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The writing prompt for today asks:

“What’s a personal mantra or philosophy you live by?”

I laughed when I saw it.

Not because I didn’t know the answer.

But because I’ve spent the past few days thinking about it without realizing it.

If you had asked me this question when I was young, my answer might have been very different. I might have talked about hard work, determination, goals, faith, family, or perseverance.

Today, after many decades of life experience, my answer is much simpler.

People Are Carrying Stories We Cannot See

Life has taught me that every person is carrying a story.

Some stories are obvious.

Others remain hidden.

People carry grief.

People carry illness.

People carry loneliness.

People carry regrets.

People carry fears.

People carry disappointments.

Sometimes they carry burdens so heavy that simply getting through the day requires more courage than anyone around them realizes.

The longer I live, the less interested I am in judging people and the more interested I am in understanding them.

I’ve learned to ask questions.

What happened to this person?

What struggles have they faced?

What losses shaped them?

What strengths helped them survive?

Questions don’t erase accountability.

But they often create understanding.

And understanding makes room for grace.

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These Are the People Who Made the People Who Made You

Many years ago, I became fascinated with genealogy.

As I researched ancestors, collected records, and pieced together family histories, I discovered something remarkable.

Every person is built upon countless lives that came before them.

People crossed oceans.

Survived wars.

Endured poverty.

Raised children.

Buried loved ones.

Started over.

Took risks.

Made sacrifices.

And because they did, we are here.

One of my favorite phrases in a baby book I created for my great-granddaughter was:

“These are the people who made the people who made you.”

I still believe that.

None of us exists in isolation.

We belong to a much larger story.

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The Lord’s Tender Mercies

One of my favorite phrases comes from the scriptures:

“The tender mercies of the Lord.”

Over the years, I’ve learned that tender mercies aren’t always dramatic.

Sometimes they’re surprisingly ordinary.

A phone call.

A memory.

A photograph.

An old file discovered on a hard drive.

An encouraging conversation.

A relationship beginning to heal.

A little more time than I expected.

Sometimes the greatest blessings arrive quietly.

They don’t remove the trial.

They simply help us continue walking through it.

I’ve experienced many of those tender mercies throughout my life.

Some appeared exactly when I needed them.

Others weren’t recognized until years later.

Love Survives More Than We Think

I’ve lived long enough to learn that life rarely unfolds exactly as we planned.

Families face difficulties.

Relationships become strained.

Illness enters the picture.

Dreams change.

Mistakes happen.

There have been seasons when I wished circumstances were different.

There have been times when people misunderstood me.

And there have been times when I misunderstood others.

But one lesson keeps returning.

Love can survive more than we realize.

It can survive distance.

It can survive disappointment.

It can survive misunderstanding.

It can survive time.

Love does not always prevent pain.

But it often outlasts it.

The Philosophy I Live By

So if I had to summarize my personal philosophy in a few words, it would be this:

People are carrying stories we cannot see.

Look for the story.

Offer grace whenever possible.

Notice the Lord’s tender mercies.

Remember where you came from.

And never underestimate the power of love to survive difficult things.

Life has taught me that understanding another person’s story doesn’t change the past.

But it can change the future.

And sometimes, that is miracle enough.

❤️


Thanks for reading.
Shirley

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What If Following Christ Means Trusting Him Without the Full Plan?

Lately, I’ve been thinking about what it really means to follow Jesus Christ.

We often talk about faith as if it’s a destination, something we arrive at once we’ve learned enough or become good enough. But the more I reflect on my own walk with God, the more I realize it’s a lifelong journey. God isn’t looking for perfection overnight. He’s patiently shaping us, teaching us, and changing us one step at a time.

One phrase that has stayed with me is the idea that God is preparing a people who know His voice, feel His Spirit, and are willing to follow Him wherever He leads.

That kind of discipleship is both beautiful and challenging.

A few years ago, I found myself facing a decision that felt overwhelming. I had prayed for direction, but no clear answer seemed to come. I wanted certainty. I wanted a detailed roadmap. Instead, what I felt was a quiet assurance to simply take the next faithful step.

Looking back, I realize God wasn’t asking me to see the entire path. He was asking me to trust Him with the next step.

That experience taught me something important: faith isn’t always knowing where God is leading. Sometimes faith is choosing to follow even when you can’t see very far ahead.

I believe Jesus Christ lives. I believe He knows us personally, loves us completely, and is actively involved in our lives. Even when I don’t understand everything that’s happening around me, I find peace in knowing that He does.

More than anything, I want my life to reflect a simple but profound choice:

I choose Christ.

Not just on Sundays.

Not just when life is going well.

Not just when it’s convenient.

I want to choose Him when prayers seem unanswered. I want to choose Him when life feels uncertain. I want to choose Him in the ordinary moments that rarely make it into anyone’s testimony but often shape who we’re becoming.

One of the most moving thoughts from this message was the desire to be able to say to the Lord:

“I am Yours, totally and completely, without reservation or condition.”

If I’m honest, that’s easier to say than it is to live.

There are still dreams I cling to, plans I want to control, and questions I wish God would answer more quickly. Yet every time I try to hold too tightly to my own expectations, I’m reminded that God’s perspective is so much greater than mine.

The invitation Christ extends isn’t merely to believe in Him. It’s to trust Him. To know Him. To follow Him. To place our lives in His hands and believe that wherever He leads is better than anywhere we could go on our own.

Today, my prayer is simple:

“Lord, help me hear Your voice. Help me recognize Your Spirit. And wherever You lead, help me have the courage to follow.”

Because at the end of the day, above every other choice life offers, I want my life to say:

I choose Christ.

Reflection: Can you think of a time when God asked you to trust Him without showing you the entire plan? Looking back, how did that experience strengthen your faith?

