A Royal Conversion - Aren't they all?

These are my thoughts as I read from Alma 20 this morning — I’ve always been fascinated by King Lamoni’s conversion. At first, it was about saving his physical life—to keep Ammon from killing him. He was willing to give up half his kingdom. That was no small thing. Later, he would be willing to give up everything to have the peace of the gospel in his life.

What scriptures did Aaron have? The ones Nephi was commanded by the Lord to retrieve from Laban? Of course. The brass plates stayed with the prophets. I can’t imagine Aaron casually carrying them into hostile territory and risking their safety. The words Aaron read were part of the same sacred stream that began in Jerusalem, crossed the ocean with Nephi, and continued—alive and powerful—in his own voice. They were likely transcribed so Aaron could carry them as he preached. That makes sense to me.

And I love that thought. Scripture wasn’t locked away. It traveled. It was read. It was shared. It did its work. That’s an example to me. We should be doing the same. We are so blessed to carry scripture with us at all times (hello, smartphones). We need to learn to navigate it, ponder deeply, and share what we learn.

King Lamoni tells his people that as long as they live in his kingdom, they are free as it pertained to righteousness. That’s an interesting idea. Do we have the same freedom today? Of course. But if we break laws that encroach on someone else’s freedoms, we’re punished. In that regard, not much has changed. They were taught daily to be diligent in their efforts to be righteous. This line stands out to me: “…they were zealous for keeping the commandments of God.” I’ve seen this zeal in loved ones who returned to righteous living, renewed covenants, and became straight as an arrow. I’ve also seen it fade, which is heartbreaking. We really do need to be diligent—daily. Scripture study and prayer can’t be occasional. It’s a constant, daily battle.

Chapter 22, and we’re back with Lamoni’s father. This man is fascinating. Aaron had once been imprisoned and later released through the efforts of Ammon and Lamoni. Now Aaron enters the king’s quarters (Lamoni’s father) and asks if he can be his servant. That took courage.

The king doesn’t want him as a servant—he wants him to administer to him. Score. That request feels like a crack in his heart, allowing the gospel—the Spirit—to enter his soul. He’s curious about the Spirit of the Lord and repentance, and he’s willing to believe what Aaron teaches him.

Notice where Aaron begins: with the knowledge that there is a God. That’s instructive. It’s where teaching must start when someone is willing to listen. From there, Aaron moves into the same story we hear in the temple—the story of life itself. That’s why hearing it repeatedly matters. We learn how to tell the story.

So how does the king respond? Once, he was willing to give up half his kingdom to save his life. Now he says, “I will give up all that I possess, yea, I will forsake my kingdom, that I may receive this great joy.” He’s speaking of being born of God. That’s a profound leap.

Aaron’s answer is simple: faith, belief, and repentance. The same answer we give to anyone sincerely seeking truth. I love that.

Then the king prays—a powerful prayer in verse 18—offering to give away all his sins. He wants to be saved and resurrected. I relate deeply to this moment. It reminds me of bearing my testimony in a fast and testimony meeting in Washington Terrace. It was ordinary and humble. When I declared that what I had been taught was true, I was overcome by the Spirit. My testimony was simple and short, and I was overcome by the Spirit. I had to sit down, and I cried—hard. I was filled with joy.

And that’s how it works. One person at a time. One testimony at a time. It’s a beautiful thing.

“Now this was the faith of Lamoni… that he was willing to give up all things which he possessed… that he might gain eternal life.” (Alma 22:18)

Seeing With New Eyes

My study of Alma 17–19 this morning felt scattered, but maybe that’s because there is so much here about seeing—seeing with the Spirit, seeing Christ, and seeing others as they are seen by God, aka mercy.

In Alma 18, Ammon is described as having the Spirit so fully that he could perceive King Lamoni’s thoughts. That alone teaches me something about discipleship. But what stops me in my tracks is the queen. She believed Ammon’s words before she saw anything at all. She simply said she believed what he taught her, and Ammon told her she was blessed because of her exceeding faith. She had no proof yet—only trust. That kind of faith humbles me.

Lamoni’s conversion is astonishing. This was not a gentle king. His people feared him. He had killed his own servants over the scattering of his flocks. And yet, after being overcome by the Spirit, he declared that he had seen his Redeemer—Jesus Christ. I find myself asking why Lamoni was so blessed. What changed for him? He was taught that Christ would come and He would redeem all mankind. Lamoni himself was included in that redemption. Somehow, that truth broke through everything else.

