Beginning Again, with Purpose

It looks like this will be my fifth reading of the Book of Mormon since October 2022, when Elder Renlund challenged us to read it with purpose.

 

 In 1 Nephi 1:20, Nephi writes:

“I will show unto you that the tender mercies of the Lord are over all those whom he hath chosen, because of their faith, to make them mighty even unto the power of deliverance.”

 

I can testify that this is true for each one of us. The Lord wants us to return to Him. He wants us to exercise faith so He can show us His love—and make us “mighty.”

 

What does that “mightiness” look like in my life?

 

Over more than fifty years of reading this remarkable book, I have witnessed countless tender mercies. Here are just a few. One of the greatest has been the gift and desire to write music. In one way or another, all my music praises God. It has been an amazing journey.

 

Through faith, I was delivered from a dark abyss that once defined my life and brought instead a light that has grown brighter and brighter through the years. I rarely let a day pass without remembering that gift. In fact, it seems to deepen as I grow older—just as promised: “He that receiveth light, and continueth in God, receiveth more light” (Doctrine and Covenants 50:24).

 

Another tender mercy has been the softening of my heart—especially in helping me see the goodness in Clyde’s heart. The Lord made it clear to me that he was worthy of the blessing I sought in an eternal companion. Before that, I had described him in my journal simply as my “hippy friend,” and definitely not marriage material. I could not have been more wrong.

 

To see my eternal companion as the Lord sees him is a gift I know would not have come without divine help.

 

Yes, the Lord does give us power of deliverance through our faith. It is a beautiful thing—and one worth seeking at any cost.

 

Now, as I begin my fifth reading of the Book of Mormon since that conference invitation, my purpose this year is to go more slowly and to look for connections to the Bible, which I am also committed to reading cover to cover. I look forward to what the Lord will yet reveal.

 

And to my granddaughter—and to any of my wandering posterity who may one day read these words—if you ever wonder whether beginning again matters, know this: the Lord meets us every time we turn toward Him. Start where you are. Open the book. Trust that He will show you His tender mercies too.

Genesis 26: Covenants That Carry Us Forward

As I read Genesis 26, I’m struck by how closely obedience is tied to peace, joy, and progress. Isaac experienced all three. Even when envious enemies stopped his wells, he simply moved forward and dug again. His life wasn’t free of opposition, but it was anchored in covenant.

Isaac’s blessings flowed from the covenant the Lord made with Abraham. That feels personal to me. My patriarchal blessing teaches that many of my own blessings come because of my parents’ faithfulness. There is deep, often unseen power in a covenant marriage. We are blessed—sometimes without realizing it—because of the obedience of those who came before us.

And yet, Isaac was not perfect. Fear led him to deceive, forgetting that God’s protection is always better than anything we can create ourselves. That causes me to look inward. When have I chosen fear instead of trust? I see how my own choices affected my family, and I grieve the burdens my daughter has had to carry because of them.

But Genesis 26 also teaches me this: God can redeem what we break. My daughter is evidence of that. She clings to the Lord. She strives to be obedient. Her life is not easy, but her faith is real, and God is strengthening her. I see His hand in her determination to rise above what she was given.

When Esau’s marriage choices grieved his parents, the lesson is clear and enduring: MARRY WELL! Family choices ripple through generations. Seeking God’s guidance in choosing a companion matters more than we sometimes realize. I share this especially for my granddaughter—and for those who will read this years from now—so you will know that your choices matter, but so does God’s mercy.

Even when we stumble, the Lord can increase the good in our lives if we turn to Him. That is where peace is found. “Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding” (Proverbs 3:5).

This is a truth I have learned for myself—and one I hope my children, grandchildren, and generations yet to come will carry forward. 

Where Is the City of Enoch?

Maybe Enoch isn’t something you’ve ever heard about before. I know I’m really going to enjoy my scripture reading this year. Grandpa and I were reading from Genesis this evening at the same time, and—naturally—lots of questions came up.

To be honest, I don’t want to pontificate on some of the stories found in the beginning of Genesis. There is some pretty awful and difficult-to-understand material there. Some of it is hard to read, and you can’t help but wonder how certain things even made it into our canonized scripture. So, what are we to learn from it? At the very least, we are meant to learn to make better choices than some of the people did in the beginning.

