wait – tells you that you are a mistake? Yeah, that’s not your Father. That’s a voice of destruction – the destroyer – and he’s lookin’ to do you wrong. I’ve learned for myself that there are three voices in my head. The first voice is my own – authentic, frightening, random, and for me, anyway, hysterical. It is massively entertained by pretty much everything, why I will never be bored, lives in a constant state of free association, and focuses in roughly 3-minute intervals. I’m being generous here. I can recognize that authentic voice in my head for obvious reasons - the easily distractible skittishness of its trajectory generally tips me off. Morally speaking, my own voice is kind of neutral - it neither congratulates nor condemns. It's more like the real little kid I came as - with its original, divine factory settings. But the second voice is a nasty, destructive one. It beats me up for everything I think, say, and do. This voice loves to recall past hurts, paints me into the victim box, plays Uncle Ricco in my head and reminds me how it all could have been different if only I hadn’t done x, y, or z back in 1975, and paralyzes any desire for growth and progress by presenting me with a cataloged and alphabetized list of every. Single. Thing I need to do to get my sorry act together. Tamara W. Runia, First Counselor in the Young Women General Presidency, had this to say about that voice: "And you need to hear this, so I'll say these words out loud: ' You are not [this] voice in your head or the mistakes you have made . You may need to say that out loud too. Tell Satan, 'Not today.' Put him behind you." ( https://www.churchofjesuschrist.org/study/general-conference/2025/04/43runia?lang=eng , emphasis added). This is important to recognize the second voice that beats us up; It. Is. Not. Us. It is is the ultimate saboteur, and the sooner we can recognize the difference between the first voice and the second - the better. But there is a third voice which is God’s voice - heard and felt through the influence of the Holy Ghost. Because He loves me, He does not trash talk me. I repeat, and need a bigger font: God does not trash talk you. Ever. He doesn’t condemn you. He doesn’t give you endless lists of everything that’s wrong with you. You are not a mistake. God doesn’t make mistakes. In a fallen world, mistakes happen all the time, but you are not one of them. I am not one of them. God’s kids are not mistakes – He did not get that wrong. I have found this out repeatedly over many years as I’ve mulled over various problems in my mind. Often, I’ll realize I’m actually having a pretty engaging, meaningful conversation with myself. Suddenly, I realize that one of the two sides of the conversation in there is really, really smart, and knows all the right answers. Everything this Somebody says makes perfect sense, and inevitably, ends up being the voice which offers the best course of action or solution to the problem. Over time, I have come to trust that that Somebody is my Heavenly Father, speaking to me through the power of the Holy Ghost. It is loaded with common sense, and never steers me wrong. I have actually, in mid-conversation, stopped dead in my tracks, and whispered tentatively, almost reverently, “Is that…You?” And of course, because it is, a warm rush confirms that I wasn’t just batting ideas around with myself. Someone had stepped in to point me in the right direction. It took me longer to recognize the darker voice than my own, as not my own. Learning that has been sobering; I’ve realized Satan has had free reign as a stealth agent in my head for far too much of my life, because I haven’t known it was him with the dark, accusing, condemning voice. I believe most human beings are hardest on themselves, which means most people probably don’t recognize that voice as not authentically theirs, either. The voice that relentlessly beats you down is NOT the voice of self. A few years ago, an inspired Sunday School teacher taught that “Satan” is not a name, but a title. The word “Christ” is not Jesus’ name, but His title – Greek for “Anointed One". Similarly - “Satan” is not Lucifer’s name, but his title – “accuser". My reaction to learning this was nearly visceral; I can still remember how thunderstruck I was at this information. Another class member added this important observation: “That makes Christ’s title as our “Advocate” much more significant.” Indeed. This served as a second witness to something I had been slowly and painfully learning: my thoughts of self-condemnation don’t originate with me. The voice of accusation comes from the one who would have me believe the very worst things about myself. The truth is that I have made many, many mistakes. The lie is that I am a mistake. The truth is that I need to change in order to improve. The lie is that I can’t change or improve. The truth is that I have a long way to go to achieve perfection. The lie is that it’s too far, and that there’s no one to help. There are things that make me more susceptible to the accusing voice: I’m hungry, or I’ve eaten food that cannot pass as fuel. I’m angry, lonely, or tired. I haven’t grounded myself with some meaningful time in prayer, in the scriptures, or with the words of living prophets. I haven’t been to the temple for a while. I haven’t been a wise steward of my time. Any or all of these things make it very hard to hear anything but that condemning voice that is so quick to indict and convict me on the spot. So, not to be too obvious or anything, but it seems very important to flip that list on its head and point out what makes me more susceptible to hearing Father’s voice: I’ve eaten proper fuel and I’m rested. I’ve had meaningful connecting time with Father through prayer, scripture study, studying the words of the living prophets, and attending the temple. I use my time better – which always includes serving others. These things keep me balanced, more in tune, and better able to recognize the voice of my Father, who loves me. This has been a crucial life lesson – recognizing the voice of condemnation, so I can reject it – and the voice of approbation, so I can embrace it. It has also been tender to learn that the odd, random little authentic voice is so very adored and appreciated by its Creator. One of the sweetest lessons of my life has been to learn how completely loved I am - and how could I not? Of course the perfect Father of time and all eternity loves His daughter in all her uniqueness. Father doesn't condemn - He allowed Jesus to condescend and live like us so He could suffer, bleed out, and die in our behalf - all so we wouldn't be condemned as long as we keep trying again and relying on Him who is mighty to save (2 Nephi 31:19). Rather than listen to the condemning voice of the accuser, recognize that as with Moses encountering Satan - that in limiting the definition of ourselves which he presents - he tips his hand in the very condemnation (see Moses 1). Presenting a limited, flawed, temporal - temporary - identity will never come from the voice of the One who created you and died for you. This is not the voice of your Abba - your Papi. And as Sister Runia testified, neither is it your own authentic voice of wonder, and vulnerability, and teachability. Learning to distinguish these voices makes all the difference - but learning which voice you choose to focus on - and believe - will make all the biggest difference in your life. But that’s another private lesson.

