The Quiet Weight of Covenant

Infant baptism is a serious error. The Second Article of Faith reminds me that we are accountable for our own sins—not Adam’s—and this chapter settles that truth gently but firmly.

In Genesis 17, the Lord establishes a covenant with Abraham, marking it with circumcision. It is given to the whole household—every male, eight days old and upward. A sign not just of belief, but of belonging.

It’s striking how quickly Abraham responds. No hesitation. Ishmael, at thirteen. Abraham himself. All in one day. A covenant received, and immediately lived. Wait! What? Agency is real. An entire household made this covenant? 

This chapter turns my heart back: accountability matters. Baptism is for those who can choose, who can repent. Little children are already held in the grace of Christ. They are not lost—they are safe.

And what of those who never had the chance to know? The Atonement reaches them too. A just God does not require repentance where there was no opportunity to choose.

There is something beautiful in all of this. Redemption. Repentance. Faith. Meekness. The quiet work of becoming. The Holy Ghost as a constant, gentle guide. Hope for a better day. Love we feel from our Savior.

It feels like a path—steady, upward, leading back into light.

And I find myself grateful again.

Grateful for the gospel of Jesus Christ.
Grateful for a Savior who made a way.

Two gifts I can never forget!

The Light, The Effort, and the Angels

Today, on Palm Sunday, I spent time in Moroni 7. It was a slow, intentional read as I followed footnotes and revisited past impressions.

 

Verses 16–17 took me back years ago when at Girls’ Camp I memorized them to the tune of “Choose the Right.” It was a stretch, but it worked—and this morning, the melody brought both the words and their impact rushing back. Music has a way of tucking truth into the heart.

 

Those verses teach that we are all born with the Spirit of Christ.

 

That can be hard to remember when we see others so far off course. But it is a beautiful doctrine. It softens how we see people and invites patience and kindness. When we remember that each person carries that divine light—even if dimmed—it becomes easier to respond as the Savior would.

 

We are told to judge by that light.

 

Perhaps that means learning to see others through His lens—and through the love of our Heavenly Father.

 

In our Old Testament study, Enoch’s vision in Moses 7 has stayed with me—especially the moment he sees God weep.

 

A weeping God.

 

It reminds me that Heaven is not distant. Heavenly Father feels deeply. He mourns when we wander.

 

For a moment, I wondered if the heavens respond to the sorrow of a wicked world, especially as we pray for relief from drought. Probably not the right way to see it—but it did remind me of something true:

 

Heaven is not indifferent. It rains on the just and the unjust alike.

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Moroni 7:33 also stood out:

 

“If ye will have faith in me ye shall have power to do whatsoever thing is expedient in me.”

 

That word—expedient—has stayed with me. I’ve been working to memorize temple ordinances so I can serve without distraction. I study and practice, yet sometimes it feels just out of reach.

 

But the Lord sees the effort.

 

With faith in Him, He will help me do what is required—sufficiently, and in His time.

 

A simple choir experience came to mind.

 

We were invited to pray for angels to join us as we sang—and even to invite loved ones. I did.

 

I didn’t feel what I expected at first. But during “Joy to the World,” the Spirit filled the room. It felt as if heaven and earth sang together.

 

In that moment, I knew:

 

Angels have not ceased to appear.

 

Sometimes they come quietly. Sometimes through feeling. And sometimes—through song.

 

Moroni 7 teaches this plainly:

 

Faith brings hope.

 

And when faith fades, hope is right behind it.

 

I’ve seen that. It’s heartbreaking. But the remedy is clear: choose faith, act in faith, hold to faith.

 

Because from faith comes hope—and from hope comes everything that leads us back to Him.

This Palm Sunday, I’m holding onto this:

 

We are not alone in our efforts.

Not in our striving.
Not in our learning.
Not even in our singing.

 

Heaven is closer than we think.

Moroni 7:8 "As oft as they repented." No quota!

 Moroni 7:8 teaches:

“But as oft as they repented and sought forgiveness, with real intent, they were forgiven.”

