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I need to tell you about my mama. She grew up in Murray, Utah. Her mother was pioneer stock - my 3rd great grandfather is atop the This is the Place Monument. Her father was born here after his mother and her parents immigrated from Sweden. Grandpa worked at the Murray smelter until it closed, and then at a paint store. Grandma kept a clean and tidy house, stating often that "soap was cheap." Mom loved music, and loved it when the family had the radio on in the evenings. It used to sadden her that her dad was able to turn the radio off in the middle of any piece of music when it was time for bed - slightly scandalized that he could interrupt such a heavenly flow of sound. There was no money for a piano, but she made one out of a cardboard box, fighting to cut through the cardboard on the "keys" she had drawn for a keyboard so the cardboard would somewhat reluctantly move up and down to her touch. The first thing Mom bought as an adult with a job was a piano. She made modest payments she could afford until it was all hers. That's the piano I first learned to play on. When my mother started to hear me trying to plunk out any melody I could hear - from Primary songs to movie themes - she started to get out the elementary reading books she had used to try to learn to play. I was temporarily overjoyed to start piano lessons, because as abby-normal as I was in soooo many things as a kid - in that thing - I was terribly normal. I loved to play the piano, but practice? You're kidding, right? This is actually the core of the book I'm striving to finish - the metaphor of personal practice in our lives and the individual tutoring we receive from God, but I merely digress with that brief interruption for a moment of shameless self-promotion. My mother was so sly about enticing me with new piano books. After movies like The Music Man, My Fair Lady, Mary Poppins, and The Sound of Music, little simplified piano books from the movies would just appear on the piano. Clever bird. Rather than insist I help with dinner dishes, Mom more often than not called out requests for various pieces while she did the dishes. Not that I never had those chores, but she often asked me to play specific songs while she worked, and I was only too happy to "get out of work." Clever bird. If you'd told my kid Self that I would make a 40+ year career out of teaching piano, there's an excellent chance I would have rebelled on the spot and never touched the piano again. I'm pretty sure this thought makes Heavenly Father smile quite big. My mother's tenacity at keeping me at piano study is a testament to her great love of music - and her ardent desire to give me something she so desperately wanted for herself. And my dad was her willing accomplice. A typical piano dropout who chose sports over music, he was the cliche of an adult who rued that he couldn't see the value of what his mother - a gifted pianist herself - was trying to give him. Well. I didn't see the value of what they were trying to give me, either. But tonight, as I got ready to come upstairs and go to bed, I realized I hadn't played the piano for several days. It suddenly felt a little urgent to play for a few minutes, because most of the times I've played the piano in the last 2 years, that's when I feel my parents come around the very most. I played several of my favorite pieces that still sound semi-respectable without practice: Mendelssohn's Venetian Gondola Song; Bach's Siciliano, Debussy's Reverie and Clair de Lune, and Ashokan Farewell. It felt like they'd come to listen, as they so often do. Gratitude rushed in like a tidal wave again, as I remembered - again - how I wouldn't have this beauty in my life - respite from chaos - were it not for two beautiful souls who gave me a gift almost against my very will. Thank you both - Mom and Dad - but thank you, especially, Mom - who had to put up with my attitude the most. When I think of the 40-year back pain you endured the last half of your life, I fear it was me that broke your spine of steel. I made deals with both my parents near the end of their lives that in the Millennium, I'll teach them to play the piano. Dad and I promised after several weeks of loving to learn to play right hands, only to discover he had a weakness in his left hand that wouldn't allow him to play hands together. Mom and I promised after she had become blind from macular degeneration - seeing only "men as trees walking" at that point in her life. What a lovely thing that will be - to give them the joy of creating music. The three greatest gifts my parents gave me: Jesus Words - given to me in stories and books Music - the language we use when we pray without words I'm glad I remembered just in the nick of time to give Mama her Mother's Day present this year. It's because of her I had it to give.