As we talked, the City of Enoch came up, and more questions followed. There isn’t much said about Enoch in the Bible—just one brief and holy line: “Enoch walked with God: and he was not; for God took him.” But in the Pearl of Great Price, in Moses chapters 6 and 7, the story unfolds much more fully.

There we learn that Enoch listened when God called him, even though he felt weak and unprepared. He preached repentance, and the people chose to change. Over time, they became of one heart and one mind. They cared for one another. There were no poor among them—“and the Lord called his people Zion” (Moses 7:18). Their lives became so aligned with heaven that the Lord took their city to Himself. That means they never tasted death—they were translated. Awesome.

What I love most is that Zion wasn’t built in a day, and it wasn’t built by perfect people. It was built by people willing to listen, repent, and love. That gives me hope. Zion can begin quietly—in a heart that chooses kindness, in a home where faith is spoken gently, in a life that walks with God.

My sweet granddaughter, if you ever wonder where Zion is, know this: it begins wherever someone chooses to follow Him. One heart at a time.

Which Way Does Your Tent Face?

In Genesis 13, Abram and Lot had outgrown the land they shared. Their herds were large, and their herdsmen were contending with one another. Abram understood that contention would only lead to trouble. With wisdom and humility, he gave Lot the first choice of land and trusted that the Lord would provide wherever he ended up.

Lot chose the well-watered plains of Sodom and pitched his tent toward the city. We know this doesn’t end well for him. Sodom was a worldly place, and though Lot wasn’t living in the city yet, he was always looking toward it.

I’ve been listening to podcasts that teach we can find Jesus Christ in every story in scripture. Since this story hasn’t fully unfolded yet, I asked myself: what do I see now? Can I pretend I don’t know the ending? Not really. Lot was drawn to what looked easier and more prosperous. Abram trusted God. He knew he would be cared for no matter where he went.

The application to my own life feels clear. When I have made righteous choices and done what the Lord has asked of me, I have always been taken care of. There have been many crossroads in my life, moments when decisions mattered deeply. Again and again, Jesus has been the answer.

What is Heavenly Father teaching me here? Perhaps it’s a reminder that I don’t know the end of my story. But I do know this: when I include the Lord in my decisions and follow the promptings of the Holy Ghost, the path forward is always a tender mercy. Sometimes I don’t see the Lord’s hand until I reach the end of a chapter of my life—but I am confident He is there.

Each day, I see His hand in my life. I feel His love. I recognize His blessings.

 

Christmas Eve - Receiving His Light

As I studied this morning, a simple list of words stood out to me—each one describing Jesus Christ:

• Full of grace.
• Truth.
• The Spirit of truth.
• The Son of God.
• Light.

Together, these words form a powerful picture of who He is and why His presence matters so deeply in our lives.

Doctrine and Covenants 50:24 teaches that “that which is of God is light,” and that as we receive and continue in God, that light “groweth brighter and brighter until the perfect day.” Mormon adds in Moroni 7:16 that the Spirit of Christ is given to every person, that we may know good from evil.

The Spirit of Christ is light, and every one of us is born with it.

That truth causes me to pause and ask: How has this light guided me? How did I first learn to recognize it?

I am grateful to have grown up in a home where Jesus Christ was spoken of freely and His teachings were lived. I see now how rare and precious that gift is. Many people do not grow up with the gospel in their homes, yet they live lives filled with goodness, love, and moral clarity. That goodness is evidence of the Spirit of Christ already working within them—quietly present, waiting to be strengthened by the word of God.

This is why we send our sons and daughters across the world to preach the gospel. They are not bringing light where none exists; they are awakening light that is already there.

If I could have the wish of my heart, it would be that my children and grandchildren who are living in darkness would have the faith to pray for truth—especially truth about Jesus Christ. I believe the Lord has a master plan to bring all of His children back into His presence. Though that work feels overwhelming from a mortal perspective, I trust Him completely.

