The God Who Does Not Recoil

I started reading Alma 1 this morning and it stopped me short in an unexpected way. Verse 7 reminded me how hard I try to remember scripture references in the moment — and how often I fail. I want the word of God at my fingertips, but when I need it most, my mind goes blank. I had a recent conversation with a daughter who has embraced the idea that the earth is flat and covered by a dome. Did the thought to quote the creation story come to me in that moment? Not even close. It’s humbling to realize how much I still rely on feelings instead of fluency with scripture.

Later in the chapter, priestcraft spreads “like a dirty smell.” I can’t read that without thinking about how easy it is for religion to become comfortable instead of corrective. Alma describes people who want to feel religious without being changed by religion. It’s tempting to seek messages that soothe instead of convict. Yet verse 26 reminds me of something grounding: the preachers were equal with the people. No hierarchy of worth. No spiritual elite. Just humans teaching humans. That is the world I live in — one where we stand shoulder to shoulder before God.

That verse also brought my father to mind. He was a hardworking farmer whose Sundays were even longer than his weekdays, yet he guarded the Sabbath fiercely. He did what had to be done to care for animals, but nothing more. The rest of the day belonged to the Lord. His example wasn’t loud or preachy. It was steady. Faithful. Consistent. I see now how deeply that shaped me.

Switching to Leviticus 15 felt like slamming the brakes. Laws about bodily discharge, ritual uncleanness, separation. I found myself flooded with gratitude that I do not live under this law. The language can make the body feel like a problem to manage instead of a gift to inhabit. 

And yet — I caught myself focusing on the wrong gratitude. The point isn’t modern hygiene products. The point is Christ. He did not recoil from the woman with the issue of blood. According to the law, her touch should have made Him unclean. Instead, His holiness made her whole. That moment reframes everything. The Savior moves toward human mess, not away from it. If I claim to follow Him, I must do the same.

The scapegoat imagery deepens that thought. The goat that carried Israel’s sins into the wilderness points unmistakably to Christ. He bore guilt that wasn’t His and removed what we could not remove ourselves. I wrestle with the comparison because the goat was released while Christ was crucified. But perhaps His declaration — “It is finished” — was His release. He completed the work. The burden was carried away. We are invited to walk forward unchained, if we accept what He has done.

What still overwhelms me in Leviticus is the blood. The sheer scale of sacrifice among a people numbering in the millions is hard to imagine. The logistics alone stagger the mind. The mess. The smell. The labor. Scripture doesn’t pause to describe the cleanup. It simply presents sacrifice as the cost of covenant. Maybe that silence is intentional. Atonement was never tidy. It was always meant to confront humanity with the weight of sin.

And that is where today’s reading leaves me: grateful that Christ fulfilled what ancient sacrifice could only symbolize. He stepped into our disorder and did not turn away. The law exposed the problem. Our Savior and Redeemer provided the answer.

Defiling Skin Diseases and Discerning Truth

Leviticus 13 and 14 were hard for me to read this morning. The detail is overwhelming, and the subject matter feels distant and strange. I struggled to understand why these chapters were preserved and what I’m meant to learn from them. Where is Jesus in all of this?

Perhaps I see Him only here: that provision is made for healing and restoration—both for people and even for their dwellings. Still, it’s not easy to sit with text that feels so foreign to my experience. I like this thought I received by asking someone for clarity: Leviticus 14:14–18 — The priest applies blood and oil to the healed person’s ear, thumb, and toe. This quietly foreshadows Christ’s healing covering the whole person — what we hear, what we do, and where we walk. I like that!

Later in the day, I found myself troubled again, this time by modern ideas presented as truth. As I listened to theories claiming the earth is flat, I was struck by how easily observation and knowledge were dismissed. We know the earth rotates, the moon orbits the earth, and the earth orbits the sun. I believe this not only because I was taught it, but because I’ve seen and experienced it.

So what connects Leviticus and these modern claims? This: truth can withstand light, scrutiny, and comparison. We are taught to seek learning from the best books and to compare what we read with what we know. For me, what I know has been confirmed by the Holy Spirit.

That same Spirit helps me discern when something enlightens and when it confuses. God’s work is not deception or distraction. His work is clear and purposeful: to bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of man (Moses 1:39). Everything else must be measured against that truth.

So how do I handle difficult scripture days, when the text feels difficult, I choose to trust the Author. I will carry forward what invites light and leave the rest in the Lord’s hands.

This is the Atonement

I’m glad I kept reading today. I worked through Leviticus 9–11, and for much of it I found myself shaking my head. The instructions are so detailed—what is clean, what is unclean, what can be eaten, what cannot even be touched. One misstep, and you are unclean. 

All offerings had to be brought to the priest, who then presented them to the Lord. Even Aaron’s sons, Nadab and Abihu, were not exempt from misstep and consequences. They offered unauthorized fire—disobeying the Lord—and the fire went out from before Him and consumed them. They died on the spot. That account still takes my breath away.

Then I came to Leviticus 12, with its instructions for women after childbirth. I had to keep reading just out of curiosity. I won’t go into the details, but it was the final verse of the chapter where I finally saw Jesus.

The woman was to bring a one-year-old lamb to the entrance of the Tabernacle. The priest would offer it to the Lord to make her ceremonially clean. Verse 8 stopped me short:
“The priest will sacrifice them to purify her, and she will be ceremonially clean.”