It felt important to lay out my fraught experience with motherhood before I offered an opinion about a reel that felt like propaganda in favor of mothers working outside their homes. (https://www.laureensimper.com/post/because-i-came-home) Thanks to the shared mentality from the Tower of Babel/Babylon, we humans tend to compare. A LOT. Women, particularly. I say this to reiterate: if any woman reading this got different revelation than mine - made different choices than mine - no harm, no foul. I'm merely sharing my impressions, based on my road. Kudos to you and your road. When my younger friend still in the trenches sent me a link to ask my opinion, I was shocked to see it was from the Facebook page of one of my church's university pages. It didn't feel neutral to me on this topic, though it either tried or pretended to be. I will never discount a woman and her husband seeking, receiving, and acting on personal revelation. The woman in the reel may very well have received such revelation. I only know that based on my life's experience of the last 46 years - not to mention watching those of countless other women - I've seen an alarming trend to choose working over staying at home. I think the reason I've seen it is because a prophet of God warned me of it 39 years ago in a very profound way. In this reel, I heard a well-meaning young mother speak of building her strengths and talents in her career. She even went so far as to say that building those talents was God-like, and that she wanted her children to see her striving to become like God as she developed those talents in the workplace. The language was so subtle, stating that of course strengths and talents could also be built at home, BUT... Sadly, that BUT cancelled out the first part. This choice has been fraught with controversy for decades now. My mother felt horribly guilty for choosing to go back to work in the late 1960's - so much so, that she wore herself out demanding the standard in our home stay the same. She continued to sew most of my clothes. We rarely ate out - partly just because back then you rarely did, but partly because we still couldn't afford it very often, even with now two incomes. Our house was still spotless, and she continued to CAN every fall. CAN, I tell you. After work. The stigma of working mothers was softening when I made the choice to stay home 20 years later. I constantly second-guessed that choice, but in the end, I couldn't deny that important moment of revelation. And, as I said in Part 1, I knew it would be an act of personal treason if I went back to work. Now here we are, 40 years after that, and to me it feels like the philosophies of men have mingled with scripture so much so that our thinking has been infected by those philosophies far more than we realize. If a church school can publish a piece like this - clearly advocating for working mothers - it speaks volumes to how much closer to the world's thinking we've come as a people who have made covenants - particularly knowing this is the same church whose prophet leader gave the talk that inspired me to leave the work force in 1987. I am not speaking about women who have no choice. I am particularly not speaking to women who are single mothers. And I am absolutely not saying that the Lord will never NOT inspire women to work - double negative intended. I will never second-guess or judge a woman's receiving her own revelation on this point. I simply believe that content like the reel I saw can lead women to make the choice they'd RATHER make, and then feel good about it because it's become so much more mainstream - and because in so many ways it feels easier. Elder Glenn L. Pace gave a talk at BYU in 1986 called "That Elusive Balance" - where he talks about a phrase commonly used in the church that made him cringe: "I've prayed and feel good about it." He asserts that this often signals a spiritual laziness that must be avoided. (https://speeches.byu.edu/talks/glenn-l-pace/elusive-balance/) He teaches important points to consider. Watching the world over the last 46 years of my marriage has brought me to this: I just don't think making the choice to work outside the home takes a woman into the crucible of family and motherhood the same way as staying at home does. There. I said it. I don't write this to pile on to any woman's personal pile of self-imposed purgatory - the lists of faults and failings we all keep handy and at the ready. No need to wait for the accuser to indict us at the judgment bar; we too often indict ourselves with the list we've neatly cataloged in our minds. I write this to give another nearly archaic point of view in a world I did not grow up in. I actually developed more strengths and talents by leaning into a place where there were seemingly no strengths and talents. For me, it would have been mentally and emotionally easier to lean into the strengths and talents of the workplace. And somehow, making that choice would have provided me with the justification for choosing a harder road physically and financially, and a far more dangerous road spiritually. In Part 3, I'll share the lessons I learned from going into that crucible without the insulating buffer of a job outside my home.