On this Christmas Eve, my thoughts turn to our family gatherings as we celebrate the birth of our Savior. These moments can feel tender when families are divided in belief. We love one another, yet often walk carefully around the subject of Jesus. That distance can be heartbreaking to a believing mother, but I trust that the Lord knows how—and when—healing will come.

I believe Jesus came to earth as a baby, bringing light into the world like nothing ever seen before. I love Him for His perfect example and for the grace He has shown me, especially during seasons when I wandered. Even now, through daily repentance and His mercy, my light continues to grow brighter as I journey home.
As I look at my family—especially the rising generation—I am reminded that light often grows quietly. It is found in goodness, in honest questions, in tender moments of reflection. I trust that the same Savior who brought light into the world at His birth continues to nurture that light in each of us, patiently and perfectly, until the day it shines fully and without fear.

“Come Near to Me”

This morning I found myself reading Genesis 45:4-5, following the Come, Follow Me suggestions for 2026. The invitation was to look for similarities between Joseph and my Savior, Jesus Christ—the Son of God.

Two verses stopped me.

Verse 4:
“And Joseph said unto his brethren, Come near to me, I pray you. And they came near. And he said, I am Joseph your brother, whom ye sold into Egypt.”

I paused and asked myself a hard question: Did I sell my brother, Jesus?
Yes. I most definitely did.
For a mess of pottage, even.

I said a simple prayer asking Heavenly Father to forgive the mistakes of my youth. I wondered—will I ever read a verse like this without feeling tripped up by it? Then I kept reading.

Verse 5:
“Now therefore be not grieved, nor angry with yourselves, that ye sold me hither…”

There is real power in that verse. It felt as though Heavenly Father knew I needed to hear those words today.

Move on, girl.

God turns everything into good. He did it for Joseph, and He has done it for me. God preserved Joseph’s life—and He preserved mine as well, through His Son, Jesus Christ, whom I once “sold.”

Then came verse 10:
“…and thou shalt be near unto me, thou, and thy children, and thy children’s children…”

My thoughts immediately went to the temple. My posterity will be blessed because of my return. That is a miracle I anxiously await.

Other phrases lingered with me:
Verse 18: “Ye shall eat the fat of the land.”
Verse 20: “…for the good of all the land of Egypt is yours.”

All these things have been restored to me as well. And it is a beautiful experience I hope and pray for—for each of my wandering children and grandchildren.

Joseph’s story is not just about forgiveness.
It is about nearness.
Restoration.
Posterity.

I trust that the same God who turned Joseph’s story into good is still at work—still preserving, still restoring, still gathering. Nearness will come. Blessings will follow. I see them in quiet moments—in tears, in wonder, in longing. God is not finished with them. — with any of us! The invitation still stands: Come near to me. And I believe, in His time, they will.

Mary, Joseph, and the Power of Pondering

As I read again this morning about the birth of Jesus, I was struck not by the noise of angels or the wonder of the miracle—but by the stillness in which it was received.

Mary pondered.
Mary saw an angel.
Mary listened.

When the angel spoke, Mary asked a simple, honest question:
“How shall this be, seeing I know not a man?”

What impresses me most about Mary is not just what she experienced, but how she responded. She pondered. She saw. She listened. And then—she submitted her will to the will of the Lord. Her faith was not loud or dramatic. It was thoughtful, receptive, and trusting.

That leads me to my own questions.

Do I ponder enough to recognize the path the Lord has for me?
Do I listen carefully enough to hear His direction?
Or am I too busy, too hurried, too certain of my own understanding?

Joseph’s experience is quieter still, but just as powerful.

Joseph is described as a just man.
He pondered—he thought deeply.
He listened.
He was visited in his sleep.
And when he awoke, he did as he was bidden.

No recorded questions. No recorded words. Just obedience.

Both Mary and Joseph teach me that revelation often comes to those who are willing to pause, to ponder, and to listen—and then to act. God entrusted the care of His Son not to the loudest or the most prominent, but to two people who knew how to receive heaven quietly and faithfully.

That feels like an invitation.