"Always hopeful, yet discontent, He knows changes aren't permanent But change is." Neal Peart & Pye Dubois, "Tom Sawyer" I can't believe when truth tumbles out of a rock song. It does happen from time to time. I can't get this line from Rush's Tom Sawyer out of my head: "Changes aren't permanent... but CHANGE. IS. Those six words declare one of the hardest truths of eternity, in my estimation. Absolutely nothing stays the same, except the fact that nothing stays the same. The permanent, flowing motion of change in the universe happens because all matter is either in a state of growth... or decay. Two days ago, I sat in my stake center and tearfully watched my neighbors from two neighboring wards stand, in turn, and offer a sustaining vote to discontinue the wards they had lived in, served in, raised their families in. For a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, a ward is the next concentric circle out from our personal families. Two ward families died on Friday, and we mourned together at the change. Members of these wards were put in three other existing wards, one of which isn't even in our stake. Tectonic changes for a stake where a generation or two ago, any given ward might have had three deacon quorums in it. In one afternoon, an entire neighborhood received new instructions on where they were to worship and serve, as if some bossy patriarchal or matriarchal figure got up with a bullhorn at the family reunion, and imperiously insisted we get up and switch tables to re-arranged seating assignments. Suddenly, all of Uncle Fred's family is mixed up with Aunt Ann's family. Uncle Bruce's family can't just stick clannishly together at the same table like every other year - no, no. Thanks to some bossy busy body, we all have to intermingle, some of Aunt Vi's kids ending up with Uncle Floyd's, and so on. This is NOT the way we do family reunions, because we do not LIKE to do family reunions this way. But when ward and stake boundaries are realigned, it's not just an awkward afternoon that must be initially endured until it's enjoyed and eventually cherished; it's forever. Well. At least until the next change. What our stake experienced Sunday reminded me of Zenos' parable of the branches of olive trees transplanted throughout an entire vineyard (see Jacob 5). The transplanting seemed so random and arbitrary - at first. Cutting the branches so deeply and completely removing them to graft them in elsewhere - if not an experienced horticulturalist - would cause any ordinary, self-respecting branch to cry out at the pain of being so forcibly removed from the tree they loved - where they'd received nourishment their entire existence. At first. But cutting branches and transplanting them to another tree wasn't some random science experiment; it was actually vital to the very survival of the trees. Every cut - every removal - every transplant - was intended to help the trees stay alive. In the parable, the standard which measured the success of the operation was whether the branches produced fruit or not. With a spiritual focus, our stake has the potential to actually thrive from the radical changes of cutting and transplanting - if we make the intentional decision to not let where we're planted determine whether or not we'll produce fruit. Because it's the same vineyard. It's the same family at a family reunion. There are delightful people at every table. Just not the ones we're the most used to. Adjustments must be made; more tolerance will be called for. More reaching out of ourselves will be necessary. All the ways we cope and cooperate are going to be shaken up - and who of any of us wants that? But that's the kind of change that involves growth - instead of decay. Radical changes in circumstances radically change people. It's an individual choice whether to take root, grow, and produce fruit, or refuse, wither... and die. Because this is the vineyard and family of Jesus Christ, this family reunion is not one to miss. "The supper of the great God" (Revelation 19:17) is the family reunion of all family reunions, and something tells me it won't matter if we're at the table with Adam or Abraham, Peter or Paul, John the Baptist or Joseph Smith (see D&C 27:5-12). This is what matters: there is a place waiting for all of us. No scrunching over to make room or scrambling to set another place. No setting up extra tables because more of us showed up than were planned for. A place has been set for every one of God's kids. The message communicated through all of scripture is: "Please come! It won't be the same without you." And when we arrive, the message communicated will be, "There she is! We've been waiting for you." That's how I want to greet my friends next week who have been radically transplanted to another table at the family reunion. I need to make sure they know how very glad we are they decided to come and help produce the fruit for the supper.

Inigo Montoya really said it best, with pith and a Spanish accent: "I hate waiting." That about sums it up, eh? There isn't a big enough font: I HATE. Waiting. In any line, please make it less than 2 people deep, and be sure to check cart contents before committing For a medical appointment of any kind In traffic - particularly left turn lanes with any color arrow For an upload For a download For a laundry load - the last 5 minutes of the cycle? I swear it's 15 For miracles I'm not sure we're actually wired for waiting; in fact I'm pretty sure we're not. I mean, think about babies. Talk about a creature who wants what it wants 5 minutes ago. Apparently, we came to the planet with zero capacity for waiting. And then we wait. To turn 5 so we can go to school. WHAT were we thinking? For Halloween. For your birthday. For Christmas. For your first bicycle. Then we wait some more. For school to get OUT. To find out if you made the team. For your first job. Your first kiss. Did I get into yet another school? The waiting we do to master any skill is particularly vexing. This waiting involves work we very often don't really want to do. Whether it's mastering free throws, the splits, a back flip, or a Chopin nocturne, there is the legitimate pain of discipline that we have absolutely no other option but to work through. WAIT through. And that's not even the self-mastery of holiness: compassion, empathy, forgiveness, generosity, benevolence, patience. Wait. Don't you need patience to wait? Do you have to wait for patience? Is this one of those chicken and egg things? My most profound and important life lessons on waiting came from two completely different life events, and in different ways, underscore what I think might be at the heart of why we humans loathe waiting: usually waiting is part of a circumstance that is completely beyond our control. But these two circumstances have also taught me that while we might not be wired to wait, we are wired to learn to wait. Thanks to divine DNA, we have inherited a very important eternal skill. And that's for a very eternal reason - we're going to need it in the future. Story Number One: I'm sorry to bring this up again, but there was that time 4 years ago when I spent nearly 4 months hospitalized. Any institutionalized health care setting is going to involve waiting, but when that institution becomes your zip code? OY. With the waiting. And bear in mind, half way through the fun, I was transferred to a skilled nursing facility to learn how to do everything over again. Even talking; at my worst, I was weakly pointing to an alphabet chart to communicate, and at one point, I was certain it was NOT the English alphabet. I had to learn to breathe and swallow again before they even thought about taking out the feeding tube I'd been on for months. I needed a hoyer lift to get to daily dialysis sessions; hence, my going to a SNF 45 minutes from home. It was one of two in a 4-state area who had in-house dialysis. I bring this all up again to tell you about the funniest thing Heavenly Father told me the night I was transferred to Heritage Park in Roy. I tell you because it has to do with the point about our waiting lessons. I heard just two words in my head - several times - during the process of that transfer: " DAY TWO." This statement was part of a shorthand of sorts, built through the Spirit over years of my life. Does that happen with you? I know it happens in families; one word or phrase captures an entire series of ideas or a reminder of past events. All this to facilitate brevity in communicating something complex. Early in my adult life, I read Stephen R. Covey's Spiritual Roots of Human Relationships. In it, he writes about progressively growing into healthier relationships, and how sometimes we get impatient to move through necessary developmental stages by skipping essential first steps. He used the analogy of the Creation - for example, how God needed to have a solid earth mass before He could cover it with water - how there needed to be a division between water and land before vegetation could be planted - how that vegetation had to be well established before it could feed animals, etc. The shorthand created from reading that book was the idea that in our growth, we humans often impatiently want to skip Days 1-5, and land happily on Day 6, with most of the grunt work finished, poised to enjoy the fruits of the planting, and skipping the planting - including the digging, pruning, dunging - altogether. That sounds very human of us, doesn't it? Surely, it's not just me. On January 6, 2022, after a difficult yet tender 45-minute ride from IMC in Murray, Utah to Heritage Park in Roy, I got the distinct message from Heavenly Father, unmistakably: "DAY TWO." Father may as well have given me an entire pep talk, but with those two words, brought to remembrance by the Holy Ghost, it was if He actually said: "You have a long way to go, Daughter. You're just beginning this journey of recovery. Be patient; you've got a lot of work to do. You can't skip any of the steps - you need to do all of it. I will help you and be with you every step of the way." That was on the 64th day of my captivity. Little did I know I was still 48 days away from the day I'd walk back into my house. Through those next seven weeks, there was a day when I remember hearing - feeling, really - DAY THREE." Another time, when I was feeling most impatient to be finished with daily dialysis - something which made daily occupational and physical therapy far more grueling if they happened afterwards - I didn't hear a day number, but something I came to realize was connected: "I DO THINGS IN THEIR PROPER ORDER." Impatient with the process and tired of waiting for my kidneys to function on their own, I had failed to consider the implications of what that would look like when I still couldn't sit up on the edge of my bed on my own - much less walk to a bathroom. Proper order, indeed. So grateful for the gentle reminder. As I began to be able to sit up on my own and walk the length of the physical therapy room several times, I remember a night when I had the impression: "DAY FIVE." Even still, that was a few weeks from my discharge. The acid test came the day before my discharge - climbing down a huge flight of concrete stairs to the boiler room and back up, on my own. The night before, the nephrologist made a special trip to my room to announce I was finished with dialysis, and wouldn't need to continue it when I went home two days later. This singular experience taught me that there's a purpose in waiting - even in God's waiting - but I also need to talk about what Father has taught me about how to wait differently. Learning how to wait differently has changed everything.