art: "Home" by Amber Ellis Eldredge,https://thecoloramber.me/ I will forever be in awe of a loving Father in Heaven who tailors personal curriculum for each of His children. As a former private teacher, the thought exhausts me and fills me with awe. Everyone gets his or her own private lessons, and I once heard someone say Father, in His great wisdom, is able to factor human stupidity into the lessons. Glib though that may be, it underscores that Father is able to turn not just our dimness, but even our outright naughtiness and rebellion into "beauty for ashes" (see Isaiah 61:3). I've taken the time to explain some of my sordid past in order to connect dots to the things I've learned because of my choice to stay home with my children and not return to work. Because the sweet sister in the reel that sparked this whole discussion spoke of the strengths and talents she developed because she went back to work, I need to talk about the strengths and talents I gained by staying home. These contrasts must be discussed for anyone honestly searching for their own individual, custom-made path according to the Lord's will. The contrasts aren't about a right or a wrong way to do life. I've learned that if you choose to do motherhood with a spiritual focus there's a higher and a holier way to do it. Ironically, this road is SO MUCH MESSIER along the way before you get to holy. From choosing, doing, watching, and speaking to other mothers over nearly five decades, I've learned there's a spiritual way and a temporal way to approach this. And there are huge problems with attempting to do a spiritual thing with a temporal focus. You will never do anything harder. Both are hard - make no mistake. But those who did without to stay home can assert - with all the kindness and love we possess: this celestial thing we must do in a temporal world can be done with a spiritual focus. It's a different kind of hard. It'll wreck you. It'll break you. By design. I really need to reiterate with added emphasis: trying to do a spiritual thing with a temporal focus is THE. HARDEST. I could not be sorrier that that will ever feel like judgment. You must believe me: it isn't. It's simply a reality that can't be warm-fuzzied away. We are practicing celestial living here in a telestial sphere - practicing it in the far less than ideal circumstances of opposition and resistance. That resistance is necessary, just like it is in weight resistance training, because those are the very circumstances that train and condition us to learn to love parenting. Even as we hate it. On my road, I was invited to make a legitimately painful sacrifice to be obedient to prophetic counsel. I often hated it. There was often very little joy involved. I'm pretty sure I lost much of myself along the way. And I still firmly maintain: there was no other way for me to learn what I learned. I've learned that it was worth it. I've learned it CAN be done if you're willing to do without what most view as essentials nowadays. We had newspaper at our windows in our new homes longer than everyone else in the neighborhood. We drove cars longer. I've dressed like a beggar most of my life. We didn't take vacations. I told myself my sacrifice was going to make my children's faith stronger, and I write this currently as the mother of two prodigals, learning their private lessons somewhere else. So, what was the sacrifice for? It was for me. In choosing this lifestyle: the lack in it, the difficulty of it because of my own weaknesses, the depression, the loss of identity - all of it - hollowed out a place in my broken heart. It's hollowed out and feeling quite empty without the promised fulness right now. But it's been hollowed out to hallow it. As empty and grief-stricken as it still so often is, this side of glory, it is bigger and has a greater capacity for the fulness that is coming. It's been promised in the covenant, and I trust the Maker and Keeper of the Covenant - the Promiser. And, He's the one who makes up the difference for my imperfect keeping of the covenant if I keep trying. I became someone I would never have become if I'd stayed in the swirling current of the world. It was vitally important to my children, lost as they currently are, for me to have stepped out of the current of the culture river that moves with the speed of rapids. It matters in a family to have one parent moving in more still waters - I DIDN'T STAY STILL! - I ONLY SAID MORE STILL! As chaotic as those baby years are, and the toddler years, the school years, the teenage years - as chaotic as all of it is - there is something centering and grounding for a family to have one parent at home who isn't moving in that current the same way. This is a different kind of stillness which can't be replicated any other way. Who did I become? A daughter of God who knows how to take hurts and questions to her Father and have frank conversations with Him. I became a more earnest student as I searched for answers. Any "strengths" I've developed in homemaking have come from decades of pee-poor practice. I wish I could have given a more orderly home to my little children, but if C.S. Lewis is right, and heaven and hell are both, indeed, retroactive, that means I'm becoming the mother they would have had all along (see The Great Divorce). I've wryly quipped that if I had continued working, I'd weigh a good 50 pounds more than this, be a strident activist liberal, almost certainly be divorced and very possibly a far less committed member of the church - if I were still a member. But hey. That's just what MY Ghost of Christmases Yet to Come showed ME. This choice was part of my tailor-made curriculum, and Father has used it well to teach me what I needed to learn to steady my walk back home, and secure that I really wanted to walk it. I'm so grateful that 29-year-old-girl - 40 years ago - with her finger SO far up her nose - put her dream career on the altar of her God and tearfully told Him - "You can have it. I want what You want more than what I want." And then as clumsily as it could possibly be done, spent the next 40 years trying to live like she meant it. Because now she does. Along the way, she had an epiphany similar to Robin Williams being bonked in the head by a baseball as Peter Pan in Hook, a flood of memories rushing in to remind him of who he really was, and that becoming a father was the reason he had decided to leave Neverland. It turns out, I've learned that while I thought I was born to teach, what I was really born to do is be a mother. And I learned it the very best way I could learn it - by coming home.