Did you catch that? “As oft as they repented.” There is no quota.

The most important thing we can do each Sunday is come to sacrament meeting with a repentant heart, partake of the sacrament, and keep trying to become the person Heavenly Father sent us to earth to become.

One of the great challenges facing new (and seasoned) disciples is the pull of the past. Like Lot’s wife, we sometimes look back. There were moments in that old life that seemed good, and when we falter, even slightly, those memories can tug at us.

That’s why it is so important to remember what it feels like to have the Spirit of the Lord fill our whole being.

I’ve seen it in others. I saw it in a daughter as she purchased her sacred clothing. I’ve felt it myself—in an ordinary moment, on government land, when the Spirit came so powerfully that I instinctively bent over and held myself, just as she did.

But life gets muddled.

Letting go of past habits is one thing—letting go of the people and patterns connected to them can be even harder. This is where the Savior steps in.

We need Him daily.

We invite Him into our lives by feasting on the scriptures, applying them personally, and choosing uplifting influences—music, podcasts, conference talks. For me, this has been essential to staying spiritually grounded.

I’ll close with an experience that shaped my journey back to discipleship.

At someone’s suggestion, I read a general conference talk by Elder Boyd K. Packer on the influence of music. It felt as though he was speaking directly to me. From that day forward, music became a tool for me—a defense against impure thoughts, temptations, and discouragement.

I began filling my life with good music. When I didn’t have access to it, I memorized hymns so I could carry that influence with me.

Over time, something unexpected happened—the Lord trusted me to begin writing music. At first, it was simply to keep me engaged in doing good things. I’ve tried to share it quietly, without being pushy. Some of that music can be found on sacredsheetmusic.org, and more at conniestauffermusic.net.

I can see growth in my music over the years—but even more importantly, I can see that same growth in my discipleship.

Have a wonderful day. I’m heading out for a walk—and to listen to some beautiful Easter music.

 

Tools Become Slippery - What Are Our Tools?

Clyde made an interesting comment—that our “tools” today might be the money we set aside in IRAs and savings accounts for retirement or even future missions.

 

That thought has stayed with me. If those are our tools, do we sometimes hold onto them too tightly? In the end, won’t they become slippery anyway? Would they be better used now in helping others?

 

As I finished the book of Ether this morning, that question felt even more pressing.

 

The story ends in complete devastation. Two men—Shiz and Coriantumr—lead their people into total destruction. What strikes me is that this didn’t happen quickly. They spent four years gathering and preparing for war. Four years to reconsider, to change course, to walk away.

 

And yet, they didn’t.

 

That part is hard for me to understand. I keep thinking I would have gathered my family and anyone willing to leave and gone far away. Why didn’t they do that? Why did no one stop it? Maybe the supplies that were gathered in those four years were numerous and they had no way of fending for themselves. A thought.

 

I also find myself wondering about the practical things. Who was growing the food? Who was feeding families while everything unraveled? Even in our day, that kind of work takes enormous effort.

 

In the end, none of it mattered. Hard hearts and blind minds destroyed an entire civilization. They went from millions of people to almost none.

 

Moroni describes them as being “drunken with anger.” That phrase feels painfully accurate. Anger can (and does) blind us. It can destroy.

 

And then there is Coriantumr—spared, wandering, eventually finding the Mulekites. A quiet witness that this destruction really happened.

 

Ether preserved this record, and I’m grateful he did. It’s a sobering reminder of how far people can fall—and how quickly everything can be lost.

 

It also brings me back to that earlier question:

 

What am I holding onto that might not matter in the end?
And what could I be using now to bless someone else?

Same Story, Different Generation

This morning in Ether 8–10, I caught myself thinking, “This is so repetitive.”
And then it hit me…so are we.

In Ether 10, years pass quickly with very little detail, but one thing is unmistakably clear: there are two kinds of leaders—and two kinds of outcomes.

There are unrighteous kings who oppress and destroy.
And there are righteous kings who build and bless.

So what made the difference?