Elder Gary E. Stevenson gave an important talk in general conference in October last year called "Blessed Are the Peacemakers." ( https://www.churchofjesuschrist.org/study/general-conference/2025/10/12stevenson?lang=eng ) In it, he stressed a pattern which defines direction. It's terribly important to recognizing the Lord's way of doing things, particularly in contrast to the world's way of doing things. Elder Stevenson doesn't suggest a vast, overarching program to promote worldwide peace. Rather, the place where worldwide peace begins is where too many humans loathe starting a project: in our own heart and mind. The tendency is so great to look outside ourselves for the solutions to the biggest problems that vex our planet. Remember that old song from the mid-20th century, "Let there be peace on earth, and let it begin with me..." ? Well. As over-sung as at was in my early life, that's pretty much the sum of it. Elder Stevenson beautifully describes that inner peace begins with individuals and radiates up - and out - not down and in. This is why peace must be freely chosen. Anything remotely involving force, enforcement, mandate or fiat will never achieve authentic peace. Especially if it leaves out the Prince of Peace - Jesus Christ. Allow me to make a parable, please. When I was a little girl, I was fascinated with a picture book called The Loudest Noise in the World. It tells the story of Prince Hulla-Baloo who lives in the land of Hub-Bub. For his 6th birthday, the prince asks his father to make a decree that at a set time, everyone will shout as loud as they can, making it so he, Prince Hulla-Baloo, can hear the loudest noise in the world. One of the common people receiving the decree feels sad that in participating, he will miss out on hearing the loudest noise in the world himself. And then he thinks an extremely human thought: "It won't make a difference if it's only me who doesn't shout. That's still a pretty loud sound. I'll just open my mouth and pretend to shout, so I can hear the loudest sound in the world, too!" Since this is SUCH an incredibly human thing to think, you might be able to imagine what happens at the appointed hour. Every single citizen of Hulla-Baloo had had the exact same idea: I won't make a difference, so if I don't participate, I can rely on the efforts of everybody else to experience this extraordinary moment. The unexpected outcome ends up being quite expected, indeed, as only a really fine children's book can do. At the appointed hour, there is absolute... silence. Of course, the aha moment in the book is that a little boy who lived in a very noisy world experiences the beauty of silence - the songs of birds! - for the very first time in his young life. But the point worth focusing on is this: there is a predictable human chain reaction of wanting everyone else to do something, excepting yourself. That's where the parable lies. Elder Stevenson describes the inevitability of God's direction touching individual hearts first, and those hearts impacting individual homes and families next. Peace in homes then moves outward to communities, countries, and eventually the entire world. The message is clear: there can never be lasting peace in the world if every individual isn't willing to do his/her own part in creating the inner peace that only comes from the Prince of Peace. Just as peace radiates outward, so does unrest. Alexis de Tocqueville came to the United States from France in the 1830's to study its judicial and prison systems. He was fascinated that the U.S. revolution had achieved an outcome pretty much polar opposite of the French revolution. In his two-volume treatise, Democracy in America, he wrote: "In Europe almost all the disturbances of society arise from the irregularities of domestic life. To despise the natural bonds and legitimate pleasure of home is to contract a taste for excesses, a restlessness of heart, and fluctuating desires . "Agitated by the tumultuous passions that frequently disturb his dwelling, the European is galled by the obedience which the legislative powers of the state exact. "But when the American retires from the turmoil of public life to the bosom of his family, he finds in it the image of order and of peace. There his pleasures are simple and natural, his joys are innocent and calm; and he finds that an orderly life is the surest path to happiness, he accustoms himself easily to moderate his opinions as well as his tastes. "While the European endeavors to forget his domestic troubles by agitating society, the American derives from his own home that love of order which he afterwards carries with him into public affairs." (Alexis de Tocqueville, Democracy in America) Now before someone starts chirping that this doesn't describe ALL European or American homes, let me assure you, we all know. This man came to America to observe differences in society, and these are his overall observances in general. De Tocqueville speaks to a pattern he saw enough times - on both continents - to include it in a work that took him 5 years to write. De Tocqueville's point validates the truth of Elder Stevenson's talk. He asserts that an individual takes his/her personal contentment - or unrest - into his/her community. Our ability to find our own peace affects the entire world. Just like every citizen of Hulla-Baloo deciding to be silent, rather than contribute to a collective moment, has a bigger ripple effect than we realize. Elder Stevenson's teaching underscores the danger of focusing on the collective rather than the individual. If you start with the collective, the energy of movement must naturally flow downward, and inward. When peace begins organically with individuals, it organically flows upward, and outward - into homes and families, and into neighborhoods and communities. And as inefficient as it is, the only way to achieve peace within nations and around the world is to start with each individual heart, and work inside out. After all, what is a collective anyway, but a group comprised of... individuals? Ezra Taft Benson taught it as succinctly as it can be stated: "The Lord works from the inside out. The world works from the outside in. The world would take people out of the slums. Christ would take the slums out of people, and then they would take themselves out of the slums." "The world would mold men by changing their environment. Christ changes men, who then change their environment. The world would shape human behavior, but Christ can change human nature ." (Ezra Taft Benson, Born of God, General Conference, October 1985) Even if the temptation is great to be still and wait for everyone around us to make the loudest 'noise' of peace - and still enjoy it for ourselves - everyone really does need to contribute if we really want to rejoin the city of Enoch. Peace really does begin with me.