Warning: this is long and it's only part 1 of 3, but I don't know how to tell this short. I've needed to write about my journey through the workplace and back home for quite a while now. A dear friend who is a young mother on the front lines with three littles sent me a prop reel a few weeks ago, wondering what I thought of it. I say "prop reel" because it had the feel of advocation for a specific life path - that of a working mother. Rhetoric was specific and targeted. It got me thinking about my choice to stay home rather than stay in the work force, and what brought that about. Because these choices are only mine, based on revelation given only to me (private lesson), there's a danger this will be seen as judgmental if anyone reading this has received different personal revelation and made different choices. I could NOT be sorrier about that. I assure you: there is zero judgment in these observations which are born from my experiences and choices. That said - part 1 is the background to the choice: I never planned to do anything besides teach school. As a little kid, I absolutely loved everything about school. I was like a less likable Hermione Granger; it was ridiculous. I grew up hearing often from my dad - a school teacher - what a great job teaching was for a woman. You must forgive this sentiment from a different generation, bless him. He longed for my mom to go back to school and get a teaching degree so there could be two teachers' salaries in our home. And while my mother could've run a Fortune 500 company, she was no teacher, and had no desire to do that. As we kids got old enough to all be in school, she worked as a secretary at the high school to ease the financial burden of a little family growing up on one teacher's salary. My dad had a lawn business in the summer for many years to afford the luxury of being a basketball coach; I have this notion he made more money doing that than teaching. So while there was definitely some conditioning going on for me to become a teacher - looking back - I can't deny that I was born to teach. Some kids played hospital; I played school. As young as my toddler years, my parents punished my disobedience by taking away my books. This was the freakish child I was. I got a degree in English and reading secondary education and taught in a junior high school for five years before my first child was born - a waiting period that is a whole other private lesson for another day. I had every intention of going back to teaching. She was born in June of 1985, and I was given a year's unpaid LOA from Jordan School District. A year later, when I tried to re-enter the district, I requested a part-time position. The conditions of the LOA meant the district was under no obligation to re-hire me unless I came back to a similar position - full-time. That second school year began with me still at home and left me restless and ambivalent. During that second school year, in February 1987, President Ezra Taft Benson gave one of the talks that began his figurative stoning: "To the Mothers in Zion." (https://www.churchofjesuschrist.org/study/manual/eternal-marriage-student-manual/womens-divine-roles-and-responsibilities/to-the-mothers-in-zion-institute?lang=eng) It was broadcast as a Sunday evening fireside, and for some reason, Dale and I didn't attend. The next day, Dale came home from work a little shell shocked. "WHAT did President Benson say last night?? You should've heard the women at work today!" he said. Every woman there was MAD. Called President Benson an out-of-touch old man with no idea what it took to pay for a family these days. Dale and I looked in wonder at each other, and waited with great anticipation for the far less-than-instantly-available text of the talk. No technology to make it quickly available; we waited for weeks. When we finally got a hold of the talk and read it, I had the same powerful spiritual witness I've had when I've read the Book of Mormon. I knew by the power of the Holy Ghost that this talk was a "thus sayeth the Lord" talk. I put the career I had planned for my entire life on the altar that day and never looked back. Well. Almost. Looking back, it was the tiniest of widow's mites. It made the widow's mite of the Old Testament look like a Jon Huntsman donation. Talk about meager. But I witness: I laid it somewhat reluctantly on the altar with my whole heart, and proceeded to try - over the next 22 years - to devote my life to something I truly, truly reeked at. I nearly lost my entire identity making this choice. I cannot overstate how horrible I was at homemaking and mothering. I remember wandering through grocery stores when I went alone, bewildered at what my life meant, and wondered what it was supposed to be. I suffered from depression for much of it. Now, you might say - perhaps I wouldn't have been depressed if I'd just gone back to teaching - the job I felt more suited for - the job I felt I was born for. But beneath the difficulty of staying at home, I knew I would've come home exhausted - teaching 200 students for 6 hours is a special kind of adrenaline rush. I knew there would be nothing left for my most important job when I got home. And as an English teacher, I knew that job that sucked the life out of me wouldn't even be finished. So I tried to figure out homemaking and mothering. And while I really, really stunk at it, I can at least