The Rising Generation — Then and Now

As I read the closing chapters of Helaman and moved into 3 Nephi 1 this morning, I came across a note I had written on December 14, 2021:

I’m beginning to understand—or at least see—why some did not believe. They were so hardened in their hearts that reason wasn’t even available to their minds. They had to be right, and it didn’t matter to them.

At that particular time, the world felt heavy with signs. Calamities seemed constant. I remember looking at the American Red Cross disaster list and feeling stunned at how many places were suffering at once. Tornadoes tore through the Midwest, destroying thousands of homes across hundreds of miles—events that felt unusual and sobering.

I wrote then that my patriarchal blessing promised I would see the Lord’s hand in the workings of the world. And I believed I was seeing it. I wasn’t afraid for myself, but I felt concern for those I love.

Are we ready for this? I asked.

Fast forward to 2026.

So I ask again: Have we seen more signs?

Wickedness certainly hasn’t diminished. Confusion seems to multiply. Ideas once considered fringe are now embraced openly. There are sincere movements insisting the earth is flat or that the moon landing never happened—that the entire world has been deceived by an enormous conspiracy using computer generated devices. Years ago, I dismissed such thinking as isolated or influenced by poor judgment. Today, it is widespread enough to give pause.

And suddenly, the scriptures feel less distant.

When people in the Book of Mormon rejected signs and miracles, it wasn’t because evidence was lacking. It was because hearts were hardened. Belief was no longer a matter of truth—it was a matter of will.

Then I reached 3 Nephi 1:30, and one phrase stopped me cold: 

"And thus were the Laminates afflicted also, and began to decrease as to their faith and righteousness, because of the wickedness of the rising generation. 

This generation struggled to believe in Christ’s birth and future Resurrection—even though their parents had lived through undeniable signs. They had witnessed the night without darkness, the fulfilled prophecies, the terror before the sign came, and the overwhelming relief and joy when it did. They had first-hand experience!

Which raises a sobering question.

What happened between the miracle and the children?

Did the parents tell the stories?
Did they describe where they were when the night stayed light? How they felt?
Did they speak of their fear when believers faced execution if the sign failed? 
Did they share their testimony of the joy they felt when prophecy was fulfilled?

Or did life simply move on?

I do not judge them—but I wonder. Why? Because I see something similar today.

Many in the generation raising our grandchildren are not teaching spiritual things. In some homes, reminders of Jesus exist largely because grandparents place them there. Prayer feels unfamiliar—yet when small children are taught to fold their arms, bless the food, or pray at bedtime, they accept it eagerly. Little hands learn quickly what their spirits already recognize.

So how will this story end?

Will these children grow into a generation that rejects truth and causes greater turmoil? Or will they become a generation hungry for something missing—ready to seek truth when they are old enough to ask deeper questions?

Only time will tell.

But 3 Nephi quietly teaches something powerful: miracles alone do not preserve faith. Testimony must be taught, spoken, remembered, and lived within the walls of a home.

Perhaps the real question is not whether signs are being given.

Perhaps the question is whether we are telling the stories.

“And thus the time passed away unto the coming of Christ.”

And thus our time passes as well—one conversation, one prayer, one testimony at a time.