The righteous people - 

• worked hard
• worked together
• developed skills
• created, built, and produced
• prepared for the future
• and ultimately prospered by the hand of the Lord

They weren’t idle. They weren’t entitled. They were engaged—in their families, their work, and their faith.

I wrote this a few years ago, and I feel it just as strongly today:

Keeping the commandments and working hard are the keys to happiness in this life.
They aren’t optional—they are essential.

And then…
here we go again.

Secret combinations return. Pride creeps in. Power is abused. Society begins to fracture.

It’s heartbreaking how predictable it is.

I found myself asking:
Why is it so hard for people to learn this lesson?

And maybe the harder question:
Why is it so hard for me to learn it?

We see it today. Different names, same patterns—groups seeking power, corruption in high places, people choosing paths that lead away from safety and peace.

And still, the invitation hasn’t changed.

Stay on the path.
Turn to Jesus Christ.

I recently read this talk by Susan H. Porter, and this line stayed with me:

“God’s love is not found in the circumstances of our lives but in His presence in our lives.”

That truth matters—especially when life feels messy or unfair or uncertain.

Even in Ether, when things get as bad as they can get—wars, famine, destruction, poisonous snakes — there are still prophets calling people back.

And when the people finally repent?

The Lord shows mercy.

Again.

Because He always does.

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One thought kept coming to me as I read:

Why did Moroni condense generations of Jaredite history into this repeating cycle? What did he want us to learn?

He’s trying to teach us something we won’t miss:

Obedience leads to peace.
Disobedience leads to misery.

It’s not complicated.
But it is easy to ignore.

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I’ll be honest—this part gets personal for me.

I look at people I love who are struggling, making choices that don’t lead to peace, and sometimes they don’t even seem concerned.

I’ve been there too.

I remember what it felt like to live with that quiet, constant sense that something wasn’t right.
Like I was in a kind of bondage—but didn’t quite know how to get out.

And here’s what I know now:

There is a way out.

It starts with turning your focus to Jesus Christ.
Making Him the center.
Caring more about what He thinks than anything else.

And then doing the small, daily work of change:

• letting go of old habits
• choosing better ones
• trying again when you fail

Is it hard?

Of course it is.

But with Jesus Christ,
we can do hard things.

Remember—or Be Taken Captive

A surprising amount of time is covered in this Ether 9. What stands out to me is how closely the people’s blessings are tied to their ability to remember—and then act on—the blessings of the past.

Another word that caught my attention is work. At the end of the chapter, they are described as working in all manner of ore and fine workmanship, even creating beautiful linens. As they worked, they prospered in the land.

I remember a class where someone taught that to “prosper” doesn’t just mean material success—it means the Lord is present in your life. That idea has stayed with me. One of the places we see this clearly is in 2 Nephi 1:20:

“Inasmuch as ye shall keep my commandments ye shall prosper in the land; but inasmuch as ye will not keep my commandments ye shall be cut off from my presence.”

Prospering and having the Lord’s presence are the same thing.

So why is work such an important part of remembering and prospering? I wonder if it’s because work is where we actually live what we’ve been taught. It’s in the doing that lessons take root. As we work, we remember those who taught us—our parents, our leaders, our examples. At least, we do if we choose to remember. Some insist on charting their own course, and in doing so, they often drift into forgetfulness.

As I look around at the world, it’s hard not to notice how much has been forgotten. Whether people were never taught or simply let things slip away, the result feels the same. I saw a “man-on-the-street” interview recently where people were asked what Christmas is about. Very few could answer. Some said Jesus was a great prophet, but many didn’t know even the basic story. It made me wonder what happens when sacred things are no longer remembered—or passed on.

The Book of Mormon gives a sobering answer: those who forget are brought into captivity.

But what does captivity really look like? In the scriptures, people in captivity still married, had families, and went about daily life. So it must be more than physical chains. Is it a loss of freedom? A loss of truth? A slow surrender of things that once mattered?

That question feels worth asking in our day.

So what do I take from this chapter this morning?