tell you this: I loved my children in the most fierce and flawed manner possible. I tried to give them what my parents had given me: I taught them the gospel. I read to them. I gave them Suzuki piano against their very wills. When Dale went back to work after both our children were born, his life resumed the patterns and routines it had always had. Mine vanished irretrievably. I quit teaching when we had a little starter home with a mortgage with a 14% interest rate. There was a "government program" at the time which subsidized some of that until we made more money; my $11,446 first year teaching contract was almost too high to qualify for it. Knowing what we now know about "government programs," we probably wouldn't have done it, but at the time, it seemed like our only shot at getting into a home. I started teaching piano lessons to six - maybe eight kids in the neighborhood, charging $20 a month. Wow. What a huge financial contribution. I sold Discovery Toys for a few years when for some reason, piano teaching had become quite odious. I imagine it had become odious because I started it with the same reluctant ambivalence that took me out of the public schools. Remembering snowy winter nights, lugging toy crates in and out of homes, I have to laugh that I imagined THAT was more attractive and less odious. I taught a music pre-school with no private students for a couple of years - again - ambivalent about wanting to teach, but trying to figure out how to do it from home. I was offered a job at a junior high school in 1997 for maybe 48 hours. I accepted it, had a major panic attack over it, and then called to turn it down. As bewildering as homemaking continued to be - even then - I recognized it as the treason it would have been, and couldn't make myself do it. After that, my piano studio grew to 20-35 students over the next 10-15 years - long past when my children were out of the house. By then, I saw it as the personal ministry it was, and felt almost called to do it. No one was more surprised at this change of heart than I was. These are the choices I made based on a real and profound revelatory moment which I cannot deny. That moment of "thus sayeth the Lord" wasn't a command that removed my agency; it was an invitation to a harder, higher climb. I was invited to place my career on the altar, and I obeyed. Part 2 - my reaction to a prop reel based on my life's experiences this far... Part 3 - the lessons I learned from my choice... If you're still reading, God bless you.

[Originally published March 17, 2017] I was privileged to share this essay with UN delegates at the annual Commission on the Status of Women in March 2017: A societal movement to diminish motherhood has been in the propaganda mills of elite central planners for generations. This is spelled out in new policy being considered at the UN, and calls for "measures to recognize, reduce and redistribute women's [and girls'] disproportionate [burden] of unpaid care of care and domestic work..." Apparently, the propaganda has culminated to this bold moment of honesty, or, the central planners have decided they can wait no longer to win you over with spin. Bottom line: the State wants your children. For over a century, the most forward thinking elitists have prepared for victory on this point: a well-ordered State can raise a child to serve the State better than its parents can. The State is right. If the end of raising a child is to see it serve the collective well, then the incubator of cradle to career oversight is perfect. Devoid of any real nurturing, the State can raise serfs to its service much more efficiently when love, nurturing, and family loyalty are removed. But, if the world still wants thinkers, innovators, and people with a sense of humanity, they still need homes with mothers and fathers. Children still need to see adult human beings - appropriately sacrificing for them - to know that this is the surest way to have a life of purpose and joy. The elitists have made a fatal mistake: they say "burden" like it's a bad thing. C.S. Lewis once said that homemaking was the ultimate career that made all other careers possible. Policy crafters and influencers forget something as they deride and dismiss motherhood and family life: once upon a time, someone took on the burden of raising...them. It's a glorious burden to lose your figure, your sleep, your mind - so you can bring another human being into the world, sit up with her when she has croup, help him get his science fair project finished, and teach him to ride a bicycle. It's a glorious burden to lose all dignity as you leave your house in sweats that have spit up on them because you're out of milk, and wear last year's dress to a piano recital - your stomach in complete knots as if you were the one performing. It's a glorious burden to read a seventh bed-time story to your children, the words slurring into near-drunken incoherence, as you are the only one who gets sleepy in this night-time ritual nearly as sacred as the family prayer. It's a glorious burden to be given a necklace made of macaroni, a sloppy kiss that smears spaghetti sauce on your cheek, and a tiny wad of a love note that says, "I love you, Mom - you are the BIST!" It's a glorious burden to wander, sleepless, through a darkened house, stopping at the beds of each of your sleeping children, pouring out wept prayers of