I think of my granddaughter sitting quietly at the window, gazing at the mountains, tears slipping down her cheeks as she took in their beauty. She wasn’t speaking, explaining, or analyzing—she was simply being still and letting something holy reach her heart. That moment felt very much like Mary pondering, or Joseph listening in the quiet of sleep. Modern discipleship still begins there. In stillness. In noticing. In allowing God to speak to us in ways that don’t require words. If we will slow down enough to ponder, quiet ourselves enough to listen, and trust enough to act, we too can find ourselves walking a path the Lord has lovingly prepared—sometimes with tears, often without full understanding, but always with faith.

The Old Testament — And It Begins!

This year, as I begin reading the Old Testament, I’m doing it with someone very special in mind—my granddaughter. I’m inviting her to walk this road with me, even if it’s quietly and from a distance. Maybe if I put it in writing, I’ll actually accomplish my goal to read the Old Testament from cover to cover.

Last night, as she sat looking out our window at the mountains, tears slipped down her cheeks. When I asked what she was feeling, she said simply, “They’re so beautiful.” A few minutes later, we were talking about the purpose of life—where we came from, why we’re here, and where we’re going. It was a tender conversation that ended too quickly, but it stayed with me.

This morning I listened to Genesis chapters 1–3, and it felt like a continuation of that discussion. I love these chapters because they are familiar to me from my time spent in the temple. 

One detail stood out to me today. Adam appears to have spent quite some time alone in the Garden of Eden before Eve was created. I come to that conclusion because he named the animals first. It doesn’t change anything for me, but it made me pause and think.

Because I like to explore the “related content” in the Gospel Library app, my pace will be slower this year—and that’s okay. The Church has provided such rich resources (beautiful video content) for those moments when reading alone feels overwhelming.

I’ve decided my blog this year will reflect what I’m learning in the Old Testament and what I hope my granddaughter will come to know. Whether she follows along or not matters less to me than this: that she knows who she is and how deeply she is loved.

What I hope she notices today

That this world was created on purpose.
That beauty—like mountains—come from a loving Creator.
That she belongs here.
And that everything I’m sharing comes from my love for her.

Day one feels like a very good beginning. It's always good to start at the start.

Moroni 10, Part 2 — An Ending Filled With Hope

I want to turn to Moroni’s final words and the hope he leaves with us. After all the darkness, destruction, and sorrow recorded in the Book of Mormon, it does not end in despair. It ends with an invitation. It ends with hope.

Moroni doesn’t casually suggest that we read these things—he exhorts us to do it. That word matters to me. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve read the Book of Mormon, but there have been a few times I read it with real intent. Those times stand out. They reminded me just how merciful Heavenly Father has been with me. And I know He will be merciful to all His children who turn to Him.

Moroni tells us exactly how to approach this sacred record:

·       A sincere heart

·       Real intent

·       Faith in Christ

If we do that, he promises the truth will be made manifest to us—by the power of the Holy Ghost.

I’ve mentioned before a miraculous manifestation I experienced. To be brief, it wasn’t until I stood in Fast and Testimony meeting, after a sincere encounter with Heavenly Father, that I felt the Holy Ghost come upon me with such power it would be impossible to deny. It rocked my world. I felt a warmth in my bosom that filled my entire being. I would love to feel that again—but it really isn’t needful. Remembering is enough. This is the place I return to when I feel weak. I know.And I am deeply grateful that this experience has helped keep me strong in my discipleship.

I love verse six: If it is good, it comes from Christ. What a beautiful and grounding truth.

Then Moroni gives us a list—and I love a good list. He reminds us that all good things come from the same God:

·       The word of knowledge

·       Faith

·       The gift of healing

·       The working of miracles

·       Prophecy

·       Beholding angels

·       Tongues

·       The interpretation of languages

This list and similar ones are given throughout the scriptures. Did you catch that these gifts can be given according to our will. And it all begins with a testimony of the Book of Mormon. Why do you suppose that is?

Because the Book of Mormon clearly teaches us that we have a Heavenly Father and His Son, Jesus Christ—and that the Holy Ghost is real. Just read the first eighteen verses of this chapter. A testimony of the Godhead is essential if we are going to move forward in righteousness.

So how do we gain that testimony?
We must want it.

This is where my heart aches for my children and grandchildren. When one grandson told me he’s “not the reading kind of guy,” I wanted to cry. I don’t know how else a testimony grows without sincere engagement with the word of God.