When Ammon heard Lamoni testify, he was “overpowered with joy” and fell to the earth. Alma later explains that he was swallowed up in the joy of his God, even to the exhaustion of his strength. I understand that kind of joy. The day after I truly began reading the Book of Mormon to learn—not just to check a box—I was filled so completely that I wrapped my arms around myself, bent over, and simply stayed there, savoring it. The setting was odd, but the feeling was sacred. That joy has stayed with me as a beautiful memory.

And then there is Abish—quiet, faithful Abish. She had eyes to see that what was happening was the power of God. She didn’t keep it to herself. Filled with hope, she ran to gather the people so they could witness it too. But when they came, they saw something very different: a king, a queen, servants, and a Nephite all lying motionless. To them, it looked like evil, and Ammon became the villain.

One verse in this story will always fascinate me: the enemy of the king had mingled among the people. Wolves among sheep. It’s a warning I need. We don’t cast people out, but we must be mindful. It still happens today—even within families—when unbelief quietly tries to pull faith down to its own level.

Mosiah’s love for his sons weaves through this story as well. He feared for their lives among the Lamanites, and the Lord promised they would be protected. That promise is fulfilled when one of the very men involved in scattering the flocks tries to kill Ammon while he lies defenseless—and the man falls dead. Ammon could not be slain. The Lord keeps His word.

I also give credit to the multitude. They wondered. Some thought Ammon was the Great Spirit. Others believed he was a monster. Some thought he had been sent by God. They were confused, but they were engaged, wrestling with what they were witnessing.

Abish returned to find the crowd in contention and prayed that God would have mercy on this people—all of them. Both sides. Believers and unbelievers alike. That prayer teaches me more than I want sometimes. We are all in different places on this mortal journey. We move at different speeds. We carry different wounds and influences. Mercy and compassion are not optional; they are required.

After her prayer, Abish touched the king’s hand, and he arose. He rebuked the contention and taught the people using the words Ammon had taught him. Some believed and were converted. Others refused to hear and went their way. That part always makes me ache. They witnessed a miracle and still turned away. But those who stayed testified that their hearts had changed and they had no more desire to do evil. Many were baptized. What joy that must have been.

The chapter ends with a promise that feels like an invitation: all who will repent and believe will have His Spirit with them. That, I think, is what all of this is pointing toward—learning to see with the Spirit, choosing belief, and extending mercy as we wait for hearts (including our own) to be changed.

The Power of Deliverance; The Power of Touch (Alma 14–16)

This morning I sat with Alma and Amulek in Ammonihah. They were persecuted, beaten, and imprisoned for preaching the gospel. They suffered many days. (Alma 14:23)

When I read accounts like this, I always ask: What do I learn—and where is Jesus in the story?

Alma and Amulek had faith in Christ. When the persecution reached its fullness, they stood and professed that faith. The Lord delivered them. The earth shook, the prison walls fell, and those who had rejected them were destroyed. It is a vivid reminder that deliverance may not look the way we expect, but it always comes by the Lord’s hand.

They were commanded to depart and traveled to Sidom, still clearly on the Lord’s errand. There they found those who had fled Ammonihah—believers who knew they were in danger and had left their homes. In Sidom, Alma and Amulek testified of the “power of deliverance.” (Alma 15:2) What other power could it be? Only Jesus works this way.

Then there is Zeezrom.

He had believed. He had even tried to secure Alma and Amulek’s release. Now he lay in Sidom, burning with a fever, his mind harrowed by guilt and sin. I’ve commented on this before: when we carry guilt, it often shows up physically. The mind is powerful, and torment weakens us.

When Zeezrom saw Alma and Amulek, he reached out to them. They took him by the hand and asked if he believed in the power of Christ unto salvation.

That detail matters to me.

Years ago at Girls Camp at Mia Shalom, I learned how powerful simple touch can be. As part of the stake Young Women presidency, we had a teaching moment with the girls and gave them a small item to remind them of the lesson. The first group came through and everything went well enough—but something was missing.

When the second group arrived, I changed one thing. Instead of simply placing the item in their hands, I held each girl’s hand, placed it there, closed her fingers around it, and looked into her eyes. As I did, the Spirit washed over me in a way I will never forget.

I imagine something similar happened as Alma held Zeezrom’s hand. Touch can invite the Spirit. It can communicate love, safety, and sincerity in ways words alone cannot. When we serve the Lord, it may be worth finding ways—quiet, reverent ways—to express His love.

Christ can touch us. His Spirit can wash over us in unmistakable ways. And when that happens, it becomes a rock we can return to again and again.