And suddenly it became clear. Isn’t this our story?

We are unclean – just being human, we are unclean. Jesus was perfect. He became the offering for our uncleanness—for our transgression, our poor judgment, our sin. The offering now is us, laying our sins on Him. Jesus is both the priest and the sacrifice. He takes what defiles us and consumes it, never to return.

This is the Atonement.

Smoothed and Structured

Here is my offering this day even though a struggle. Perhaps the Lord will help me make sense of it.

I’m reading Mosiah 21:35 and notice a note I once wrote in the margin: “Why are we baptized?” Ammon answers: baptism is a witness and testimony that we are willing to serve God with all our hearts.

What does that mean for me?

I am willing to serve the Lord. Yet lately I’ve been grappling with the idea of serving as an ordinance worker while also playing the organ in the temple. I feel willing — but doing it without Clyde beside me is not my favorite thing. Why? Because I know I’ll be taught. I’ll grow. And when I’m stretching spiritually while my eternal companion is focused elsewhere (not on bad things — just different things), I feel the gap. We aren’t always on the same page. I’m still chewing on that.

Verse 36 brought further reflection. Perhaps following this nudge to serve four hours weekly in the temple might get us “off this square.” We seem to have stalled in our growth. Isn’t that, in a way, a kind of bondage? Shouldn’t we be moving forward in progression — learning, growing, becoming?

Then my Old Testament study this week came to mind — Eve choosing to partake of the fruit so that forward movement could begin. Perhaps sometimes one must step forward first.

Another margin note caught my eye: “We are not subjects to be acted upon. We have a voice, and we must learn to use it.”
(gulp)
Yes — I’m speaking to myself.

Then I turned to Leviticus 6–8. I’m trying hard to find Jesus in the Old Testament. The repetition of burnt offerings, grain offerings, sin offerings — the same act again and again — made me think of the sacrament. Week after week, we repeat a holy ordinance. Why? When we partake with full purpose, aren’t we hoping that the sins within us — the things that block our closeness to the Savior — might be burned away?

One phrase stopped me: “It is the Lord’s perpetual share and is to be burned completely.”
If I liken that to the sacrament, could it mean allowing the Lord to fully consume what is unworthy in me? I don’t claim certainty — only a parallel I’m pondering.

Other details confuse me — the priest not eating, the seven days at the entrance of the tent of meeting, obedience required “lest they die.” Hard things to relate to. But perhaps the lesson for me is simpler:

After renewing my covenants, I am to carry the love of God in my heart through the coming days — remembering His sacrifice — and striving to keep all His commandments.

Maybe that is what the God I worship is trying to teach me.

And maybe this nudge to serve is part of that lesson too. 

A Broken Heart, Brought into Submission – Reflections on Mosiah 18

There is a mantra I return to often tucked inside the pages of my Book of Mormon; one I know exactly where to find in my scriptures. It is both prayer and offering, a reminder of what I bring before the Lord:

I bring as my sacrifice a repentant broken heart — as a horse is “broken,” brought into submission to its master. My heart, once wild, is bridled and made tame, learning to recognize and respond to my Master’s voice and will. He has the power to make me holy.

With that offering comes a quiet reaffirmation:

I will go back and try again with all my heart…

Mosiah 18:11 asks a piercing question:
Is it truly the desire of my heart to serve God and keep His commandments?

The affirmation above has lived in my scriptures beside that verse for some time now. It remains both my prayer and my commitment.

This morning, an email from a missionary brought Mosiah 18 into even sharper focus. He shared how a companion gently pointed out that he was, in his words, “a bit full of himself.” It stung. It humbled him. But he recognized truth in the rebuke. The Lord has remarkable ways of chipping away at our imperfections, shaping us into people who can one day dwell in His presence.

That same process belongs to each of us. Each week, as we partake of the sacrament and quietly review the good and the not-so-good of the days behind us, we would be wise to ask Heavenly Father where we need to improve. As our best friend and advocate with the Lord, He will not hesitate to show us — if we are sincere in asking and genuinely willing to change.

Mosiah 18:30 resonates deeply with me: a heart so full that it desires nothing but to sing praises to God. Since my own rescue and conversion to the gospel of Jesus Christ, that desire has been real and constant. Still, I must feed it. Faith, like fire, needs tending.

And finally, my heart returns to a place — HAFB — where I was taught the gospel, where I first gained a testimony of my Savior’s grace. It was there that I found my own “waters of Mormon.” Sacred ground. Sacred memory. Sacred beginning.

A Messy Offering

My blog comes from the Old Testament today — Leviticus 1&2.

I’m in awe at how messy an offering to the Lord must have been. I grew up around animals, so when Clyde casually says, “They slit the throat first,” I nod — but let’s be honest. It was a serious mess. Blood, flesh, ashes. And someone had to clean it all up.

What struck me is that the Lord didn’t just command the offering — He gave detailed instructions for handling the mess (see verses 3–9). Even the cleanup was sacred work.

That led me to ask: Is my offering of a contrite and broken heart messy too?

Not outwardly. No visible blood or ashes. But inwardly? Oh yes. Real repentance is a process. You take one trait at a time and decide it has to go. You push against a thought at first. You make vows each morning to do better. Your actions begin to change… but then there’s the mind.

Oh, that mind.

Something can stroll across the stage of thought uninvited and unwelcome, and suddenly you feel back at square one. Or are you? Maybe not. Maybe progress isn’t erased just because the battle continues.