And yet, I do know this: Heavenly Father has a plan for each of us. None of us are here by chance. We chose to come here. We trusted Jesus Christ to help us return. There is a path for every one of God’s children. The sooner we turn to God and humbly follow the Spirit, the sooner we will find ourselves on that path leading home.

It comforts me to know that Heavenly Father is the same yesterday, today, and forever.

Faith leads to hope—hope that one day my family will be united in discipleship and in love for our Savior and Redeemer. And once we have faith and hope, charity naturally follows. Charity—the pure love of Christ—opens our eyes. It helps us see that we have something to offer. It moves us to lighten another’s burden, even in the smallest ways: unloading groceries, returning a cart, offering help without being asked. Charity tastes good. Once we start, we want to keep going.

Verse 23 is a truth I could shout from the highest mountain. I have learned to trust Christ that whatever I turn over to Him, He will make it work—healing, church callings, writing music, motherhood, grandmotherhood… even SCUBA diving.

I will never forget my fear of SCUBA diving. I had to go to my “happy place”—music—to fully surrender that fear. I prayed hard and sang hymns as I experienced the beauty God created beneath the sea. It became a beautiful and empowering experience once I turned it over to Him.

The Book of Mormon is true. I have no doubt. I pray with all my heart that my children and grandchildren will come to know this truth for themselves. There is a unique Spirit that accompanies this book. That was made known to me over 48 years ago, when I had barely begun reading it.

I have put Moroni’s challenge to the test many times. The first time, I hadn’t even asked yet. I had simply begun reading. The very next day, I felt overwhelming happiness—and couldn’t explain it. My life was dark at the time, and yet suddenly there was light. It was soon made known to me that it was the Spirit. The first ray of light I had seen in years.

And it all began with a book… and an invitation to read with real intent.

Moroni 9, Part One: A Pathetic and Tragic Ending

This morning I read Moroni 9, and could not restrain myself from reading to the end of the Book of Mormon.

Right out of the chute—in verse 1—I found myself wondering about something totally unimportant, yet oddly human: How did Moroni receive this last epistle from his father? With all the fighting and depravity swirling around them, someone took a risk to find Moroni. And Moroni took a risk to reveal himself. Even in utter collapse, there were still messengers.

Moroni 9 recounts the horrific condition of the people as a whole—both Nephites and Lamanites. It’s around 401 A.D., and it feels as though they have utterly lost the battle against Satan. Anger fuels; death is everywhere. Mormon and his son Moroni seem to be the only righteous souls left standing amid the ruins.

Then, in verse 6, Mormon tells his son to “labor diligently.”

That phrase stopped me. Labor diligently? In this mess? What is even left to do?

I went back and read comments I had written in 2016 and again in 2023, and suddenly Mormon’s words felt painfully relevant. This encouragement applies just as much to us today. It is a call to repentance—and a call to never give up. Never surrender.

So how does that apply to my labor?

It means I never give up on my children. I never give up on me! I keep loving. I keep doing my best to bring them back onto the covenant path. If we don’t do this, we come under condemnation. We have a labor to perform to our dying day. It is to bring our brothers and sisters into the gospel fold and back home to our Father in Heaven.

Mormon defines the labor clearly: to conquer the enemy of all righteousness and to rest our souls in the kingdom of God.

The war Mormon describes is so depraved it is difficult to read. I have read many Holocaust accounts, and as horrific as those conditions were, I have never read of torture quite like what is described beginning in verse 10. By verse 18, Mormon cries out, “O the depravity of my people!”

It isn’t a stretch to lay the moral decay of our own day alongside this account.

Here are the words Mormon uses to describe his people:

• Depravity
• Cruel
• Hard-hearted
• Abomination
• Perversion
• Brutal
• Without order
• Merciless
• Past feeling
• Wicked

Mormon tells Moroni that if they perish, it will be like the Jaredites. We know that civilization became extinct, and Mormon can see that same end coming for his people. That warning feels uncomfortably applicable to our own day. In Moroni 10:5 we are told that the wicked punish the wicked.

After all of this, I couldn’t stop—I had to read Moroni 10.