Friday morning, long hike day. Dale's been doing it since retirement, except for the long months of my illness, hospitalization, and recovery. He craves his hike days like oxygen or chocolate chippers, his finely-honed cookie recipe, which he sometimes takes on his hikes. We say prayers together, and like most hiking days, there are two prayers going on in my head: the one I am saying out loud, and the one I am saying in my head. The one out loud: "Father - please bless us with the Holy Ghost today. Help us listen and recognize Thy voice. Give us the strength to obey what we hear." The one in my head: "Father - please don't let Dale think he's invulnerable on that mountain alone today. Please keep him safe and bring him back to me." Uncharacteristically, Dale kisses me twice - the typical 'see you later' peck, and then a more lingering one, like he's serious. And I had a little catch in my heart that said, "Something's going to happen to him today." Three hours later, I had a phone call from an unfamiliar number. "Is this Mrs. Simper? This is Tyler - I'm a paramedic with Salt Lake County. It looks like your husband is having a heart attack. We're taking him to IMC." He maybe didn't say that part about Salt Lake County. The words I heard were: paramedic... husband... heart attack... IMC... As I drove to IMC, weeping, I prayed, "Father, please don't have spared my life two years ago to make me do the rest of this alone." I felt peace and the distinct thought that everything was going to be okay. But notice - sometimes Father doesn't tell us what okay looks like. I fully recognized I was not told which side of the veil Dale was going to land on for today's okay. Three hours later, after a frantic rush to the cath lab, two stents had been placed in the main artery of Dale's heart - the one grimly nicknamed the 'widowmaker.' He was in ICU with monitors on his heart. Around this time I got a text from an unfamiliar number. It was the woman in the photo - on the left - Tori. "Hi, I was one of the women trail runners that helped Dale out today. How is he doing now?" Tori and the other women in the photo were trail running on the Salt Lake Overlook Trail where Dale was hiking. They had passed him on the way up. For Dale, two miles up, when he felt distress and knew he was in trouble, he knew unmistakably that he had to turn around to get down that mountain. The same four runners passed him coming back down, and saw instantly he was in trouble. It took asking four times if he was okay before he could pant out, "I think I'm having a heart attack." Miracle 1 - these women were runners. They were trained and accustomed to running this trail. Miracle 2 - there were four of them. Two could run to the trail head parking lot and drive out for cell service to call an ambulance. Miracle 3 - The two who stayed behind - Tori and the one in the white, Camille - helped him get back down the two miles he'd just hiked up. Camille asked Dale if they could say a prayer, which they did. He had been praying for help before they got to him. Miracle 4 - Camille is a nurse. As she could, she started to ask Dale the medical questions she knew the paramedics would ask. She was then able to give all that information to the paramedics, because... Miracle 5 - Dale was completely spent a couple of hours later when he finally reached the ambulance with his new angel friends. Why is that a miracle? To my mind - being completely spent at the moment he hit that ambulance, with absolutely nothing more in him, tells me there were angels helping him from the other side of the veil as well. Dale spent the weekend in the hospital - close to 24 hours in ICU, and another 24 on a general nursing floor. He's now a cardiac patient with serious damage to his heart that needs to heal - presumably from the several hours of exertion while no blood or oxygen was getting to his heart. He went from a guy on no meds to a guy with a pill catcher full of pills to heal his heart. He's keeping track of sodium and carbs, and isn't planning on making chocolate chippers quite so often. To say it's humbling to know both our lives have been spared so we can stay together for now is a whopper of an understatement. What could God possibly be up to? No sense trying to answer but to live in such a state of gratitude that we never stop asking Him what else we can do for Him to thank Him. Knowing that our dearest Father in Heaven is always up to something, I'm quite sure that somehow, as we keep trying to be His little helpers, that question will keep getting answered in both ordinary and extraordinary ways. Last Friday - the extraordinary little helpers' names were Tori, Camille, Cassi, and Erin. One of them thought to ask God that morning how she could help Him. Look what He did with that prayer. I will never be able to stop thanking her and her friends for being where He needed them.

It’s true, I’m a Stranger Things junkie. Big time. Nearly ten years ago, my son - who had recently left home to start his military career - texted one day, instructing me to check out a new show on Netflix. “I think you’ll really like it, Mom,” he wrote. “It’s X Files meets Super 8 meets Stand By Me.” I comprehended and appreciated two of those three references - X Files and Super 8.  From the very first seconds of the first episode, I was hooked. The opening setting of the show - November 1983 - would have found this fair heroine teaching junior high English. The 1980’s was the first decade of my adulthood. Combine the nostalgia of a great decade - every detail nailed to perfection, with my own personal nostalgia of actually teaching little boys who reminded me of the main characters at that very moment in history, and I was totally invested in the ride I’ve been taking with this story ever since. And here’s the thing: I hate monster movies. Like - HATE them, with a much bigger font. Dale went to see every Alien and Predator movie alone; I would not partake. But Stranger Things is not about monsters. Not really. It’s about friends, and community. And outcasts and pariahs.  It’s about bullies and letting people into your circle.  And common causes and possibly lost causes. It’s about showing up for people who are counting on you that you wouldn’t have given the time of day to a couple weeks ago, because that possible lost cause is for sure a lost cause if you don’t work together.  It’s about showing up for yourself when you were pretty sure you wouldn’t. There are no monsters in all the wide world, real or imaginary, worse than the monsters every human lives with, the internal monsters of fear, regret, guilt, shame. Our darkest places of living, and the stories we take away from them, are the real monsters, and they often take a lifetime to heal. These very real monsters became the weapons of the metaphorical monster formed in the Abyss - Henry Creel, aka 001, aka Vecna.  What a brilliant, sneaky way to turn this sweet nostalgic homage to our pasts into a sobering analogy of facing our worst demons, shouting them down - that we’re not afraid of them  - and that they will not control or define us - anymore. This brilliant, sneaky story claims you can always choose to be different - better - and not let your past define you. This brilliant, sneaky story believes in redemption. And so do I. To me, this story will always be a parable that used monsters to reveal the real stranger things - us. I’ve spent ten years watching ordinary/extraordinary little kids show that humans are the stranger things. Strange enough to spend a lot of our lives feeling like aliens in our own bodies, on our own home planet, certain that we’re the only ones who feel this way. The monsters we need courage to fight feel stranger than anyone else’s - but a destroyer whispers that to us when we’re alone or afraid or discouraged - in the dark. The stranger things inside each of us might be uniquely ours, but we’re not the only human who has them.  Acknowledging that allows us to give each other kindness, knowing they’re fighting their own stranger things. The destroyer is an expert at isolating and whispering things that might be a little bit true, but the spin will always sound worse once he’s got you alone and in the dark. But a Creator whispers, “You are not your past. You aren’t your worst moments. You aren’t your habits. You can change right now, if you want, and I’ll help you. The only identity that matters to Me is that you are Mine.” The more I get to know my Creator - I call Him Father - and recognize the dark force that pulls me away from Him - the more I’m afraid I turn almost everything into a parable about Him. So from one stranger thing to another, I promise you this: I will do my very best to be kind to you when we encounter each other. I know your monsters are as real as mine, and we need each other to fight them. The first thing Father asks of us is that we love Him first. This is the only way we can recognize authentic light from counterfeit - choosing the authentic because we’ve learned to prefer it. And He wants us to love each other second so we can help each other do the first. Because while monsters might not be real, the darkness is. And the fight is on.