gratitude and pleading that God will watch over them when you can't. Here is what the elitists don't know, or have forgotten, so far removed from such realities as humanity can be: the very thing that makes motherhood glorious is the fact that it is a burden - a back-breaking, mind-wracking, heart-stretching, soul-forging burden. It's a glorious burden because it turns us into better, higher human beings for having taken it on. Every human on this planet started life with a mother and a father. Not everyone takes to parenthood, and tragically, there are still too many children who don't have the love and sanctifying sacrifice of present parents. But through the millennia, there is no alternative way of raising children that can hold a candle to it. To buy the lie that this is a burden that should be "recognized, reduced, and redistributed" is absurd and dangerous. The glorious burden of motherhood is most definitely to be recognized - as the highest thing a woman can choose to do with her life. Motherhood should be recognized, but it should be reverenced - and protected - for the endangered species that the central planners are trying to make of it. In spite of the spin, this is the cold hard reality: in spite of the imperfect execution, there are still more parents, around the globe, that freely choose to take on parenting, because it is a glorious burden worth shouldering. Civilization depends on it. #MomStory #EmpowerMothers #LoveIsNotABurden #CSW61

Thanks to Broadway, there's a Bible story we all know just a little better than most: the story of Joseph, his coat of many colors, and his brothers of many jealousies. It strikes chords of common experience in practically every human with a pulse. The story of Jacob's family rivals any reality TV show of today in drama, and there's something for everyone to relate to and learn from in studying it. Joseph was my favorite Bible story long before the fabulous musical came along; I've loved it since I was a little kid. Without fully understanding why, I knew Joseph was different - even special. Talk about what to do with those lemons life hands you. Of course, this was before I knew he was my grandpa. Even as a little kid, I could recognize exceptional behavior in difficult circumstances, and hoped I was a person capable of that. Joseph's life pre-Egypt was complicated enough; you can't tell me those brothers loved and adored him till Dad gave him a coat. There had to have already been obvious preference shown, just as there was between the wives. And kids would notice something like tension between their mothers. Then Joseph guilelessly shares his dreams - I like to think it was guileless anyway, maybe just my opinion... And then the coat. "But the Lord was with Joseph..." (Genesis 39:21) Warning: I am going to do a LOT of extrapolating now to lay out a theory, based on what I've learned from my own trials. I've handled a few of my trials with the grace of Joseph. No, it's true - the Lord actually confirmed this through the power of the Holy Ghost, so I'm only reporting the facts. That's one end on the scale of how I handle life's afflictions. However, the way I handle most of my trials lands firmly on the other end of that scale and has all the grace of a petulant toddler. Let's start with some absolutes: believers know that God is always good. This is His character. It's completely against His nature as God to ever DO anything unkind, cruel, or evil. Of course, this is a sticking point with non-believers who insist there must not be a God because the world is so full of unkindness, cruelty and evil. They fail to acknowledge these are products of a fallen world, and the individual agency of humans. But - if you start from a premise that the SOURCE of these things is never God - and that He CAN'T by His very nature AS God - DO anything evil - that means the source of the evil will never be Him. Believers know that God loves all His children - unequivocally, eternally, and equally. Our value to Him is completely independent of our behavior. THANK. HEAVENS. So what does THAT mean - "the Lord was with Joseph" ?? If He is always with His children and loves us all the same - what is up with all these different outcomes? SOME people serve as slaves and never get put in charge of the household - God's with THEM, isn't He? Others go to prison for years and rot there - unjustly - and God is with them as well? What gives? This is the part where I extrapolate. If you ask a person who has gone through something extreme: waiting for days to be rescued from the bottom of a well, being forced into slavery - because there's more slavery today than ever before in history - being unjustly accused of something you didn't do and not being believed, or languishing years in prison even though you're innocent - believers will tell you God was with you the whole time. Yet sometimes, in the waiting, it really can feel like you're completely alone. If Jesus Himself can cry from the cross, "Why hast Thou forsaken me?" (Matthew 27:46) , then clearly we're meant to experience the sensation of total abandonment as part of mortality. The meme that perkily suggests: "Remember when it feels like God has abandoned you: the teacher is always silent during the test" is SO not helpful while the suffering continues - and even increases. But if the Lord is with US - as He was with Joseph - OUR job is to be