Moroni exhorts me to ask God, the Eternal Father, in the name of Christ, if these things—the Book of Mormon—are true. Then he lists three requirements:

• A sincere heart
• Real intent
• Faith in Christ

If I bring those three things, God will manifest the truth by the power of the Holy Ghost.

Today, as I read this, I was filled with gratitude. Gratitude for my Savior. Gratitude for Mormon and Moroni. Gratitude for Joseph Smith. All of them sacrificed everything so that I could hold this book in my hands and read it sincerely, with real intent, and with faith in Christ—trusting that I will receive an answer. I will leave this thought to tomorrow post – The Invitation.

Moroni 9 leaves me sobered and unsettled—and I think that is exactly the point. This chapter is not meant to be skimmed or softened. It is a warning written in blood, grief, and unbearable loss. It shows what happens when an entire people harden their hearts, abandon God, and let anger and hatred rule unchecked.

And yet, even here—at the very end—there is still a father writing to a son. There is still counsel to labor diligently. There is still faith in Christ, even when civilization itself is collapsing.

This is the tragic, pathetic situation of the people of Nephi. Not pathetic in the sense of weakness, but in the sense of sorrow—because it did not have to end this way.

Tomorrow, in Part Two, I want to turn to Moroni’s final words and the hope he leaves with us. Because even after all this darkness, the Book of Mormon does not end in despair. It ends with an invitation.

 

Moroni Chapter 8 - Infant Baptism

Moroni 8:8—Interesting that this verse matches the chapter number—lays out pure doctrine straight from the Savior as it pertains to children: they are not capable of sinning. So why would they need baptism? Their innocence, I believe, is exactly what draws us to little children. There is something holy about them—something that reminds us of heaven.

Mormon does not soften his language. He calls the baptism of little children a mockery. That word stopped me. Webster’s Dictionary defines mockery as an absurd misrepresentation or a ludicrously futile action. That definition captures exactly what Mormon is teaching his son, Moroni. Baptizing children who are incapable of sin is not just unnecessary—it completely misunderstands the doctrine of Christ.

Mormon continues with striking clarity, saying that those who baptize little children are “in the gall of bitterness and in the bonds of iniquity.” Children are without faith, hope, or charity—not because they lack goodness, but because they are not yet accountable. His warning is sobering: those who teach this false doctrine place themselves in spiritual danger. When I think about how many infant baptisms have occurred since Christ’s resurrection, it’s a heavy thought.

Then comes one of the most beautiful doctrines in all of scripture. In verse 22 we read that little children are alive in Christ and not held accountable. Mormon explains why: “For the power of redemption cometh on all them that have no law.” What a merciful and godlike principle. Why would the Lord judge someone according to a law they have never received? He wouldn’t—because that would contradict His very nature.

As I pondered this, a question came to mind—one I needed to work through carefully. Aren’t baptisms for the dead doing something similar? After all, didn’t they live without the law?

The answer is no.

After His death, one of the first things Jesus organized was missionary work in the spirit world. The righteous were taught the gospel and then commissioned to teach those who had never heard of Christ or His doctrine. Everyone is given the opportunity to accept or reject the gospel with full knowledge. Those in spirit prison can repent and choose baptism—and that is where we come in.

As faithful disciples of Jesus Christ, we attend the temple and perform ordinances for our kindred dead. In doing so, we become saviors on Mount Zion, offering our deceased family members the chance to accept covenants they could not make in mortality. This doctrine is not sad—it is profoundly hopeful.

As a side note, Mormon urges us to pray for those without the gospel, that they may repent and stop denying the Holy Ghost—and the words of prophets old and new.

Moroni 8 is a sorrowful epistle. A father writes to his son while witnessing the collapse of their nation. Yet embedded in that sadness is radiant doctrine—truths about innocence, accountability, mercy, and the vast reach of Christ’s redemption. Even in the final chapters of a fallen civilization, the doctrine of Christ shines with clarity and love.

Moroni 7:36 — Angels Have Not Ceased

A potpourri of topics that could each be a bloc on its own —faith, hope, charity—all beautifully blended. Moroni 7:36 asks a question that feels just as relevant now as it did anciently: Have angels ceased to minister unto the children of men? Mormon’s answer is clear—no.