Above all, to remember.

I remember my own times of captivity—and the tender mercies that came when I reached out for help. Those mercies are real, and they are available to anyone. Through the Atonement of Jesus Christ, we are given the chance to repent, to change, and to come back.

If I remember that—truly remember it—I will stay anchored. And if I don’t, I risk drifting into a kind of captivity of my own.

Pay, Gather, Change and Invited In

This morning I spent time in President Russell M. Nelson’s talk, “The Atonement” from October 1996. He was an apostle then, but the clarity of his teaching is unmistakable. I read slowly, followed the footnotes, and let a few thoughts settle.

I found myself asking, what do I really understand about the Atonement? This talk reminded me how huge this sacrifice was and how much it was meant for me. 

Adam and Eve were created in the image of God, but they were not yet mortal. They could not grow old or die (see Alma 12:21–23). There was no blood, no children, no opposition—no real growth. The Fall changed that. Mortality came. Blood. Aging. Weakness. But also healing. Progress. The chance to become something more. And because of that change, we needed a Savior.

Because of Jesus, this mortal body of flesh and blood can become something more. “Flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God” (1 Corinthians 15:50–53). Through Him, mortality puts on immortality. That’s not just doctrine. That’s a promise.

As I read, a picture came to my mind. I’m standing at a checkout counter with no way to pay. I know it. The cashier knows it. There’s no pretending. And then He steps in, reaches around me, and pays the full price. Not reluctantly. Not conditionally. Just pays it. He has redeemed my soul. I am encircled in His love, clasped in His arms. The Atonement isn’t distant or abstract—it feels like being gathered in.

President Nelson teaches that the Atonement is infinite, and I found myself wondering what that really means. 

·      It saves all mankind from endless death. 

·      It ended animal sacrifice once and for all. 

·      It spans all time, all people, all places—even beyond this world. 

And then a harder question came: does “infinite suffering” mean it never ends? I don’t fully understand that, but I do know His ability to succor, to comfort, and to understand has no limit. Not then, not now.

Gethsemane means oil press. Olives are crushed to produce something of value, and so was He. Not just because He loves us, but because the Father loves Him. He suffered mocking, torture, thirst, and rejection by His own people. “He suffered the pain of all men, that all might repent and come unto him” (D&C 18:11). That line stops me. All men. All pain.

In reading Doctrine and Covenants 19:16, I had this thought: It is comforting to know that Jesus understands how to bring relief, but when I’m in pain, that’s not where I go first. I go to whatever claims quick relief. Why don’t I go to Him first? What would that actually look like? Maybe it looks like prayer before panic, asking for a priesthood blessing, putting a name on the temple prayer roll, inviting others to pray with me, or even studying what He suffered. Maybe it’s simply remembering that He already knows this feeling.

President Nelson said, “All that the Fall allowed to go awry, the Atonement allowed to go aright.” Everything broken can be restored. Not always quickly, and not always the way I expect, but nothing is outside His reach.

The Atonement is universal, but it is also personal and covenantal. Essential ordinances connect me to that power—baptism, the sacrament, and temple ordinances that seal families together. Without those sealing ordinances, we’re told the whole earth would be wasted (see D&C 2:3; 138:48). That’s how central this all is.

One line from President Nelson especially stayed with me: “When we comprehend His voluntary Atonement, any sense of sacrifice on our part becomes completely overshadowed by a profound sense of gratitude for the privilege of serving Him.” That word—privilege. The Atonement is not just about being rescued. It’s about being invited in. Into a relationship. Into unity. Into becoming one with Him in heart and mind.

The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was restored to prepare the world for the Second Coming. But preparation isn’t just global—it’s deeply personal. It looks like letting Him pay my debt, letting Him gather me in, and letting His Atonement actually change me.

 

Air Problems and Light Problems

Reading Ether 6–7 Jared and his people had a problem—actually two problems.

They had a light problem.
How do you see when your vessel is buried under the water?

And they had an air problem.
How do you breathe?

It struck me that we face both kinds of problems in our lives.