Jesus is in the details of our lives. And when we are on His errand—loving His children—it becomes easier to see that we are never alone.

Counted as His

This morning in Alma 13, I stopped short at verse 15. Abraham paid tithes—one-tenth of all he possessed—to Melchizedek. That made me pause.
Wait… what about sacrifices? Further study helped me answer that question.

Abraham is clearly familiar with sacrificial offerings—Isaac alone makes that undeniable. But Abraham lived centuries before Moses, long before the highly ritualized system laid out in Leviticus —  after the Israelites are wandering in the wilderness with Moses. Abraham’s obedience was real and costly, but not institutional. What struck me is that tithing appears here as something deeply Christ-centered long before the Law of Moses ever existed. It wasn’t a checklist. It was covenantal.

Alma then shifts and speaks tenderly of those who are “wanderers in a strange land,” blessed because angels teach them and prepare them for Christ’s coming. He pleads with them to repent. Sadly, it doesn’t go well. Chapter 14 tells that story.

Then I moved to my Old Testament study and into Numbers. As I read the lists of tribes and their numbers—hundreds of thousands of men—I honestly can’t wrap my mind around the scale of it all. The sheer size of these groups is staggering.

And this may be a little irreverent, but as I listened to Numbers 2, my mind jumped to ward camps and Stake Girls’ Camp specifically and how we gave location assignments. Each clan carefully placed in a specific area, everything organized and accounted for—it sounded strangely familiar. I was fascinated by how deliberately God ordered His people, even in the wilderness – maybe especially in the wilderness. He didn’t want anyone to get lost. So like Him.

Some days my time in the scriptures feels more like a box to check than a place to meet the Savior—but today I saw Him clearly, caring about His people, all of His people, wanting each one known, ordered, and counted as His.

Fallow Fields, Faithful Rest aka Keep Sabbath Day Holy

 

This morning I read Leviticus 24–26. It wasn’t a hard read, it was a bit of warning.

Winter in Salt Lake has been dry. No real snow. Bare mountains. Reservoirs already low. It’s the kind of dryness that makes you stop and pay attention.

Leviticus 25 talks about letting the land rest. Every seventh year, fields are left fallow. No planting. No pruning. Whatever grows on its own is shared. The land is allowed to recover.

I thought of my dad. Sometimes he left a field fallow—not a religious thing, but lesson learned from experience. He knew the land couldn’t give endlessly. Rest wasn’t waste. It was wisdom. He trusted that restraint would lead to abundance later.

That’s how this law feels to me. Not harsh. Not theoretical. Just true. God asks for rest because He provides. We need the Sabbath. The land does too.

The section on servants is harder to read. Poverty could push someone into service, but God draws limits. No harsh rule. No ownership. Freedom built in. “They are My servants.” They belong to God. I’ve seen “servant” listed again and again in census reports as I’ve done Family Search. People sold their labor to survive. I get this. They were hiring themselves out for room and board. 

Leviticus 26 turns sober and very relatable.  Faithfulness brings rain and peace. Turning away brings the opposite. Disease. Failed crops. Sky like iron. Ground like brass.

Reading it, I felt a quiet gulp. Not fear—just application. We’ve lived through disease (pandemic). Now we’re watching the land dry out. It raises an honest question: Are we listening?

These words were spoken to ancient Israel, but the pattern remains. When God’s rhythms are ignored—rest, trust, stewardship—things begin to thin.

This dry season feels like an invitation — and invitation to open our eyes and see what’s happening. Do we believe the warnings the Lord gives to his people, Israel? Do we think perhaps we too are being warned? Are we getting the message?

My dad trusted fallow ground. Is Leviticus asking the same of us.

Alma’s Questions; Not judged, but Invited

I believe Alma 5 may be my favorite chapter—or at least one of them. It reads like a personal interview, with questions meant not for the crowd, but for the soul. Each one asks: How would you answer this?

Verse 7 stops me every time. A change of heart brings a change in countenance. I lived that. In 1977, people at work began asking if I’d cut my hair or lost weight. Something was different, and they wanted to know what it was. I knew. I was being changed—from the inside out. It was real, and it was visible. Never do I want to drift anywhere near the darkness that once defined my daily life. However busy discipleship may feel, I will take this light over that former hell without hesitation.

Was I destroyed? No. Instead, in His kindness, the Lord sent angels into my life to teach me of His plan—of Him—in ways I don’t remember learning in my youth. They taught me repentance and forgiveness. They showed me, by example, what life could look like with a course correction. I hungered for it. I was a dry sponge soaking up everything about Jesus, and I loved what I was learning.