One thing becomes clear: the Lord is a loving Father — our greatest cheerleader. Scripture is full of reassurance that He is patient, forgiving, and long-suffering… even if I can’t pull a reference instantly from memory today. (My biggest complaint with my mind, right there.)

So is my offering messy?

Yes. It is messy inside. And I’m deeply grateful the Lord doesn’t have a quota on how many times He will forgive.

I won’t pretend I fully understand the burning of offerings. It feels foreign and distant from my modern life. But when Leviticus 2 turned to grain offerings, my ears perked up. I know grain. I’ve milled my own flour. I love making sourdough bread. And I’ve learned — leave out the salt, and the bread is hardly worth eating and certainly not sharing (or offering).

Maybe there’s a lesson in that too.

These chapters are confusing, yes. But I’m trying to let them speak to my life. And sometimes, a disjointed offering is still an offering the Lord accepts.

Closing Scripture

“Yea, and as often as my people repent will I forgive them their trespasses against me.”
— Mosiah 26:30

What a comforting truth. My offering may be messy. My progress may feel uneven. My mind may wander onto stages I never invited it to. But as often as I return, He forgives. No quota. No expiration. Only patience, mercy, and love.

So I’ll keep bringing my offering — again and again — trusting that He receives it.

 

Teetering on the Edge of Remembrance

Mosiah 8:20 struck a deep chord with me today.

• The Lord works miracles.
• He suffereth long with His people.
• His people are blind and impenetrable.
• They will not seek wisdom.
• They do not even desire that wisdom should rule over them.

What a sobering description — and how perfectly it mirrors our day. We are surrounded by miracles. They are everywhere, but we must have eyes to see them. God is endlessly patient with us in our journeys, yet so many turn their backs on the Lord — on His goodness, His forgiveness, and His miracles. They refuse to listen to living prophets, to read the scriptures, or even to look honestly at the sorrow their choices bring upon those they love. Wisdom is not something they seek. They want to do it their own way.

Verse 21 adds a heartbreaking image:
“They are as a wild flock which fleeth from the shepherd… and are devoured by the beasts.”
Yes — they are.

As I read into Mosiah 9, I am introduced to the people of Zeniff. They were struggling — deep in war over worldly things (and isn’t it all worldly?) They were smitten with famine and sore afflictions. Here we go again. I find myself wondering: Are famine and destruction sometimes teaching tools our Father in Heaven uses? Are we listening? Are we watching?

We have been teetering over drought for years. This winter has been one of the worst in recorded history for snow and rain. We are on earth to learn. You would think something like this would get our attention.

Verse 17 also struck my heart. When things become difficult, we begin to remember. Why is that? My nine years of wandering weren’t all dark and miserable. There were “fun” moments — just enough to keep me moving in the wrong direction. But when I began to see that there was a better way, when I saw truly happy people living righteously, something awakened in me. I wanted what they had. What was it?

• Peace.
• Homes filled with love.
• Lives filled with purpose and power to help others.

I wanted hope — the quiet assurance that tomorrow could be better. I realized the road I was on would never lead me to that peace, that love, or the strength to overcome my weaknesses. And so it became my quest to change lanes — to change the trajectory of my life.

Oh, how grateful I am for the Atonement of Jesus Christ, which allows us that sacred luxury. I shudder to think where I might be otherwise. Yes — I was awakened to remembrance.

Then my thoughts turned to Exodus 36. This chapter fascinates me on several levels. Moses had already received the first set of commandments. He came down from the mountain to find Aaron had made a golden calf and the people were worshipping an idol. There were consequences, but that isn’t my focus right now. Soon thereafter, the Lord commands them to build a tabernacle. (Maybe this is a consequence.)

And what do I see? A people busy as bees — working with excellence and energy to build something holy for the Lord. There is a lesson here: being engaged in a good work.

I learned this as a mother raising children. When they were busy doing something worthwhile, life flowed more peacefully. They were happier, less bored, and it freed me to do the work of running a home and raising a family. Idleness so often invites trouble; purposeful work invites joy.

I still find myself wondering where all the materials for the tabernacle came from. Clyde reminds me they had worked for royalty and carried treasures with them. Perhaps they had been preparing for this moment far longer than we realize. My mind can produce endless “how did they do it?” questions. But in the end, the simple truth remains:

They did it.

And so can we — when we choose to see, to listen, to remember, and to engage in the good work the Lord places before us.

All of Him, All of Me — Reflections on Exodus 29

My study of Exodus 29 took me deep into the symbolism of sacrifice. As I read of Aaron and his sons placing their hands upon the bullock, it seemed clear that this act sanctified the offering for what was to come. Immediately my thoughts turned to the sacrament prayers: “O God, the Eternal Father, we ask thee in the name of thy Son, Jesus Christ, to bless and sanctify…” Just a thought—but a meaningful one.

So what does the bullock represent? To me, it is Jesus Christ. It is His blood that is poured upon the altar. His blood that is symbolized in the sacrament each Sunday. Not mine. No one has asked me to sacrifice my blood—only my sins.

Reading further, I noticed that all of the bullock is used in the offering—the blood, fat, liver, kidneys—everything consumed upon the altar. Yet the flesh is burned outside the camp, as part of the sin offering. Why outside? Why separate?

