Enduring Isn’t Grit

As I read Elder Bednar’s talk, “All Who Have Endured Valiantly,” I had a quiet realization.

I’ve often thought of “enduring to the end” more like grit—pushing through, holding on. But I’m beginning to see it differently.

What if it’s simply continuing to follow Jesus Christ?

Not forcing change, but allowing it.

Like the drops of oil in our lamps—small, steady acts of goodness. Over time, something shifts. We become new creatures.

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This thought stopped me in my track.

• Why do I write music?
• Why do I attend the temple?
• Serve in the temple?
• Why do I serve?
• Why do I share bread with neighbors?

It isn’t obligation.

I want to do these things. Oh, I include my love for the Lord and desire to return to Him, but I truly want to do the things I do. They bring me joy! What else would I do? I truly don't know.

That doesn’t feel like grit. It feels like change.

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I’ve also noticed something else. I’ve lost interest in things that once mattered—shopping, decorating, even some of the busyness of life.

Is that something to worry about?

Or is it part of becoming?

Is this what happens as we quietly choose Him, again and again?

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Enduring to the end may not be about holding on tightly.

It may be about becoming someone who no longer wants to let go.

I’m grateful for a Savior who doesn’t just ask us to endure—but helps us become.

Little by little. Line upon line.

Until staying with Him is no longer something we try to do…
but something we truly desire. It's who we are.

Like one of our new songs teaches: Softly and Tenderly, Jesus is calling”

Enduring to the end might just be about becoming someone who no longer wants to let go.

 

Grief… or Hope?

1 Nephi 7

As I read this chapter, I found myself asking a simple question: Do I see the hand of the Lord here?

I do.

Families matter to Him. They always have. It’s through families—through the trials and blessings of raising “seed”—that we learn, grow, and ultimately return to Him.

I think about Ishmael and his family. Would I have had the faith to leave my home, take my daughters into the unknown to marry Lehi’s sons, and never look back? To live in a tent? To start over completely?

That kind of faith is remarkable.

And yet—not everyone had it.

Some of Ishmael’s children joined Laman and Lemuel in rebellion. These weren’t little children. They were capable, thinking young adults. They could have turned back. They had options.

But they didn’t turn back.

Nephi says he was grieved for them.

That word stopped me.

Am I grieved like that? Truly grieved over those who wander—especially those in my own family?

What does that kind of grief even look like?

• To not bear the thought of losing even one
• To quake, tremble, sorrow
• To groan, to weep, to yearn

I had to be honest with myself.

I don’t groan. I don’t weep or wring my hands.

I do feel sorrow. And I do yearn.

So then the question comes—what does that mean?
Am I lacking? Is something broken in me?

No.

I have hope.

I have faith in Jesus Christ and in His plan for every one of God’s children. That faith brings a peace that "passeth understanding" —but it is real.

I do grieve—not because I think all is lost, but because I see what they are missing. I see the light they don’t yet feel; the joy they don’t yet know.

And I want that for them.

I pray—often—that they will return. That it will happen here, in this life, where that joy can be fully felt.

And maybe that’s why a small detail in Nephi’s writing keeps lingering with me. He mentions more than once that his family dwelt in a tent.

It’s such a simple thing—but perhaps it’s a quiet reminder.

It doesn’t matter where we are—the Lord will reach us where we are.

He teaches us.
He knows us.
He guides us.

Wherever we are… we are always in His sight.

Hope doesn’t erase grief—it steadies it.

The Lord's hand is in this confusion!

 📖 1 Kings 19–22; 2 Kings 1 — Personal Notes (Tightened)

After such a powerful moment on Mount Carmel, Elijah surprises me. Jezebel threatens him, and suddenly he’s running, exhausted, and ready to die, AKA give up and asks the Lord to take him.

Maybe that’s the point. Even after witnessing miracles, we are still human.

What the Lord does next is quiet and tender:

• He lets Elijah rest
• He feeds him—twice
• He strengthens him little by little

Only later does He teach him that His voice is not in the dramatic moments, but in the still small voice.

That feels important.
Even after fire from heaven… Elijah still needed to learn how God usually speaks.

Then the story shifts—and honestly, it gets confusing.

The battles in chapter 20 feel large and overwhelming. The numbers are huge, the conversations unusual. But the message seems to be that the Lord is proving He is God everywhere—not just in the mountains or in dramatic displays.