WITH HIM. Be here now. Maintaining a spiritual focus is some of the highest, holiest stuff we practice in this life, and if we start with the premise that He is in fact - with us - than the practice is to find Him - feel Him - tell Him you're not having a great time - ask Him to just be with you and mourn with you. In my worst moments, I found myself going straight to Gethsemane or Calvary in my mind, and asking in wonder, "This is wrecking me - breaking me - and You did worse for all of us. How did you do it? WHY did you do it?" In answering this, I would come back to the unequivocal, eternal, and equal love. He did it because He loves us - for the joy that was set before Him (Hebrews 12:2) knowing His infinite sacrifice was our only way home. THIS is what finally taught me to praising Him for the experience. My own suffering has led me to this conclusion: if I'm willing to be in the moment of suffering with Jesus, the space of suffering is so tiny that you can't help but bump into Him there. He's right there. When the scriptures tell us the Lord was WITH Joseph, that's code for "and He'll be with you, too." Those six words mean Joseph didn't abandon God because of unexpected outcomes and circumstances - so God didn't abandon Him. To be clear: while some humans MAY abandon God in their suffering - allowing it to turn into misery - God will never abandon you. Ever. First premise: it's against His nature to do so. Never-ending trials are calculus problems on our earth test. When I was in my worst, several rescue packs were sent by the power of the Holy Ghost to buoy me up and help me drown out the voice of the destroyer that would demand answers and meaning immediately. I read or listened to these talks repeatedly over months of illness and recovery. They were salve to spiritual wounds and articulated emotions I was experiencing: "Lessons from Liberty Jail," Jeffrey R. Holland, BYU Devotional, September 7, 2008 ( https://speeches.byu.edu/talks/jeffrey-r-holland/lessons-liberty-jail/ ) "Hope Ya Know, We Had a Hard Time," Quentin L. Cook, General Conference, October 2008 ( https://www.churchofjesuschrist.org/study/general-conference/2008/10/hope-ya-know-we-had-a-hard-time?lang=eng ) "One Percent Better," Michael A. Dunn, General Conference, October 2021 ( https://www.churchofjesuschrist.org/study/general-conference/2021/10/54dunn?lang=eng ) As God's beloved children, there is room to go to Him and say "ouch." Repeatedly. Telling Him we're having a hard time is not murmuring. Telling Him we're discouraged that the progress is slow is not whining. More often than delivering us, Jesus strengthens our backs for burdens too heavy to carry, or gives us strength to forgive the unforgivable. Sometimes - all He does is sit with us and mourn with us, because He knows we're having a hard time. He's already had it. Jesus didn't go into that garden and die on the cross - completely alone - to leave you to do it alone. He lived the worst couple of days ever lived by a human - half human that He was - so you don't have to do it alone. The Lord will be with you. It's not in His character to ever leave you.

The world's a little weird right now, don't you think? You've probably noticed; the shift is real. Things are not as they've always been, and changes are coming faster. To me, it kind of reminds me of when you're about to deliver a baby. One minute, you know the baby is coming any day, but everything is still the way it's always been. Then quite suddenly, the baby is coming TODAY. And once that hard labor starts, you are living in an intensity you're pretty sure you're not going to survive... until suddenly the baby comes. Am I the only one who feels like that describes modern life right now - an intensity you're pretty sure you're not going to survive? Somehow, it's starting to feel like the whole planet is yearning for the return of the Savior - even if those who don't worship Him don't recognize the feeling, much less anticipate His return. This might be a stretch, but to me, the Marvel world is a multi-million dollar craze that seems to be expressing the world's craving a savior. I've told friends lately that I feel like the whole world is in a spiritual kind of labor. The intensity of everyone's lives is so extreme - it feels like every single one of us in hard labor - living in the rhythm of breathing, pushing, and resting until the next contraction. Somehow we're all managing to have relationships with each other between contractions. Neal A. Maxwell taught: "God will also 'hasten' His work (D&C 88:73). He will also "shorten' the last days 'for the elect's sake" (Matthew 24:22); hence, there will be a compression of events (see JS- M 1:20). Furthermore, 'all things will be in commotion" (D&C 88:91). (Neal A. Maxwell, "My Servant Joseph," General Conference, April 1992) ( https://www.churchofjesuschrist.org/study/general-conference/1992/04/my-servant- joseph?lang=eng ) I don't know about you, but I feel that compression everywhere. One of the things that makes the relentless intensity so challenging is that it puts most of us - almost chronically - in an emotional fight-or-flight state. Because of this, if I'm not careful, it's too easy to react as an object with no agency. I feel the need to more intentionally practice acting like never before. President Dieter F. Uchtdorf spoke about how to navigate turbulent times in