Some problems are light problems. They matter, but they’re not life-threatening. We’re trying to see clearly. We’re making decisions. We wonder where the answers will come from. And somehow, as we move forward, light comes. A thought. A feeling. A quiet nudge.

I have no doubt that when we’re living as the brother of Jared and his people were living, those moments are guided by the Holy Ghost.

But then there are air problems.

These are the moments when we feel like we can’t breathe. When the waves are too big, the winds too strong, and we are completely out of our depth. These are the moments when we don’t just want guidance—we need it to survive.

And the pattern is the same: we have to ask.

The Lord’s instruction to the Jaredites always fascinated me—holes in the top and the bottom of the barges. Open them for air. Close them when the water comes in. It probably didn’t make complete sense at the time. But when they were tossed in the depths of the sea, I’m sure it became very clear.

How often does the Lord guide us in ways that don’t fully make sense—until later?

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Another thought stayed with me as I read.

When the winds blew and the waves rose, those very forces were what carried them forward. I have to ask myself:

Do I complain about the winds that are actually moving me where I need to go?

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Ether also reminds us of something simple, but powerful: remembering matters.

The Jaredites knew about Noah. They had history. They had examples. And when the people later prospered under Orihah, I don’t think it was by accident.

They remembered.

I once had a counselor tell me something that surprised me. After I had explained all the difficulties in my life, he said, “It’s very simple. You don’t remember.”

What?

He told me to write—to keep a record of what was happening, both good and bad—and to return to it when making decisions.

I took that to heart. My journals have become a reference not just for me, but for my family.

Remembering changes everything.

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There’s also something beautiful in Ether 6:
All of the barges arrived together.

That feels like a miracle in itself.

No one was lost. Wouldn’t it be great if we could reach our Promised Land and be able to say “No one was lost”?

Of course, this peace doesn’t last forever.

In Ether 7, the people begin to forget. Contention returns. It always does when remembering fades.

So what does it really mean to prosper?

The Book of Mormon is clear:

“Inasmuch as ye shall keep my commandments ye shall prosper in the land… but… be cut off from my presence.” (2 Nephi 1:20)

Prospering isn’t about ease or comfort.

It’s about presence. The Lord’s presence.

Do I have the Lord with me?

That’s the question.

Because I know this much—I cannot afford to navigate life on my own. I need His guidance every single day. And when I have it, even the winds and waves begin to make sense.

 

If I were to sum it up:

• Light problems → seek guidance and move forward
• Air problems → cry out and rely completely on Him
• And in all things → remember

Because remembering is what keeps us anchored to Him.

All of Me — or Just Enough?

“To obey is better than sacrifice.” (1 Samuel 15:22) What does that look like today?

The first covenant I make in the endowment is to obey. If obedience is greater than sacrifice, then what exactly is my sacrifice—and is it placed where it belongs?

I think my sacrifice is… me.

And that’s where it gets uncomfortable.

Do I give all of me? Or do I, like Saul, hold something back? He offered a sacrifice, but not in the way the Lord required. I wonder if partial obedience is, in fact, disobedience. I suppose it is.

And yet, life is not simple.

We live in a complicated world. I’ve been given much, including talents that sometimes require solitude. I believe those gifts come from the Lord, and I try to give them back to Him. But I still wrestle with the balance.

Is it enough?

Does the Lord care about my music?

He must. He keeps giving me ideas.

Writing brings me joy, and “men are, that they might have joy” (2 Nephi 2:25). Still, I find myself asking—am I offering all of me, or just the parts that are easier to give?

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Then comes David. Sweet David who is just a boy herding and protecting his father's sheep.

“The Lord saveth not with sword and spear: for the battle is the Lord’s.” (1 Samuel 17:47)

After having read so many battles where cities, their entire population and goods were totally decimated, that feels almost contradictory. So how do I reconcile that with a God who saves without sword and spear?

David didn’t use a sword. He refused Saul’s armor. He stepped forward with a sling and a stone.

A stone. A rock.