Again I return to the question: What does the bullock represent? I believe it is Christ—who suffered for our sins, our pains, our transgressions, whether caused by our own choices or by the hardships of mortality. All of Him was given. Completely. Fully. One hundred percent invested in saving each of us.

And the flesh burned outside the camp? Maybe it is because the sins He was suffering for were not His, but ours???  I don’t yet have a full answer. Perhaps that question is meant to stay with me a little longer.

One admittedly irrelevant thought stayed with me as I read. I’ve seen four-legged animals being branded. It is not a quiet or tidy process. There is kicking, noise, resistance. And I wondered—this sacred sacrifice at the door of the tabernacle—was it as messy as I imagine?

Then I couldn’t help but liken it to our own sacrifices before entering the temple, especially for the first time. Life is messy! Our lives are messy! Do we sometimes kick and scream inwardly as the Lord asks for more of us? As an after thought, Clyde reminded me that the first step in offering the lamb was to slit the neck and drain the blood. That doesn’t completely erase my thoughts of resistance.

Some people go through quite a cleansing process before reaching that point. Maybe my nine years off the covenant path were my own version of kicking and screaming. Maybe.

Verse 21 made me pause: What represents the blood in our own offering to the Lord today? Could it be the water on the sacrament table? We partake of the sacrament long before we are worthy to enter the temple. Perhaps that, too, is part of the cleansing journey.

As I continued reading about the purification of Aaron and his sons, I felt deep gratitude to live in a time when the sacrifice required is not animals—but ourselves. All of us. We consecrate our lives to be purified, cleansed, and sanctified. What a beautiful exchange. I want to ponder this more the next time I participate in washings and anointings in the temple.

Verse 25 says: “It is a pleasing aroma to the LORD, a special gift for him.”
Is my sacrifice pleasing to the Lord? I can only hope.

This entire process is detailed, symbolic, and holy. I’m in awe. Words almost fail me. I am deeply grateful to Jesus Christ for suffering a death foreshadowed by these sacrifices. I am grateful for His willingness to give all of Himself.

And so I offer all of me.

The Israelites might be mystified by how I do that. Sometimes, I am too. I offer myself by serving God’s children, gathering Israel, and striving to raise a righteous family. Am I perfect at it? Goodness, no. But Jesus offers grace for my efforts.

And that is the beauty of the whole thing.

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Search the Scriptures — To Know, To Prosper, To Remember

As I reached Mosiah chapter 1 this morning, a potpourri of thoughts filled my heart.

I worry that scripture study — both personal and family — is not happening as it should. The scriptures and the words of modern prophets give clear warning: When we fail to read and heed God’s counsel, difficult times follow. I see this sorrowfully in some of my own grandchildren, whose parents have concluded that God does not exist because suffering has touched their lives. It breaks my heart to see children growing up unaware of the truths that bring peace in this life and hope for eternity.

In Mosiah 1, we are reminded why we are commanded to search the scriptures:

• To know God’s commandments
• And in knowing them — and keeping them — to prosper in the land

Why would the Lord want His people to prosper? First, we must understand what the Lord means by “prosper.” In many places in scripture, prospering is connected to having His Spirit to be with us. When we have the Spirit, our choices are guided by careful consideration of what the Lord would have us do.

Prospering allows greater opportunity to bless others — to help gather God’s children who have not yet found the gospel of Jesus Christ. Prosperity is not simply comfort; it is capacity — temporal and spiritual — an increase in knowledge of deity and in the ability to share that knowledge. It enables covenant-keeping disciples to serve, to teach, to lift, and to influence generations. I think of faithful members who have served missions and quietly changed countless lives. Senior missionary couples, in particular, carry wisdom and examples that bless children and grandchildren alike, not to mention the people they influence by their presence.

The call is simple: Search the scriptures. In them we will know what to do.

Even our names teach covenant truth. At birth we receive our earthly father’s name. At baptism, when we accept Jesus Christ as our Savior and acknowledge Him as the Father of our spirits, we take His name upon us. Each time we partake of the sacrament, we renew that sacred covenant.

And here is a sobering reminder from Mosiah: when God’s covenant children turn away, trials come — afflictions, famine, hardship. Not as punishment alone, but as loving reminders — teachers, if you will. Why? So we will remember who we are. So we will remember the promises we made. So we will return.

May we search the scriptures daily — for ourselves, for our children, and for generations yet to come.

2 Nephi 32:3
“Feast upon the words of Christ; for behold, the words of Christ will tell you all things what ye should do.”

Enos — The Pattern of Faith and Patient Prayer

The Book of Enos is only one chapter, yet it is rich. As I read today, several thoughts settled into my heart.

Enos reminds me of the sacred role of parents. Real parents teach, nurture, and admonish their children to do what is right in the sight of the Lord. Enos’s father taught him in the nurture and admonition of the Lord, and those words stayed with him until they awakened his soul. What a pattern for our homes. What we teach our children matters—perhaps more than we know.

Enos also shows the pattern of faith—how it is born, how it grows, and the joy it brings. His story is a beautiful example to pass on to our children.

My prayers for my children and grandchildren are never far from my thoughts. That feels natural to me. Enos’s prayer for his people touches me deeply. Verse 12 feels personal. Could my faith and prayers be part of my children’s saving grace? Like Enos, I choose to believe the Lord honors faithful pleading.

Verses 15 and 16 pause me. Enos received a promise, but he had to wait. Here is the true test of faith: Will I trust the Lord’s due time, or will I decide He doesn’t hear me? It worked for Enos. It has worked for me. So I will keep praying.