And yet… Ahab doesn’t fully listen. Nobody really listens!

Then Naboth — This part is hard to read.

Ahab wants something that isn’t his (Naboth's vineyard). Naboth won't strike a deal. Ahab's wife, Jezebel, makes it happen through deception and murder—and it’s done so casually it almost feels shocking.

“Just like that… and he’s gone?”

It shows how far things have fallen:

• Power used for selfish gain
• Evil carried out without hesitation
• A king who allows it

When Elijah confronts Ahab, there is a moment of humility. Ahab softens, and the Lord delays the full consequences.

That stood out to me.

Even here… the Lord shows mercy. The Lord told Elijah these prophecies would be on his son. And that's more confusion for me.

🤔 A few things I had to sort out

2. “A lying spirit” (1 Kings 22:23)
This is a strange one.

The best way to understand it:

• The prophets were already choosing to deceive
• 👉 In other words:  God is in this story even though .  .  .  —He’s allowing Ahab to be led by the voices he chooses.

3. The fire consuming the fifties (2 Kings 1)
This feels extreme.

But notice the pattern:

• The first two groups come with worldly power, authority and assumption
• The third group with the same mission comes in humility

👉 The difference in Elijah’s power? —it’s their attitude toward God, their humility

💭 What stands out to me

This whole stretch of chapters feels like a contrast:

• Dramatic miracles vs. quiet whisperings
• Power vs. humility
• Partial obedience vs. true submission

And maybe the hardest part:

Sometimes it feels like everyone is doing wrong.

Even the “good” people struggle.
Even the leaders fail.

I heard Elder Holland's voice amidst the chaos: — “This must be terribly frustrating to Him.”

🌿 Closing thought

God is still working—even in confusion, weakness, and imperfect people.

Okay, maybe this brings me a little peace.

And maybe part of my work in reading is learning to recognize Him…
not just in the fire,
but in the quiet.

Remembering in the Moment

What Nephi and his brothers were asked to do wasn’t easy. Go back three days’ journey and bring back the plates of Laban. That’s a big ask.

Am I always excited about what I’m asked to do? Not necessarily. Sometimes I just shift into “you’re doing this for Jesus” mode and move forward. Am I good at it every time? Not even close.

Nephi understood that tension. He was asked to do something hard—something uncertain. He didn’t have a step-by-step plan. In fact, one of my favorite lines in this chapter is when he says he was “led by the Spirit, not knowing beforehand the things which I should do.”

I feel like I’m in that space right now.

There are things in my life that don’t feel fully clear—like serving in the temple without Clyde. We have always worked so well together.  It’s not that I feel uncomfortable exactly, but I do feel misplaced at times, especially when we’re there together. And yet, I trust there’s a reason. The Lord knows why. So I keep going, even without having it all figured out.

Then comes the moment in Nephi’s story that stops me every time.

He finds Laban. He sees the situation. And then comes a prompting that feels completely opposite to everything he’s been taught. It would have been easy to freeze, to question, to walk away.

But instead, something powerful happens:

“I remembered the words of the Lord.”

In that critical moment, Nephi didn’t rely on panic or impulse. He reached back into what he had already been taught. Promises. Commandments. Truths he had heard before. And as he remembered, understanding began to form.

He remembered that if he kept the commandments, his people would prosper in the land. He remembered the promises tied to obedience. And then the thought came:

How can we keep the law without the law? Boom! He knew he had to slay Laban and obtain the plate.

Clarity didn’t come at the beginning. It came in the middle—after remembering. After connecting what he already knew to the situation right in front of him.

It makes me wonder how often the Lord has already given me what I need, and I just need to remember it.

Maybe that’s how He works more often than I realize. He teaches us ahead of time, line upon line, and then in the moment of decision, the Spirit brings those things back to our minds.

Not always with full clarity at first—but enough.

Enough to take the next step.

I don’t always know what I’m doing beforehand. But I’m learning that I don’t have to. If I stay close to the Lord, if I listen and learn along the way, then when the moment comes… I’ll remember.

And sometimes, remembering is exactly what leads us forward.

Heed and Act of - 1 Nephi 3

As I read 1 Nephi 3, one thought keeps coming: when the Lord gives counsel through His prophet, it’s not optional.