I don’t struggle to believe that. My own experiences have taught me that angels are very real and very near. Once, while in severe pain and unable to sleep, I prayed for help. I specifically asked that my dad be allowed to put his hands on my hip so I could rest. Almost immediately, sleep came—and when I woke, morning had arrived. For me, that experience stands as a quiet but powerful witness that angels still minister.

Sometimes angels are felt more collectively. During our Christmas program, we were invited to pray that angels would join us in praising the Savior. We were even encouraged to invite ancestors who loved to sing. I took that invitation seriously. While I didn’t physically feel my parents beside me, I felt angels in another way—when the congregation stood to sing Joy to the World. The Spirit was overwhelming. You couldn’t sing and not feel Him. The chapel was filled with love for the tiny baby born in a manger, the Savior of the world.

Moroni teaches that angels appear because of faith. Perhaps faith isn’t just believing they exist, but believing they still come. When we pray, when we sing, when we turn our hearts to Christ, heaven feels closer—and sometimes, it opens just enough for us to notice.

Angels have not ceased. I believe they are all around us, ministering in ways both quiet and powerful, always pointing us back to Him.

Quiet Caves, Gentle Hugs and Restrained Words

This morning I listened to a short podcast about The Family: A Proclamation to the World. The speaker mentioned something that stopped me in my tracks: how well we knew our Father in Heaven before we came to earth—and how we will know Him again when we see Him.

That idea stayed with me as I prayed. I began to ponder what my own relationship with Him was like before this life. The impression that came was surprisingly clear and deeply personal. I felt strongly that He knew me well, that He expected great things of me, and that I was truly one of His daughters—known, trusted, and loved. Not in a vague way, but in a sweet, familiar way. I didn’t just think it. I felt it. And the Spirit confirmed it.

As I continued to sit with that thought, my mind went to a brief interaction from the night before. I had stopped by the bishop’s home, and as I was leaving, his wife reached around me and gave me a hug—strong, long, and sincere. She thanked me for all I do.

Me?

In that moment, and even more clearly as I pondered it this morning, I realized that what I felt went far beyond appreciation. It felt like a hug from my Heavenly Father Himself. A tender mercy. A quiet kiss on the cheek. A reminder that He sees me.I don’t need recognition or thanks, and I don’t feel that I’m doing anything extraordinary. But isn’t it wonderful when love finds us anyway?

Later this morning, I returned to the Book of Mormon and found myself in Moroni chapter 1. The Lamanites are killing anyone who will not deny the Christ. It is a dark and heartbreaking moment in Nephite history. Moroni is alone, maybe in a cave as was Ether who was recording the demise of a nation, doing what he can to preserve his life. And yet—he continues to write. What strikes me is why he writes. He is writing for his brethren—the very people seeking to kill him. He knows that what he records will one day be of worth to them. He understands that this is the Lord’s will, and so he presses on, quietly and faithfully doing what God has asked of him.

Isn’t that what we are all trying to do? Simply live our lives in a way that aligns with the Lord’s will, even when it is hard, misunderstood, or unseen?

I had one more experience yesterday—small, but instructive. A neighbor noticed I was carrying a heavy load home and stopped to offer help. I had paused to rest for the last few hundred feet, and his kindness warmed me immediately. But just as quickly, that warmth faded when he added an unsolicited political jab. Why couldn’t he stop with the kindness? Why did he feel compelled to deliver a message that wasn’t asked for, wanted, or appropriate?

This month, the word I’ve been pondering is temper. Not as a formal theme—just a quiet nudge that I need to refine something in my own life. That moment clarified it for me. To truly feel the love of our Heavenly Father—and to help others feel it through us—we must temper our passions. Religious, political, artistic, or otherwise. Even the things we feel most strongly about can be taken to excess, and when they are, they can push people away rather than draw them in.

Love doesn’t need commentary.
Kindness doesn’t need an agenda.
And the Lord’s work often happens in quiet caves, gentle hugs, and restrained words.

Today, I’m grateful for the reminders that God knows me, walks with me, and sometimes reaches out through others to say, I see you.