Christ is my Rock.

I don’t have that fully figured out, but I feel there’s something there. David trusted in the Lord rather than in what looked strong or sufficient to others. Goliath trusted in his size, his armor, his experience. He believed he was invincible.

He wasn’t.

The Lord looks on the heart, not the stature.

And when Goliath fell, the Philistines—the entire opposing army—ran.

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I intended to stop reading at chapter 19, but I couldn’t.

David becomes a hero, and Saul becomes jealous. That jealousy grows into something frightening. It even turns toward his own son.

But Jonathan—Saul’s son—does not turn on David.

Instead, he remains loyal.

Their friendship is one of covenant. They protect one another. In the middle of chaos, suspicion, and anger, Jonathan chooses faithfulness. That detail matters more to me now than it ever did before.

This really is a family war.

And it leaves me asking: what does all of this mean?

I’m not sure I have a complete answer. But I do know this—I didn’t pay much attention to these chapters until today. Not like this. Not until we were counseled by prophets to truly study the Old Testament.

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So what did I learn?

People are inconsistent.

None of us are immune to temptation. Saul’s weakness was jealousy. It didn’t even make sense. The victories helped his people, and still, he turned against David, the source of victory.

That’s what unchecked weakness can do.

So my takeaway is simple, but not easy:

Stay vigilant.

Keep the commandments.

And look to the prophets and apostles the Lord has called in our day.

Because if Saul can fall, so can I—if I’m not careful.

And maybe the real question isn’t about Saul or David at all.

Maybe it’s this:

Am I giving the Lord all of me… or just enough to feel like I have?

Go Forth - Ether 2-3

There's so much to write about. We're talking about the Jadeites and their journey to the promised land. 

They carried fish, honey bees, and seeds with them. Honestly—what a healthy, thoughtful way to travel. They were being sustained physically while the Lord was guiding them spiritually.

God spoke to the brother of Jared from a cloud and told them to “go forth.” That phrase stuck with me.

Have I ever been told to “go forth”?

I believe I have.

Marrying Clyde was one of the simplest and most faith-filled decisions I’ve ever made. The Lord made it clear to me that he was the right choice. Not flashy—just clear. And He was right. Clyde is good, and he has stayed good. Over the years, we’ve continued to feel guided. Even now, when life feels a little unusual and we’re serving in different ways—me in the temple, him in the city—I still see the Lord’s wisdom in it. That is His hand.

We’ve been blessed. This land has been good to us.

And yet, I look around right now—poor snowpack, little rain, heat coming too early—and I wonder. What does this summer look like? Water restrictions seem certain. Is this the Lord’s hand too? I think it is, but not in a way that brings panic. When I remember what prophets have taught, I feel reined in. Peace returns. The Lord knows His children. When life gets too easy, we drift. And here we are again—leaning in, praying more, needing Him.

Back to the barges.

The Lord gave direction—very specific direction. Tight like a dish. Sealed. Able to be tossed and not destroyed. But He didn’t solve everything for them.

Light was still a problem.

So the brother of Jared went to work. He moltened stones. I can’t even imagine that process without help from the Lord. I feel like he must have seen it in his mind first—just like I have at times. Once, when I needed to make a poultice, I could see exactly what to do. More recently, when I was wrestling with a piece of music that was beyond me, the thought came clearly: “write it.” That worked. It came together in two days.

The Lord guides—but we must have the faith to ask, and then act.

His prayer in chapter 3 is beautiful to me. Before he even asks for light, he talks about his weakness, asks for forgiveness, and recounts all the ways the Lord has already helped them. Do I do that enough? Probably not. Maybe that kind of remembering is part of what opens our eyes.

Because his eyes were opened.

And yes—he did fall down in fear.

But what followed wasn’t distance—it was closeness. The Lord showed Himself. Taught him. Stayed with him. Can you even imagine that kind of experience? I don’t think I would ever want it to end.

And then—to be told not to share it. That feels almost as hard as the experience itself would be amazing. But he wrote it, sealed it up, and because of that, we have it now.