Let’s hear it - three cheers for difficult! Crickets. Humanity is not, as a rule, a fan of difficult - the thing that distinguishes this few minutes of eternity called mortality with the rest of our existence on either end. I don't know very many people who love hard. Of course there are the perverse few, but generally, humans don't just lean away from it, they'll go to great lengths to avoid it. The spectrum can be as broad as pushing a snooze bar repeatedly to preferring getting shoved in a locker over standing up to a bully. We even say it out loud from time to time, "Why can't it ever be easy?" The answer is short and simple: It can't. It can't ever be easy, because that's not what Here is about. "For it must needs be, that there is an opposition in all things. If not so,... righteousness could not be brought to pass, neither wickedness, neither holiness nor misery, neither good nor bad...." (2 Nephi 2:11) Gordon B. Hinckley has quoted a 20th-century journalist on more than one occasion, to the point where this has often been attributed to him. Nevertheless, Jenkin Lloyd Jones wrote: “Anyone who imagines that bliss is normal is going to waste a lot of time running around shouting that he has been robbed. The fact is that most putts don’t drop, most beef is tough, most children grow up to just be people, most successful marriages require a high degree of mutual toleration, and most jobs are more often dull than otherwise. "Life is just like an old time rail journey…delays, sidetracks, smoke, dust, cinders, and jolts, interspersed only occasionally by beautiful vistas and thrilling bursts of speed. The trick is to thank the Lord for letting you have the ride.” As I'm emerging from a particularly difficult few weeks, I'm thinking about the three reasons I think earth life was designed to be difficult because of the opposition at every turn. "We'd gone about as fer as we could go..." Living in eternal realms of glory before this earth life, there was only so much we could learn in our quest to grow up like our Heavenly Parents, from the safety of Their presence. The crucial sticking point for inheriting Their glory as Their heirs: we needed to discover what we preferred if left unsupervised with a constant array of opposites before us for the choosing. It was necessary to leave the actual presence of God, and go away to school. This is the place where we learn, by our own experience, to distinguish good from evil. More importantly - we're here to learn from that experience to prefer what is good, beautiful, and true - more than that which is evil, ugly, and counterfeit. "Who ya gonna call?" We didn't just need opposition to widen our field of choices, but to place us in a place that seems - for the entire time we exist there - irredeemable and broken. If we got even the slightest notion that we could do it on our own, we would never feel the necessary desperation that would cause us to look helplessly upward for power greater than our own to help us. Interestingly enough, thanks to temporal / temporary comforts such as wealth and luxury, or power and influence, there are many humans who believe just that. You need to know you are broken to consider searching for Someone to fix things. Enter: Jesus Christ - the Mender of broken things, the Healer of sick things, the Redeemer of irredeemable things. Jesus Christ was planned for from the very beginning, Father knowing we would put ourselves wrong with the glory we came from. However would we find our way back, if a Rescuer wasn't sent? C.S. Lewis wrote: "Christianity does not make sense until you face the sort of facts I've been describing. Christianity tells people to repent and promises them forgiveness. It therefore has nothing to say to people who do not know they have done anything to repent of and who do not feel that they need forgiveness. "It is after you have realized there is a real Moral Law, and a Power behind that law , and that you have broken that law and put yourself wrong with that Power - it is after all this, and not a moment sooner, that Christianity begins to talk. "When you know you are sick, you will listen to the doctor. When you begin to understand that our position is nearly desperate, you will begin to understand what the Christians are talking about. "All I'm asking you to do is to face the facts that Christianity claims to answer. And they are very terrifying facts. I wish it were possible to say something more agreeable. But I must say what I think true. "Of course, I quite agree that the Christian religion is, in the long run, a thing of unspeakable comfort. But it does not begin in comfort; it begins in the dismay I have been describing, and it is no use at all trying to go on to that comfort without first going through that dismay." (C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity) The dismay Lewis points out comes living in a world full of opposition, sensing you're not really from that world, and begin - possibly wistfully at first, but eventually desperately, as he says, to work to put yourself more at home with where you came from. That means pushing against the opposition and not giving into it. That will mean more than just letting Jesus mend and heal you. He'll also have to help you as you carry the oppositional load of your earth life - carrying it right along beside you. He carried it alone in Gethsemane and on Calvary, so He could walk with you as you live it. "Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. "Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls. "For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light." (Matthew 11:28-30) Which brings me to the third reason earth life is so difficult: "[You're] here to PUMP... you UP!" There's something most mysterious about Grace - the thing that happens when the Savior breaches the gap of our current capacity and the higher capacity He possesses. You get really, really buff. Just like our bodies respond to resistance training, so do our spirits respond to pushing against the ever-present opposition of mortality. Avoiding or surrendering keep us soft as plump little spiritual marshmallows. But strapping on that yoke with Jesus yields results that are often not seen in this lifetime. I like to picture what it will be like when we're finished with this sphere of existence and move onto the next. My mind has conjured the scene in Forrest Gump when he is being bullied because of the braces he needs to wear to straighten his legs. Forrest must have had the braces sufficiently strengthen his legs by this moment - as he awkwardly runs away in the braces, his legs take over on their own, and the braces fall by the wayside. Forrest simply runs - and runs faster - on his own. The analogy doesn't work completely, because even after this life, everything we learn and achieve will be because of the help of Jesus Christ. But - when the restraints of mortality are behind us, I have a feeling the lack of that tug from opposition isn't simply going to surprise us. I suspect it's going to take our breath away. We have no idea how very earthbound we are, because in the here and now, we’ve never known anything but having feet of clay. But because we partnered with the One who beat all the opposition for us , Jesus offers to share what He alone could earn - with all of us. If we choose to grow the muscles. We will have been conditioned from our resistance training, having grown spiritual muscles we could gain in no other way - because we carried our yoke with a perfect Partner. I guess it's not the actual difficulty I cheer; I'm not one of those perverse few. But I tell you what, I cheer for what it teaches me, what it's growing in me, and Who I'm better acquainted with because of it. The fruit of difficulty is most definitely worth cheering about.