The contrast between the Nephites and Lamanites in verses 20–21 is striking. One people cultivated land and order; the other rejected both. We all have “personal Lamanites”—those who resist truth, even when once taught it at home. Verse 22 fascinates me: prophets warned and preached, yet many grew angrier. Truth is not always welcomed.

And Enos’s final words—his peaceful confidence in Christ—are words I hope to hear someday.

Until then, I will keep believing, keep praying, and keep waiting on the Lord’s time.

Creation, Joy, and the Work of God

“For behold, this is my work and my glory—to bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of man.” — Moses 1:39

Creation has been on my mind this morning — God’s creations, and even our own. I am one of His creations. I am God’s work and His glory. What a thought. What a game changer. He finds glory in me.

And then I wondered — does He find glory in my creations too? Why wouldn’t He? I am His. His daughter. His creation. And the pattern goes on.

I marvel at the act of creating. My greatest joys have come from it. Clyde and I have created a home filled with love. We have created five beautiful children who are now navigating their own paths in this complex world, creating lives of their own. When they succeed, I rejoice. When they struggle, I struggle. When they create, it is a thrill to me.

Why would this pattern be any different with our Eternal Father? Of course it isn’t. These were my thoughts this morning as I thanked Him for the life He has given me.

Yesterday I played one of my musical creations in sacrament meeting. I played nearly with perfection — the missed notes were known only to me. The joy I felt was filled with gratitude for this miracle. I don’t think climbing the highest mountain or winning a gold medal could have brought greater satisfaction. I have been blessed abundantly.

And I am never creating alone. I have a husband who truly is the wind beneath my wings, encouraging me to keep creating. Yesterday I had a grandson cheering me on sitting  beside me in sacrament meeting. Clyde watched from home as he heals from his injuries. Friends — really, my ward family — sent kind messages and shared their enjoyment of my music. I am abundantly blessed in this journey.

What’s next? The Lord knows. And today, that is enough.

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Lessons from Jacob

In today’s reading — Jacob chapters 1–3 — Jacob speaks with urgency about caring for souls.

He asks us to labor diligently to bring others to Christ (Jacob 1:19). I find myself wondering if we are doing enough to call back children who have wandered from the path. Clyde believes we teach through our actions. I hope that is true. I remember returning to my parents’ home after nine years away from the gospel and feeling the peace that rested there. Could our children someday hunger for that same peace? That is my constant prayer. We always pray together before parting after family gatherings — planting seeds of remembrance.

Jacob also teaches:

“Before ye seek for riches, seek ye for the kingdom of God.” — Jacob 2:18

Why is this so hard to remember? All that we are given comes from the Lord for His purposes — to bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of His children. Anything less becomes our own cause rather than His.

 

The World Today — The World to Come 2 Nephi 5–8

I spent far too much time on this today. Isaiah is rich with one liners. I started out with Nephi telling us that his people lived in the manner of happiness. What does happiness look like? (2 Nephi 5:27)

Nephi’s people lived in a way that led to happiness — they worked, prepared, taught their children, and allowed no king to rule over them but God. I look at the world today and wonder if we are teaching the next generation the same habits of purpose and responsibility. The manner of happiness is still the Lord’s way.

Isaiah then turns our eyes to the world around us. A world that will grow old, that will rage, that will tremble. We see it in the anger, the hatred, the confusion, and the noise of our day. None of this should surprise us. The Lord told us it would be so.

But Isaiah does not leave us there.

“The Lord will return and deliver his covenant people.” (2 Nephi 6:18) — That promise includes me. It includes my family and my posterity. Jesus Christ is my Savior and Redeemer. Because of Him, the righteous shall not be abolished. Salvation will be forever. That truth brings peace when the world feels unsteady.

“For the Lord shall comfort Zion.” (2 Nephi 8:3) — Zion is the pure in heart. One people. One purpose. A world without contention, sorrow, or fear. A world of joy and singing. I pray often for the Savior’s coming and for that day to arrive.

“Fear ye not the reproach of men.” (2 Nephi 8:7) — Remember whose side you’re on. There's only two sides!

“Awake, awake; put on thy strength, O Zion… put on thy beautiful garments.” (2 Nephi 8:11, 24) — Isaiah’s words give me chills. He is speaking to covenant people — those who have made sacred promises in holy temples.

The world today is loud and troubled.
But the world to come is promised, peaceful, and sure.

It is a beautiful thing.

Let God Be Your Pilot

This morning I found myself lingering in Genesis 45, reading the reunion of Joseph and his brothers. Every time I return to this story, I see something new.

In Genesis 45:7–8, Joseph tells his brothers that God sent him ahead to preserve life. After everything they had done to him, Joseph doesn’t cling to bitterness. He sees the hand of the Lord in his life and forgives. That alone is a powerful lesson. We, too, must be diligent in recognizing God’s hand — especially when life doesn’t unfold according to our plans.

As Joseph urges his brothers to “come down unto me,” he speaks not only of them, but of their children and their children’s children. That caught my attention. Isn’t this what Christ calls us to do? Come unto Him — and bring our families with us. Not just ourselves, but our posterity. What a beautiful parallel.

Joseph promises to nourish them. And again, I see the Savior here. Christ nourishes us like no other. Spiritually, emotionally, eternally — He provides what we cannot provide for ourselves.