Verse 9 asks whether the bands of death were broken. For me, they were—almost immediately, as quickly as I was willing to let them go. Those bands were habits and patterns that weighed me down and kept me from enjoying the sanctifying power of the Savior’s Atonement. Letting go created space to move toward Him.

And yes—every day of my life. I wake up with music in my head. I have sung the songs of redeeming love for more than 48 years. That line from Alma isn’t poetic exaggeration; it’s lived experience.

Alma closes chapter 5 with this invitation: “Come and be baptized unto repentance, that ye also may be partakers of the fruit of the tree of life.” I echo his call. Wouldn’t you love to have been in the congregation when Alma spoke these words?

Chapter 7 is just as rich. Verse 3 uses a phrase that stopped me: “supplicating of his grace.” To me, that means asking daily for His grace—His love, His forgiveness. We are imperfect beings living in a fallen world. Of course we need these things, and of course we should include them in our prayers.

Alma calls the people of Gideon to repent and be born again. I experienced that. Looking back now, it doesn’t feel dramatic—but it was a very big deal to me. Confessing sins, releasing old habits, and replacing them with new ones was hard work. What makes it feel smaller in hindsight is this: every new habit brought peace and happiness that outweighed the difficulty. I am profoundly grateful for the Savior’s Atonement and how it rescued me from a world of darkness. I will never forget.

Verse 20 reminds us that Christ’s path is one eternal round. He does not dwell in unholy temples—and that includes us. Each week we promise to live so that we may always have His Spirit to be with us. Do I live worthy of that blessing? Do I walk blameless before Him? I try. It is a constant effort, a daily choosing not to cross lines—many of which I’ve drawn deliberately in my own heart.

And then there’s verse 23—an entire checklist of Christlike attributes: humble, submissive, gentle, patient, temperate, diligent, grateful, full of faith, hope, and charity. If we do these things, Alma promises, we will always abound in good works. Our works will be good.

Finally, verse 27 offers a beautiful apostolic blessing—peace, prosperity, family, and protection—given according to faith and good works. I’ve been present when apostles have given such blessings, and there is power in them. This is a blessing worth living for.

Maybe this is the gift of Alma’s words: they don’t leave us judged, but invited—again and again—to choose the light.

Alma 2–4: Ancient Wars, Modern Warnings

Reading Alma 2–4 felt uncomfortably familiar—like watching today’s headlines unfold in scripture. Factions forming, voices rising in opposition, constant agitation, and a nation teetering between peace and chaos. I found myself asking: What will it take for a people to become Zion? The question is sobering.

Alma’s world shows us that conflict is rarely just about power or territory. It is about influence—about who people choose to follow and what spirit they allow to lead them. Groups gather momentum quickly when fueled by anger, fear, or pride. That was true then, and it feels true now.

What steadies me is Alma’s response. Rather than relying solely on force, he pleads for mercy and prays that the people might be instruments in the Lord’s hands to preserve and save. That feels like the pattern to follow: humility before action, prayer before judgment.

Chapter 3 stopped me in my tracks. The Amlicites marked themselves—not because God forced it upon them, but because they chose it. I could write an entire post on marks alone. We’re taught not to judge, yet it is difficult not to notice when someone openly declares allegiance to ideas rooted in hatred or rebellion. Scripture suggests that such marks—visible or invisible—are often first written on the heart.

The reminder in verse 19 is chilling: every man that is cursed bringeth upon himself his own condemnation. These were not accidental choices. They were deliberate. And verses 26–27 are painfully clear—each person receives wages according to the spirit they choose to obey. Eternal happiness or eternal misery flows from that choice.

Then comes the pattern we know too well.

In what follows (Alma 4), wars cease. Prosperity returns. And almost immediately, pride creeps in—fueled by riches, fine clothing, flocks, gold, and silver. Here we go again. Why is this lesson so hard to learn? We are repeatedly told that the Book of Mormon was written for our day, not just theirs. Are we watching this cycle play out in real time?

I reread a note I made in 2021 that still rings true: the phrase “pride of their eyes.” Pride often begins with comparison—what I have versus what someone else has. From that same root grow two twin evils: pride and envy. Perhaps one way to interrupt this cycle is to pray to see others as the Lord sees them. When we truly remember that we are all His children, pride loses its footing.

Alma’s choice to lay aside the judgment seat and preach the word feels strikingly familiar today, as many grandparents and seasoned professionals step away from careers and comforts to serve the Lord by healing hearts and gathering God’s family.