Three weeks ago, I got my annual Christmas present a little early: my epic, barking, you must've-started-smoking-at-age-4 cough. Once again, it was looking like I would not be able to participate in our annual ward Christmas program, and I was devastated. I used to hate being in the ward choir, but my experiences with ward choirs have forever changed how I feel about spending yet another hour to stay at church to go to the rehearsals. I used to be a lot like Fanny Brice when it came to singing in ward choirs; I only wanted to participate if they were singing songs that I liked. Though it pains me to admit it, I must confess: I was in the "Too Cool for Ward Choir Club." It's a malady that often afflicts musicians who are reluctant to swim in a musical pool of open plunge. The impetus that started my conversion happened in 2011 when I was ironically called to be the ward choir director. I cried. I tearfully told the bishop - a close friend - "You realize you've just called me to be the ward Amway salesman." And by that, I meant I would instantly become the neighborhood pariah from whom people ran and hid, terrified of aggressive recruitment tactics that would rope them into an odious 4th hour of church on Sundays. No projecting going on there... In spite of a musical background, piano experience did NOT equal choir conducting experience, and I continued to tearfully make my way through the next four years of the calling that was right up there with roadshow director on the list of Callings I Pray I Never Receive. Which I've also done, by the way - TWICE. I begged and pleaded with many ward members to support the choir, and endured a variety of responses, profoundly grateful for any and all yeses - even the reluctant ones. I attended choir workshops held by the local music store to find new music. My bishop generously extended a budget to purchase beautiful songs to entice people to WANT to come and serve. To worship and praise. I'm happy to say I had the calling long enough to be authentically sad to see it go, and here's why: I learned in a brand new way what it looks like to live the law of consecration. Hear me now: NOTHING will teach you about the law of consecration like participating in a church choir. Because it is an all-comers' affair, you get to witness, up close and personal, what happens when musicians and non-musicians alike bring their meager loaves and fishes to the Savior to be blessed. Trust me - there will always be enough and to spare. The challenge of the ward choir is that the loaves and fishes change from week to week. The week before our program this year, Dale came home from rehearsal very discouraged. I had been home, on time out yet again, because of the perennial cough. Along with my absence, other circumstances had brought fewer loaves and fishes that day. But when consecrated disciples are willing - and sometimes even a little less than willing, even begrudging - I am now and forevermore astonished with what the Lord can do with a little band of singers and non-singers. Last Saturday morning, I went to choir rehearsal with great trepidation and a pocket of cough drops - one already tucked inside my cheek. As I sang the beautiful songs Dale had prayerfully selected, I marveled at how these numbers had come together over the course of the last two months. Once again, the Lord had made our loaves and fishes enough to be a feast. The Spirit entered into the equation on Sunday morning, and made our offering holy by joining us, singing with us, making us sound better than we really are. I could barely sing the words with tears in my eyes and on my cheeks: "Her eyes are fixed upon His Face, Unheeded here is time and space; Her heart is filled with blinding joy, For God's own Son - her baby Boy." (Nancy Buckley, There is Faint Music) It might not have been literal fire coming down from heaven, consuming a soggy, wet, far less than ideal sacrifice - but it felt like it. We ended the program with words that teach this tender lesson: "What shall I give Him, poor as I am? If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb. If I were a wise man, I would do my part. What I can, I give Him, Give my heart." (Christina Rosetti, In the Bleak Midwinter) Whenever we see that God has touched our offering and made it enough - and more than enough, with leftovers even - this will happen. We will marvel at what His power can bring to our feeble, clumsy abilities. But it will never be more tender than when a band of willing and reluctant musicians and non-musicians know they sounded better than they ever deserved to. A ward choir is some of the most active duty consecration you will ever experience. Five stars; highly recommend. Something else to consider: if you love Jesus here and now, there's a good chance you were a part of the heavenly host then. It's possible that on that quiet night over 2000 years ago, when Jesus made His anonymous entrance into the world the first time, you couldn't even help yourself, and begged to wake up those sleepy temple shepherds. Perhaps there were rehearsals involved. So consider: when He comes again, we won't be able to keep still - again. We're going to want to sing and shout Hosanna. "How long we have wandered as strangers in sin, and cried in the desert for Thee!" (Redeemer of Israel Hymn #6) . Maybe we'll be so glad we've been rehearsing.

Knowing there is purpose in learning to wait changed waiting for me, but it still hasn't made me love it. Neither has looking for the lessons in it. Still not a fan. During my intense waiting curriculum, Father left me with the unmistakable knowledge that a LOT of His time involves waiting, and I'm so truly grateful for that inspired insight. For example... How long DOES it take for an earth to be ready for water? Light? Plants? Animals? How long does it take for the first humans to figure out they really need to eat that fruit? How long does it take to watch the dysfunctional covenant family throw their little brother in a pit, wait for one of them to prefer selling him over killing him, and then watch over him - the good boy - and them, the naughty boys? How long does it take for events to play out until Father has the good boy in a position to save the naughty boys and their families, and reconcile this family? How long does it take to plan and build a Star, and do the math and physics involved, to make sure said Star lands precisely when and where you need it to - on one specific night over one specific region of an entire planet? Seriously - the planning, the math, the physics, how long does that take? How long does it take for any one of Father's prodigal children to work themselves into a pig stye and look around for relief? How long does it take for them to consider Father again as a better option - the only option? How long does it take for his need to become desperate enough for him to come home - forget being an heir - happy to simply beg for a position in the household? Anyone who aches for a spiritually lost loved one knows this, even as she waits for the change of heart: God's ability to influence His children's agency is truly His mightiest work. Father's ability to fashion rescues from pits and prisons and pig styes is - without exception - the greatest of His miracles. And why do the rescues take so long? Why does it feel like it's longer than getting someone out of prison or building a star? One word: agency. Father honors individual agency above all else. Look what it cost Him to give it to us: the life and blood of His perfect Son. Because of that unspeakable cost, He will not force - C.S. Lewis writes that He will only woo. And with the myriad references to a yearning Bridegroom/Husband throughout the Old Testament, that's the word I like best. God woos His children with His goodness, His abundance, His unfailing mercy, His countless invitations to come home - invitations which will never be rescinded. Father woos us to "win our souls with love." (Hymn 175, O God, the Eternal Father) As someone who is waiting for this greatest of miracles, along with almost every single person I know, let me tell you THE Thing that has forever changed what waiting looks like for me. Moroni writes about seeing things in reality which had previously only been seen with an eye of faith (Ether 12:19). Because I've experienced miracles, practicing seeing with this kind of faith, I was inspired one day last year to speak with gratitude as if the miracle - the rescue - was already under way. Because, hello. That Star. WHEN did He start planning and building that Star? No way was my dearest Father in Heaven - my God - Lord and King of the universe - sitting and waiting for the desired change of heart. Of course He has to wait for the agency - for the softened heart to reach out. But idle waiting? No way. Can I imagine He's going to great lengths - every length - to allow life experiences to soften hearts? I've decided I can't even begin to comprehend what Father is up to, behind the scenes - make that - above the scenes - to facilitate the mighty rescues needed in the coming days. And that's when I started doing two things differently in my waiting: First, I started to thank Father - in advance - for the glorious rescue He is preparing. Saying it has taught me that there's power in exercising more than just an eye of faith. I love praising God with a tongue of faith - before the blessing ever comes. And since I love to imagine Father behind the scenes going to great lengths to get one of His children to the right prison or pig stye, or less dramatically - the right job, or the right neighbor - I've found myself imagining Him in a workshop, fashioning a life path that will bring a wayward child to the important crossroad. I'm sure it's because the Dad here at Maple Tree Haven is often busily working on something out of sight in his workshop, admonishing us to STAY OUT because the surprise isn't finished yet. Suddenly, the waiting takes on a feel of happy anticipation - what COULD He be doing down there? What will it look like? Then I like to imagine the look of pure - holy - delight in His face when the surprise comes - when the rescue happens - when the prodigal returns home. In the meantime, maybe we who "wait upon the Lord" (Isaiah 40:31) can wait a little more like a wait staff in a fine restaurant - asking our ever busy, working Father - "What can I do for You? Whom can I love and serve, for You? Since I'm asking for circumstances that will tip the scale for my prodigal, can I be the one to tip the scale for somebody else?" And that's the second thing that's changed waiting for me; it's less futile now. It's far more joyful, like waiting for Christmas to see what is being built in Father's incredibly busy workshop. And it's far more productive, because I'll tell you what - if you're willing to be God's little helper in the gathering - He has got stuff for you to do. There are scales to be tipped, and helping God tip scales in His favor is a completely delightful enterprise. With so many needing to be gathered, there's simply no time to wait idly. God's not waiting; neither should we.