Then Joseph falls upon Benjamin’s neck and weeps. I can’t help but imagine the day we fall into the arms of our Savior. I suspect there will be plenty of tears then too. Perhaps our first thought will be something like: I made it.

Later, in verse 20, Joseph tells his brothers not to worry about their possessions: “The good of all the land of Egypt is yours.” Another symbol emerges. Joseph gives them all that he has. And isn’t that what God promises? That all He has may become ours, if we are faithful and follow His commandments.

As I continued into Genesis 47, I noticed something I had never fully digested before — how the Israelites eventually became servants to Pharaoh. It didn’t happen all at once. They gave money for food. When money ran out, they gave their herds. When that was gone, they gave their land. Finally, they gave themselves. Step by step, small decisions led to a future they may never have foreseen.

That led me to a personal takeaway: our decisions matter — not only for us, but for generations after us. It doesn’t take long to see how one choice affects another, and how patterns ripple down through families.

So my reminder to myself today is simple: be careful with life-changing decisions. Be prayerful. Let the Lord guide the truly important ones. He knows the end from the beginning. He knows who we are and what we can become. Let God be the pilot.

Because little decisions grow into bigger ones. Choose your influences and your company with care. Keep the Lord in your thoughts. Turning to Him truly makes all the difference.

And somehow, in the middle of Joseph’s story, I found my own.

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Pure Doctrine from 2 Nephi Chapters 1&2

Some chapters in the Book of Mormon feel especially dense with doctrine. For me, 2 Nephi 1 and 2 are among them — rich, layered, and deeply personal.

One of my favorite verses sits in 2 Nephi 1:15. Lehi speaks of being redeemed — of seeing the Lord’s hand in his deliverance. I love that image because I’ve experienced it. I have seen how perfectly the Lord planned my own rescue. It gives me hope for anyone who struggles with testimony or even with believing that Jesus is real. He is real. Turn to Him. He will not disappoint.

The price of that deliverance is simple and clear: keep His commandments (v.16). A small price for such a priceless gift.

Lehi continues with a promise repeated throughout the Book of Mormon:
“Inasmuch as ye shall keep my commandments ye shall prosper in the land.” (2 Nephi 1:20)

So what does it mean to prosper? To me, it means living in the Lord’s presence. His presence gives me strength to do the things that bring true joy. I cannot afford to wander on my own. I need His guidance every day. For that knowledge, I am deeply grateful. Keep the commandments — and keep the Lord close.

Lehi then describes what a faithful disciple looks like. I can’t help but see a portrait of a “real man” of God:

• United as one
• Clothed in the armor of righteousness
• Shaking off chains of iniquity
• Coming out of darkness and into engaged discipleship
• Becoming an instrument in God’s hands
• Seeking God’s glory and the welfare of His children
• Speaking with the power of God

What a blueprint.

I also have a tender place in my heart for Zoram. He left everything familiar and stepped into a world unknown. I’ve done that too. And just as Zoram was led and blessed, I have felt the Lord’s hand guiding my journey every step of the way.

Then comes one of my favorite doctrines:
“There must needs be an opposition in all things.” (2 Nephi 2:11)

Opposition strengthens us. It refines us. It teaches us joy by contrast.

As I read 2 Nephi 2:21, a new thought struck me. Lehi teaches that the days of mankind were prolonged so we could repent — that this life is a probationary state, a precious extension of time granted by God.

Then my mind jumped to Matthew 24:22, where Jesus teaches that in the last days, time will be shortened for the elect’s sake.

Two scriptures. Both about time.

Matthew quotes Jesus as he speaks of time being mercifully extended to allow repentance. Lehi prophecies of time being compressed as the end draws near.

Today, we feel that compression. Days race by. Life feels urgent. The world accelerates. It makes me wonder if this too is a sign that we are nearing our Savior’s return.

We see wars and rumors of wars. Unstable weather. Unstable leaders. The gathering of Israel happening right before our eyes. Even population shifts feel like gathering patterns. Whether large or small, the world is being prepared for Him.

And in the middle of all of it comes this beloved verse — an explanation for all of it:

“Adam fell that men might be; and men are, that they might have joy.” (2 Nephi 2:25)

Joy. The whole purpose. The whole promise.

Lehi reminds us that we are free to choose (v.27). Free to walk toward Christ or away from Him. And Lehi tells us exactly why he recorded these words:

“…for the everlasting welfare of your souls.” (2 Nephi 2:30)

I love Lehi. I love his testimony. And I’m grateful he shared these truths — not just with his children, but with me.

A Potpourri of Thoughts

 

“The Lord Did Suffer It”

While reading 1 Nephi 18, one small phrase stopped me cold:
“The Lord did suffer it.” (v. 11)

God did not intervene when Nephi—a faithful, obedient, remarkable son—was bound, abused, and nearly killed by his brothers. That raises the obvious question: Where is God in this story?

The answer is: everywhere.

God had already given them the Liahona to guide them to the promised land. But once Nephi was bound, it no longer worked. The winds drove the ship backward, not forward. Chaos replaced progress. And on the fourth day, the storm became so violent that destruction seemed certain.

Only then did Laman and Lemuel loosen Nephi’s bands.

What happens next is astonishing. Nephi does not rebuke them. He does not demand authority. He praises the Lord all day long. When freed, he takes hold of the Liahona, the winds cease, and they are carried—without further incident—to the promised land.

What an example.