Lehi was commanded to send his sons back for the plates. It wasn’t convenient. It wasn’t easy. But it was necessary.

That same pattern exists today.

In General Conference, our Prophet, President Oaks  reminded us to center our worship, learning, and testimonies on Jesus Christ. He promised that as we treasure up and act on these teachings (talks at GC), we will receive personal revelation and guidance.

That word  sticks with me: act.

I’m good at hearing. I’m even good at feeling inspired. But acting—consistently—that requires something..

Sometimes the prompting is big. Sometimes it’s small and very personal—be more patient, stop criticizing, love better. I try. I do well for a while… and then I slip.

So I ask, What’s the fix?

And the answer seems almost too simple:
Keep listening. Keep trying. Keep acting.

The danger isn’t in failing—it’s in not heeding at all.

In the Book of Mormon, we see what happens when people don’t have the guidance they need. Without records and direction, they lose more than knowledge—they lose understanding, connection, even identity. As the Mulekites so aptly demonstrate, even language.

I don’t want that.

I want to recognize the Lord’s voice. I want to follow it. I want to remember who I am and whose I am.

So maybe the question isn’t, Do I agree? or even Do I understand?

Maybe the better question is:
Am I willing to heed—and act?

Dwelling in a Tent

Reading 1 Nephi 2 this morning, a question stayed with me:

Could I leave my home—everything comfortable—and go into the wilderness?

I’ve done hard things, and I say “stuff” doesn’t matter… but the older I get, the more weight that question carries. Do I really believe it?

Could I have done what was asked—not just of Lehi, but of Sariah?

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“And my father dwelt in a tent.”

Such a simple phrase, repeated often. But Sariah dwelt there too.

A tent means only the necessities. No excess. No permanence.

And yet, the Spirit was there.

There is a lesson here!

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Nephi shows me what to do when things are hard to understand: he prays.

When others resist—even his own brothers—he chooses faith.

And the Lord blesses him for his faith, diligence, and lowliness of heart.

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Lowliness of heart feels like:

• depending on God
• being teachable
• letting go of pride
• having a soft, willing heart

Not weakness—strength that chooses humility.

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The promises are clear:

• Keep the commandments → be led and prosper
• Don’t → be cut off from the Lord’s presence

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I keep thinking about that tent.

Maybe it’s not about what they lost.

What did they gain? Think about it. 

Compelled

 This morning I began reading the Book of Mormon again—this time more slowly, hoping to sit with the words and let them ask something of me.

In 1 Nephi 1:11–12, Lehi is given a book to read. I found myself wondering—what book was it?

It couldn’t have been the Book of Mormon as we know it. Perhaps it was something like the scriptures they already had. Whatever it was, it filled him with the Spirit of the Lord.

That led me to a quieter question:
Does coming unto Christ remove suffering—or change how we experience it?

Jerusalem wasn’t peaceful then, and the world isn’t peaceful now. Yet the invitation remains the same: Come unto Him.

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In verse 16, Nephi explains that he is not writing everything his father recorded, but an abridgment. We know what happened to those earlier writings—lost through Martin Harris.

And that made one word stand out to me: compel. Nephi felt compelled to include some of his Father’s experience. 

Have I ever felt compelled?

Yes.

I felt compelled to gather and write my dad’s mission journal—to bring his words into one place.

I felt compelled to leave the Volunteer Care Clinic. It was a difficult decision, but it felt like our time there was complete. Twelve years is a long mission and there were other things to do that were also compelling. The Clinic has struggled, but it is providing valuable service to our community.

I feel a strong urgency—maybe even a compulsion—to focus on the music the Lord has placed in my life. There are unfinished projects that may never be completed, and yet the pull is still there. The Easter song I’m working on feels especially important. Its idea is not mine. I don’t take credit for it as it was a challenge from Clyde, but I feel responsible to take it to completion.

I feel compelled to help our new music from the Church become familiar, something we turn to naturally.

I feel compelled to help our youth—especially those leading music in sacrament meeting—feel confident and capable. It’s slow work, but I see small progress.

I feel compelled to gather my family, even if that gathering happens more often in prayer than in person.

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So yes—I know what it feels like to be compelled.

My challenge is not recognizing it.

My challenge is balancing it.

Because even in good things, I sometimes fall short.