When I was a growing up, and as a young adult, I would occasionally meet a person who claimed he didn't believe in God. It didn't happen often, and because I lived such a sheltered life, while I didn't care much one way or the other, I felt bad because I grew up calling God Heavenly Father, and who wouldn't want an all-knowing Father looking out for them? Since we obviously didn't share beliefs, faith wouldn't end up on the short list of things to discuss; we picked up the shattered pieces of our disillusioned lives, and somehow found a way to move past the breach of this major schism in our world views. Of course, that was before social media. Back then, my impression of an unbeliever - agnostic or atheist - was that they didn't really care all that much that I believed - much the same way I didn't care that they didn't. They were no more invested in convincing me that I was disillusioned in my belief system than I was in convincing them that they were. In fact, if you'd asked me back then what my impression of an atheist was, I would have conjured in my mind a person who - at worst - had feelings of condescension towards me - dweeb believer they imagined me to be. Or best of all - maybe they didn't waste the brain power thinking about me at all, as it should be. Those who thought condescendingly, when confronted with my belief in a God and Creator, I imagined their attitude would have been communicated - not necessarily in words - along these lines: "Isn't that cute? YOU GUYS are adoooorable - you think prayer reaches someone else - and that someone else hears you? That is SO. SWEET. And hey. If it gives you comfort in a weird world, more power to ya!" Maybe followed by a little pat on the hand. I don't know anyone like that anymore. They're probably still out there, and kudos to them for not being sucked into the vortex of anger that generally surrounds this conversation anymore. But to call this conversation a vortex of anger might be dialing back what I've seen at large in the last 10 or so years. Those happy atheists of yesteryear? They feel nearly extinct in my world. Now, all I see - or hear - are the ones who want you to SHUT UP about your beliefs because THEY don’t believe it. Almost like a little kid who puts his fingers in his ears and shouts, “LA LA LA LA LA” to drown you out. For ages, believers and unbelievers have managed to live side by side and help each other, care about each other, be friends with each other. But it's almost like the schism in beliefs became a literal schism in the earth itself, leaving one of us on one side of the widening gap, and the other one of us on the other side, the schism growing into an impassable canyon. In 2007, David Kupelian wrote: "I conducted a little thought experiment a while back, while looking out over the Pacific from the Oregon coast. Drinking in the vast expanse of the ocean, the pounding surf, the seagulls, the salt air - ultimate serenity and ultimate power all in one timeless moment - I asked myself: How can one experience all this magnificence without believing in a Creator? "So I tried, just as an experiment mind you, to conceptualize the existence of the fantastic creation I was beholding, yet without a Creator. I consciously tried to adopt an atheistic worldview, even for just a minute, to see what it was like. "What I got was a headache, a psychic shock, a momentary taste of another realm - an empty, prideful, appalling dimension of hell-on-earth, masquerading as enlightenment and freedom. [emphasis added] "That's why the conflict between theism and atheism is not just a philosophical topic for polite debate over tea. It's a spiritual war of the worlds. That high anxiety I felt momentarily, as I tasted the 'other dimension' that animates those who reject the very idea of God, was minor and passing. But I'm quite sure hard-core atheists feel agony when the opposite happens to them - that is, when they chance to experience a fleeting moment of realization that God exists, and that they are accountable ultimately to Him. "This would account for the near-explosive emotion that always seems to surround this 'objective, scientific' subject. Underneath all the scientific pretension, it's all about man being master of his own destiny, about freedom from accountability to God, about being released from Judeo-Christian sexual morality, about making up your own rules, about sustaining the life of pride and individual will. "In a very real sense, it's about being your own god." David Kupelian, "How Atheism is Being Sold to America," October 11, 2007 ( https://nicholicious.wordpress.com/2007/10/11/how-atheism-is-being-sold-to-america/ ) Which brings me to a new thought I've had recently about happy or unhappy atheists. I believe the happy atheists are the ones who still have a fairly neutral opinion, if not condescending, towards believers. But unhappy atheists? I've decided maybe what they really are is dishonest atheists. Kupelian sort of nailed the description of the angst certain unbelievers surely live in: what if there really is a God, and what if I really must face Him one day to account for my life? That's troubling enough information for believers! - sans Jesus, that is. But what if you don't believe that there really is a Creator, and that Someone was sent to intercede for you, be your advocate at that judgment bar, have your back, and give His back to the smiters for you, because you chose to give your heart to Him? If Kupelian is right, such people live in the worst sort of cognitive dissonance: I don't want there to be a higher power in the universe, because I like being my higher power, and doing exactly what I want and living my life as I please. But what if...? As Kupelian said, what if his little thought experiment leaves atheists a little less than happy, and gives them something a little more than a headache upon contemplating a universe with authority and consequences? No wonder they're ornery. If unhappy - or somewhat dishonest atheists are even a little nervous there really might be a God, then even the slightest mention of His existence might send them over the edge with an anxiety they might not even be willing or able to admit they're experiencing. The biggest reason I feel badly that anyone lives with this kind of suppressed terror isn't simply because that's no way to live, but because - at the risk of expressing an irreverence I absolutely do not feel - I think God is truly the coolest Person I know. I cannot get over how God does things. He does art projects every single day - sunrise and sunset, tides, etc. Then there are thunderstorms, and dew, and water in general. And there's music - explain that one without a Supreme Intelligence, please. And babies. Don't even get me started with the babies. God's love for us is RIDICULOUS. If you read the Old Testament, listen for the voice of a spurned husband pleading for His unfaithful bride; you will hear a voice of love and devotion that will absolutely melt you. He. Wants. Us. And not only does He want us, He wants US to want Him as much as He wants us. He wants a faithful partner in this relationship. And the history of the Bible teaches that He is willing to wait for millennia in order to give His children as long as they need to learn, and practice, and grow into the marriage. "For all this his anger is not turned away, but his hand is stretched out still." (Isaiah 5:25) I like to imagine unbelievers - happy and unhappy alike, honest or slightly dishonest in their hopeful denial of God's existence - having the inevitable moment of discovery that He is real. I get excited to consider them realizing He has walked beside them every day of their lives, protected them, given them brilliant ideas, provided them more strength than their native strength in difficult seasons, and almost like a wallflower at a junior high school dance, waited patiently for His beloved child to notice Him, pick Him, stay with Him. Because He is God, every single unbeliever's story of discovery is going to be epic - truly, one for the books. For THE book - the Book of Life. Every story is HIS story - the HIStory of God in each life He created. Then all the thing that looked like happiness will become true joy - the real thing that never goes away, because its source is eternal: our Creator, God, and Papi.