It makes me ask myself: when I finally come out on the other side of a trial, do I thank God—not only for the rescue, but for the experience itself? For the chance to see His hand more clearly?

I know I could do better. Still, I cannot deny that I have seen the Lord’s hand in my story—especially in delivering me from the evil that once held me captive.

---

The Storm Was Shared

One detail in this story has always troubled me. The storm belonged to everyone on the ship—Lehi and Sariah, Ishmael’s family, wives and children—many of whom were innocent. Nephi’s parents were old and sickened nearly to death. His wife and children suffered too.

Why couldn’t the goodness of so many outweigh the rebellion of two and a few of their followers?

The sobering answer is this: evil can be astonishingly stubborn—and astonishingly dumb. It wasn’t persuasion, compassion, or suffering that softened Laman and Lemuel’s hearts. It was the fear of utter destruction.

Brad Wilcox once compared this moment to the fourth watch—that final, desperate stretch when all seems lost. Only then were the bands loosed. Only then was Nephi allowed to lead.

---

Nephi and the Prophets

As I moved into 1 Nephi 19, another thought emerged.

Nephi knew the prophets. Not casually—deeply. The scriptures were not just stories to him; they were his personal library. He quoted them because he lived with them.

I’ve watched presenters on podcasts who speak of Old and New Testament prophets as though they know them personally. That doesn’t happen by accident. It takes time. Immersion. Love.

Nephi had access to the books of Moses (v. 23). He had Isaiah. He had invested the time.

Am I willing to do the same?

I want to understand as I read—but life feels crowded. Still, Nephi reminds me that familiarity with holy words doesn’t come quickly. It comes deliberately.

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“Go Forth”

Then came 1 Nephi 20:20, and suddenly the verse felt personal:

Go forth… flee from the evil… with a voice of singing declare ye… say ye: The Lord hath redeemed me.

If I rewrote it, it would say:
Go forth, Connie.

That is my story. I was saved from evil. I have been singing ever since. And I do tell anyone who will listen about the miracle of redemption in my life.

There is not a day that passes without gratitude.

---

So… What?

Some phrases in the next chapter settled deep into me:

• Peace as a river

• Righteousness as the waves of the sea

• Leadeth thee by the way

• Come ye near unto me

• God does not speak in secret

• The furnace of affliction

• His anger is deferred—for His name’s sake

These phrases may not mean the same thing to everyone. But they mean something to me.

I have been blessed with peace. I have been surrounded—like waves—by good people who stretch and strengthen me. I have known the furnace of affliction. And I know, without question, that God deferred His anger and called me back.

Is this what the chapter was “intended” to teach?

Maybe. Maybe not.

But when scripture strikes a nerve—when it speaks directly into lived experience—that has to mean something.

At least, I believe it does.

Asking, Complaining, and Cutting Corners

Book of Mormon Reading: 1 Nephi 15–17

Today’s reading took me through 1 Nephi 15–17, where Nephi is speaking with his brothers. They don’t understand the things their father, Lehi, has taught them. Nephi’s response is simple—almost startlingly so: “Have ye inquired of the Lord?” (1 Nephi 15:8).

What a simple thing. And yet, why is it so hard to remember?

When we don’t understand, we are invited to ask God. That same invitation was what led Joseph Smith to his prayer after reading James 1:5: “If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God…” That prayer led him to the Restoration of the Gospel of Jesus Christ. The Lord is the same yesterday, today, and forever. This counsel wasn’t just for Nephi’s brothers or for Joseph Smith—it is for us.

And yet, so often we get stuck in our lack of understanding instead of moving forward by asking.

Another thing that stood out to me was the complaining. Ugh. Nephi’s brothers complained, and even Lehi complained when Nephi’s bow broke. Why is this one so hard? I pray daily to be rid of this sin, because complaining does absolutely no good. It adds nothing. It has no value.

Verse 28 makes it clear that complaining interferes with revelation. The Liahona worked only “according to the faith and diligence and heed which we did give unto them.” The pointers; the direction they should go to get to where they were headed. Revelation works the same way. If we stop paying attention to the promptings we receive through the Spirit, eventually we stop receiving them. The "pointer" is inactive.

I was also stopped short by the phrase that the pointers on the Liahona would change “from time to time.” Isn’t that exactly how scripture study works? Every time I read the Book of Mormon, I see it from a different lens. I’m older now—hopefully wiser, though not always—and sometimes I need correcting in ways I didn’t recognize before. This isn’t unique to me; we hear it spoken of in General Conference regularly. The scriptures don’t change, but we do.

And then there was another lesson this morning—one that may be the most uncomfortable for me, because I am so guilty today.

Yesterday was a long day. We left the house at 10:15 a.m. and didn’t return until 7:00 p.m. I was determined to make the day “count,” as I was driving around. So, I listened to the scriptures while driving, thinking I could cover all my reading for the day. Big mistake!

This morning, I paid for that shortcut.

As I sat down to read, I had a complete stupor of thought—both in the Book of Mormon and the Old Testament. I couldn’t remember where I had left off or even what I had been reading. Really? That was the lesson. There is no shortcut to scripture study. People who get something out of reading the Book of Mormon are actually reading, pondering, and learning.

[sigh]

I went back to the table, opened my scriptures, and started again where I had left off. Maybe I’m different, but I can’t cut corners. I was reprimanded. Lessons were taught. And I know better now.