One small detail I noticed this time—verse 24. Their language had been confounded back at the Tower of Babel. Of course interpreters would be needed. Of course the Lord was already preparing for a future we now live in.

Nothing is accidental.

So I come back to this question:

Is my life really that different from those who experienced the Lord’s hand so powerfully?

Gratefully, I think the answer is no.

Maybe the miracles just look quieter.

But they are there.

You Can Choose: Misery or Miracle—One by One

Moroni asks a series of piercing questions in chapter 9 of Mormon. He seems to think he’s finished—but there is still more. As I read, I feel a quiet sadness knowing I’m nearing the end of this journey through the Book of Mormon.

Those questions don’t stay on the page. They turn inward.

I think of my children and grandchildren who have stepped away from the covenant path. At a time when we are learning so much about covenants, that reality feels especially heavy.

I once wrote in my margin:

This is a horrifying thought—being uncomfortable in the presence of God. But I understand it. When I was in my darkest place, I wasn’t comfortable around believers. That feeling wasn’t imposed on me—it was self-inflicted.

Moroni’s words bring that memory back.

Verse 5 describes it as being naked.
Verse 6 points us to what we must become: spotless, pure, fair, and white. None of us gets there alone—we are cleansed only through Jesus Christ.

This chapter is chilling—if we let it be.

Moroni warns us: if we are unhappy here and refuse Christ, that unhappiness continues. “He that is unhappy shall be unhappy still.”

And yet—there is hope.

God’s miracles are found in the saving of His children, one by one. I am one of those miracles.

There was a time I hadn’t prayed in nine years. I was miserable. Finally, I asked Heavenly Father to answer my parents’ prayers and told Him I would do whatever it took to be free from that misery.

The miracles began.

I returned to the Book of Mormon. I went back to church. After my divorce, I chose to pay tithing again—an act of faith as a single mother with very little.

And I was blessed beyond measure.

God is a God of miracles—both in grand creations and in rescuing individual souls.

I think of our missionaries—so young, yet full of faith—serving with power they are only beginning to understand. What a blessing for them and for those they teach.

Moroni’s counsel is simple and direct:

·       Be wise

·       Strip away uncleanness

·       Ask with firmness

·       Serve God

·       Live worthy of ordinances

·       Do all things in Christ’s name

·       Endure to the end

·       Learn from others’ mistakes

It is not easy—but it is clear.

Through Jesus Christ, we are not left alone to become what God asks. We can be changed, cleansed, and made whole—one by one.

  

A List Worth Keeping - Mormon 7

I read Chapter 7 in the Words of Mormon this morning and came away with a list. I love lists—especially when they’re this clear about what actually matters.

Mormon lays out what we need to know and do, and as I read, I found myself quietly checking in with my own life.

We are of the house of Israel. I love that. And I’ll admit, realizing that includes Egyptian heritage too—that was a new and fascinating layer for me.

We must repent. I’m working on that. Every day.

We are told to lay down our weapons of war. Mine may not look like actual weapons, but they’re real—sharp words, pride, impatience. It doesn’t take much to recognize them once I’m willing to look.

We’re invited to come to a knowledge of our fathers. That feels like more than just history—it’s family history, scripture study, and learning from those who walked this path before me. My time in the Old Testament this year has made that feel especially meaningful.

And then, at the center of it all, is Jesus Christ—who He is, what He did, and why it matters.

His resurrection.
His redemption.
The reality that His life has already blessed mine.

Verse 7 is my happy place. I find joy in the temple. I find joy singing in a choir. Those moments feel like small glimpses of something bigger—something already given.

Because that’s what stands out to me most: He has already redeemed us. That gift is already there.

The question is whether I really understand it—and whether I live like I do.

Finally, Mormon reminds us to lay hold upon the gospel of Jesus Christ—through the Bible, the Book of Mormon, and all holy writ. They support each other. They deepen each other.

And maybe that’s why this simple list feels so complete.

It’s not complicated.

It’s just everything.