True story 1: Many years ago, a friend was telling me about something he/she had observed in his/her in-law's marriage that had been less than ideal. Translation: this was a normal marriage. Clutch your pearls now, Lucille. Yes - we were talking about a HUMAN marriage in a FALLEN world. The weakness wasn't something egregious like abuse, but it was definitely unrighteous dominion - the garden-variety kind that we often fail to recognize AS unrighteous dominion - the passive aggressive manipulation many of us resort to when we feel a loss of control with another fallen human - too often with those we allegedly love the most. Since at least one of the couple had passed away at this point, I said something along the lines: "Well, hopefully he/she's has learned not to do that anymore, and has repented." I was truly surprised at my friend's reaction to what I thought was a fairly innocuous comment; he/she was scandalized. "Oh I don't think it's something he/she has to REPENT of!" he/she exclaimed. True story 2: Many years ago, a young woman in my neighborhood had a baby out of wedlock. Gratefully, she had chosen to have the baby, even though marrying the father wasn't an option at the time. I remember being so impressed as she moved through the pregnancy. It was apparent that she wanted to make things right with the Lord. As a member of our ward, I saw her attending church regularly, staying close to the bishop, etc. This topic cropped up in a conversation - as these things are wont to do - with another neighbor who didn't attend church anymore. I remember him/her asking how the young mother was doing. I wanted to say something positive and uplifting, and not succumb to the level of gossip - not always easy to do, right? So I said, "She seems to be doing so well - she's repenting and getting on with raising this baby on her own." I was surprised at my neighbor's reaction to the 'R' word, and he/she gently reproved my use of it, "Oh - don't you think that's a bit harsh?" So today we need to talk about this insane idea that repentance is a bad thing and not to be discussed in polite company. Or at least, that repentance is a good thing, for bad people. So can we just start with this and get it out of the way? WE'RE ALL BAD PEOPLE. "Let me explain. No. There is too much. Let me sum up." (Princess Bride) When Paul says: "All have sinned, and come short of the glory of God" (Romans 3:23) - he means that literally. God's glory has been lost to all of us mortals because of the Fall. Going into that highest eternal level of glory in our current state of misalignment would feel like coming in from working in your yard all day on Saturday, and immediately showing up at a black-tie event. Only worse. It would actually, physically, kill us. God's glory is so glorious, that without Jesus Christ, we are irretrievably lost. Goners. ALL OF US. Even people who are trying to be good are - in this sense - bad people. Because of - say it with me - the Fall. Russell M. Nelson taught this in the April 2019 General Conference: "Too many people consider repentance as punishment - something to be avoided except in the most serious circumstances. But this feeling of being penalized is engendered by Satan. He tries to block us from looking to Jesus Christ, who stands with open arms, hoping and willing to heal, forgive, cleanse, strengthen, purify , and sanctify us. "The word for repentance in the Greek New Testament is metanoeo . The prefix meta- means 'change.' The suffix -noeo is related to Greek words that mean 'mind,' 'knowledge,' 'spirit,' and 'breath.' He goes on to say this - which maybe should be cross-stitched on our foreheads: "Repentance is not an event; it is a process. ( https://www.churchofjesuschrist.org/study/general-conference/2019/04/36nelson?lang=eng ) I'm not sure where we got this notion that repentance is not to be discussed in polite company, that surely you don't need to repent, or me , and certainly an imperious in-law doesn't need to repent, and certainly a young girl who made a baby without benefit of being married doesn't need to repent! Surely we don't think repentance isn't for good people - but only for bad people! It's like we think we need to live in such a way that every minute of our lives is worthy of an article in a church magazine. We've somehow managed to create a counter-culture where we don't discuss repentance - ours or anyone else's - in anything other than hushed undertones of scandal. I remember hearing a church speaker once laughingly wonder what his neighbors would do if we said to them at church one Sunday, "Good morning, Brother So-and-So - how is your repentance coming along?" And then he asked why - when repentance is the priceless gift that it is. So when my neighbor wondered if I was being harsh - rather than loving - at noting an unwed mother was busy repenting - don't even ask me how I managed to reply counter to that counter-culture. I wonder if maybe the Holy Ghost took charge of my mouth for a little minute. I don't remember my exact words, but pretty close: "Oh, I don't think it's harsh to say she's repenting - I'm watching her turn into a person who wouldn't even dream of making a baby without being married first!" And that is when my new favorite definition of repentance was born that until that moment, I didn’t know that I knew: "Repentance is the process you go through to turn into the person who wouldn't dream of doing the thing that you did." (Book of Laureen) Which is captured in the Hebrew definition of repentance: "teshuvah" literally means "return" and signifies turning back to God after straying. This is what turning around looks like. Fallen from glory as each and every one of us are, this is the process we go through to transform our attitudes and desires and realign them with the glory we came from, so we can be restored to that glory without feeling like we're in our yard clothes, or also dying. I invite all gentle readers to consider joining me in my campaign of making repentance fashionable - nay, joyful - again. No more hushed tones, no more shame attached. If Jesus suffered the cross because of the joy of our repentance set before Him (Hebrews 12:2), then we can be joyful as we talk about our chance to participate in it. Repentance isn't a gift begrudgingly offered as a last resort for nearly lost causes. It's been joyfully offered at great cost to allow any and all comers through the door He opened with His atoning sacrifice. If we want it. Let's get polite people everywhere buzzing with happy anticipation because of it.