his October 2010 conference address, "Of Things That Matter Most" ( https://www.churchofjesuschrist.org/study/general-conference/2010/10/of-things-that-matter-most?lang=eng ). His counsel is still relevant 15 years later; living at this heightened level of intensity makes it crucial to purge non-essential activities and pay more attention to reducing and eliminating distractions (ironic, as you're most likely reading this on your phone). I've found that when I'm finally left with what matters most, it's what the scriptures call real (see Jacob 4:13 and Alma 32:35). Real is lasting - it's always so - it doesn't change. In a fallen, fickle world, that is deeply comforting to consider - even though real is messy and unpredictable and cannot be controlled. No wonder so many are annoyed by real. Yet - when your life becomes only about real, it becomes more obvious that there is simply no time left for pretense or fake - for counterfeits. And the more you invest in real, and pretense is incrementally left behind, you start to realize there was never time for anything but real all along. Here's the weird part about how the world has shifted: this topic used to be a bit of a DUH. But in this more intense world where AI is filtering algorithms to curate increasing online residence, it feels more important to recognize the difference between real and not real. Not real = counterfeit. In a world prior to the Bridegroom returning, let's just call not real what it really is - counterfeit. Counterfeits are designed with the explicit purpose of looking and feeling like real - with the intent to deceive. Counterfeit connotes something more than something simply not real. It implies by design.  Which only makes sense when you think of a Creator and a destroyer. If you're familiar with scripture, you'll recognize the disparity between real and counterfeit in the building of two kingdoms simultaneously on the planet - God's kingdom and the world's kingdom - which Satan has been noisily attempting to rule and reign over since Adam and Eve exited Eden. Anciently, the building of God's kingdom was so successful at one time it was literally taken up into heaven. Moses chapter 7 in the Pearl of Great Price recounts the conditions which caused this miraculous departure: "And the Lord called his people ZION, because they were of one heart and mind , and dwelt in righteousness; and there was no poor among them ." (Moses 7:18) Incredible timing: shortly thereafter, work began on the construction of the Tower of Babel. I've often wondered if Zion leaving the earth was an impetus for the first centralized project of building the counter kingdom - scripturally referred to as Babylon. Zion and Babylon have been building simultaneously since the world began. They've both been recruiting citizens as well. It's helpful to study the conditions which characterize each kingdom - particularly through the lens of reality. Look at what is being built and how it's being built. Most importantly, study outcomes by contrasting the potential fruit of each. I started this side-by-side list a few years ago to better compare the two kingdoms. I continue to add to it as I consider another aspect of each. This is what I have so far: Zion—REAL Babylon—COUNTERFEIT Eternal Temporal (can’t be sustained indefinitely) Built on faith—hope—charity Built on greed—hostility Change flows UP Change flows DOWN Focuses on individuals & families Focuses on the collective whole Service oriented Oriented on selfishness—BEING served Decisions based on principles Decisions based on emotions/personalities Education is for self-governance & self-reliance Ignorance is preferred for subservience (education is for job training only) Reliance upon God Reliance upon the State Creates abundance and lives in it - fosters cooperation Creates scarcity and lives in it - fosters competition - winners & losers Lives by & honors the law of the harvest Seeks for instant gratification & erasing natural consequences Citizens freely choose to live God's law Citizens must be bribed or threatened into compliance This list has been helpful in two important ways. First: it's helped me recognize patterns in the scriptures - particularly the Book of Mormon. Motives and objectives are more clear; it's easier to recognize effective methods for intended outcomes - whether they were intentional or not. From the city of Enoch and the Tower of Babel to the communities of 4th Nephi and the end days of Mormon and Moroni - the patterns play out predictably. This list has also been important because if those patterns are predictable through the millennia of scriptural records, they are in our day as well. Since human nature doesn't change, the patterns continue to play out, and will until the Savior returns. Somehow, with the intensity of living we're facing, knowing this makes it easier to navigate without fear. One kingdom is being built to last - forever. Knowing the other is temporal - temporary - exposes the folly of aligning with it in any way. Suddenly, stripping away anything not real takes on a different urgency. Knowing Babylon is temporary underscores the resounding witness of President Dallin H. Oaks as he simply testified: "This is real. Let us be a part of it." ( https://www.churchofjesuschrist.org/study/general-conference/2025/10/58oaks?lang=eng )

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.