I will do it the right way.

Reading with Questions and Hope

In Moses 1, God the Father speaks with Moses face to face, declares His Only Begotten, and shows Moses the earth—and all its people. Moses also encounters Satan, who has no glory. I find myself wondering whether this sweeping vision hints at what the earth may someday become after it is changed into a Urim and Thummim. I don’t know the answer, but the question stays with me. The main point of this encounter was to let Moses know he was part of the Lord's plan and that he is a son of God. This came in handy when Satan tried to tempt Moses to worship him. He had NO glory.

As I read Moses 2, I slowed down, unsure at times whether the “God” speaking is the Father or the Son. We’re told the Only Begotten was with Him, and that man was created in the image of both. All things were created spiritually before they were created physically. Adam names the animals before Eve is given to him—whom he also names. Familiar temple language appears here, and reading it carefully, at my own pace, felt like a quiet blessing.

After Fast and Testimony meeting yesterday, I felt impressed to read the Book of Mormon more quickly than I ever have. I’ve set a goal to read it in three months or less. I started in 1 Nephi 4 and am already enjoying the continuity of the record.

Lehi’s vision of the Tree of Life gives me hope. Despite the wandering hearts of some of my children, I’m reminded that the Lord knows all things from beginning to end. My work is to love my family and keep the covenants I’ve made. The rest is in His hands (see 1 Nephi 11:17).

I reflected today on my role as a mother and grandmother. I did the best I knew how with what I had. Some of my children and grandchildren don’t yet understand who they are or why they are here. Still, I trust that the Lord knows them. When the time is right, they will ask the right question—and God will answer them in a language they understand.

1 Nephi 3:7 I Will Go and Do

Some days my Old Testament reading doesn’t give me much to sit with. Sometimes it’s because of traditions I don’t yet understand, and instead of forcing meaning, I move on. That’s what I did today. 

I picked up the Book of Mormon and started with 1 Nephi 3—and it felt steadier, familiar, grounding.

Nephi’s response to a hard command has always resonated with me. Even knowing the journey back to Jerusalem would be long and dangerous, he doesn’t hesitate. He simply trusts that if the Lord gives a commandment, a way will be prepared to accomplish it. That kind of faith matters when we’re asked to do difficult things.

The journey itself wasn’t small. It took days. So what was so important that the Lord would require it?

The plates preserved genealogy, language, and the words of prophets—records meant not just for Lehi’s family, but for generations that would follow. Even after failure and discouragement, the task remained essential.

This chapter also reminds me that families are complicated. Nephi and Sam are beaten by their own brothers. An angel intervenes—not to smooth things over, but to correct and redirect. Families have always been messy. Mine certainly is. Yet the Book of Mormon consistently shows how deeply families matter to the Lord.

In fact, the book ends with a father and son—Mormon passing the records to Moroni, offering counsel and care. That’s what families do. We pass things on. Stories. Faith. Sacrifice. Hope. Isn’t that the heart of genealogy—helping those who come after us know where they came from and why it mattered?

I feel grateful to live in a time when we have this record. Through it, we learn of Jesus Christ’s ministry beyond Jerusalem and of a gospel that has been restored in fullness. I’m especially grateful for moments when truth touches the rising generation in quiet ways—especially my granddaughter, who was deeply moved by the majesty of the mountain she took the time to see. There is something about ascent that stills us, lifts our eyes, and teaches without words.

If I have any simple counsel for my children and grandchildren, it would be this: read the Book of Mormon. Let it speak for itself. It teaches who we are, why we’re here, and where we’re going.

I love my family deeply. They are precious to me, and I know they are precious to Heavenly Father. He paid the ultimate price so they could return to Him. Shouldn’t we try to understand why?

That understanding begins in the Book of Mormon.

(see 1 Nephi 3:7) 

I will go and do the things the Lord commands, for I too know He gives no commandments that are not for our good. 

Jacob’s Ladder and Our Covenants

Genesis 28–31

As I read these chapters, I saw what I was looking for: I heard the voice of Jesus Christ. The promises given to Jacob feel deeply familiar. They are the Abrahamic covenant—posterity, priesthood, land, and the Lord’s presence—the same eternal promises we receive through temple and sealing covenants today.

Jacob’s dream of a ladder reaching heaven feels like a temple image. Heaven and earth connected. Angels ascending and descending. A gate back to our Heavenly Father. When Jacob awakens, he recognizes the land as sacred and vows to worship God and give a tenth of all he receives (Genesis 28:22). Worship, tithing, consecration—these are temple covenants.

What follows in Jacob’s life is complicated and, at times, uncomfortable to read. Love, deception, long years of service, rivalry, and customs very different from our own. Yet through all of it, the Lord is still at work. Out of imperfect people and imperfect choices came the twelve tribes of Israel. God moved His eternal purposes forward anyway.

Later, when Jacob and Laban make a covenant of peace, they mark it with a pillar of stones, a visible witness that God would watch over their promise (Genesis 31:44–49). That detail stands out to me. Covenants matter. They are remembered. And the Lord watches over them—“for the Lord God watcheth over all his people” (Alma 5:16).

So how do I see the Lord in this story?

I see a merciful Father, patient with His children, working with what He has—because that is all He has ever had. His children stumble. His covenants do not.

I testify that Jesus Christ is the God of the Old Testament and the Savior of our day. He keeps His promises. He honors covenants. And He is always preparing a way back home.