Sometimes the greatest testimonies are built not in dramatic miracles, but in the quiet moments when we choose, again and again, to follow Him. ❤️

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Silent Sunday 9/13/26

—Shirley

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Tribute: “Be Like Dolly”

Good evening, friends.

Today, we celebrate the life and legacy of a remarkable woman whose voice filled concert halls, whose songs touched hearts, and whose generosity changed lives.

Many people knew Dolly Parton as a country music legend. Millions knew her as an entertainer, songwriter, actress, and performer. But those who admired her most often saw something even greater. They saw a person who never forgot where she came from.

Born into poverty in the mountains of Tennessee as one of twelve children, Dolly understood hardship from an early age. She knew what it meant to have little and dream big. Through talent, determination, faith, and relentless hard work, she built a life that inspired people all over the world.

Yet success never seemed to change her heart.

She remembered the families struggling to get by. She remembered children who needed opportunities. She remembered the importance of reading, learning, and believing in yourself. Through the Imagination Library, millions of books found their way into the hands of children who might otherwise never have owned one.

That may be one of her greatest songs, although it was never sung. It was written in kindness, one book at a time.

Dolly also taught us that strength doesn’t have to be loud. It can be humble. It can be generous. It can wear a smile and still move mountains.

Faith was an important part of her life. Hope was part of her message. Love was part of her example.

In a world often divided by anger and criticism, Dolly Parton reminded us to laugh, to dream, to help one another, and to remain grateful for our blessings.

Her music will endure. Her words will endure. But perhaps her greatest legacy is the example she leaves behind.

An example that says:

Never forget your roots.

Never stop believing.

Never stop giving.

And never underestimate the power of kindness.

May we honor her not only by remembering her songs, but by living the values she shared with the world.

Thank you, Dolly.

And may we all strive to “Be Like Dolly.”

—

Blog Post: Be Like Dolly

Be Like Dolly: More Than a Country Music Legend

Some people become famous.

A few become beloved.

Almost none become both while remaining humble, generous, and authentic.

That is why Dolly Parton’s story continues to inspire millions of people around the world.

What makes Dolly remarkable is not simply the music. It is not the awards, the hit songs, the sold-out shows, or the decades of success. The truly inspiring part of Dolly’s story is where she began and what she chose to do with her success.

Growing up in rural Tennessee as one of twelve children, Dolly experienced poverty firsthand. She understood struggle, sacrifice, and the importance of family. Those early experiences shaped the values that would remain with her throughout life.

Rather than allowing success to separate her from ordinary people, Dolly used her platform to help them.

The Imagination Library became one of the most successful literacy programs in modern history, providing free books to children and encouraging a lifelong love of reading. The program reflected something fundamental about Dolly’s character: a belief that every child deserves opportunity.

Dolly also demonstrated that kindness and strength are not opposites. She never seemed ashamed of her background, her faith, or her unique personality. In an era when public figures often reinvent themselves, Dolly remained unapologetically Dolly.

Perhaps that is why so many people from different backgrounds admired her. She represented something increasingly rare: authenticity.

Her life reminds us that success means little if it cannot be used to help others. Wealth matters less than generosity. Fame matters less than character.

The lesson is simple.

You do not have to be a celebrity to change someone’s life.

You do not have to write hit songs to inspire hope.

You do not have to be wealthy to be generous.

You simply have to care.

When future generations look back on Dolly Parton’s legacy, they will remember the music. But they will also remember the books, the kindness, the faith, the laughter, and the countless lives touched by her generosity.

That is why her story matters.

And that is why the best tribute may be the simplest one:

Be Like Dolly.

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✨ Our 50‑Year Anniversary Story

For our 50th anniversary, I wanted to gather the story of our life — the temples, the moves, the miracles, the losses, the laughter, and the quiet ways we kept choosing each other through every season. This isn’t just a timeline; it’s the map of a marriage built across states, decades, and faith. It’s a love story shaped by resilience, devotion, and the kind of companionship that grows deeper with every storm weathered and every sunrise shared.


If you’d like to read the full story, it’s below — a celebration of fifty years of us.


(A letter for my husband — August 21, 2026)

My love,

Fifty years. Half a century of us — of choosing each other, holding each other, building and rebuilding a life across states, temples, heartbreaks, miracles, and every kind of weather a marriage can walk through. When I look back, I don’t just see the years. I see you.

I see the young man I met at Signetics in Orem — the one every woman flirted with, the one who somehow became my friend in the middle of my own storms. I had Corey and Tracy, you had Alex and Ben, and both of us were trying to survive marriages that were already breaking. We didn’t plan a life together. We simply kept showing up for each other until life itself nudged us into the same direction.

And then came that Christmas of 1975 — the layoff, the eviction, the panic. You found me a place in Salt Lake City, found work nearby, and without knowing it, you set the first stone of our shared foundation. We didn’t fall in love in a moment. We built love out of survival, loyalty, and the way you refused to let me face anything alone.


🌿 The Early Years — Loss, Courage, and Holding On

We moved on January 1, 1976, carrying more hope than belongings. Then came the devastation no parent should ever face — losing Tracy. Losing everything we owned. Losing the Cougar. And yet, even in that grief, we stayed side by side.

Mama’s house. The funeral. Corey kidnapped the night of the viewing. Our first apartment. Our first purchase together — that king‑sized waterbed, our first big purchase on time, and even now, with a mattress we still sleep on. Even then, we were learning how to be a team.

Southern California beaches gave us rest. Quiet days, lazy waves, long talks, always with music to soothe us. You missed your boys. I missed Corey and Tracy. We were two people grieving separately, but healing together.

Then came the loss of our baby boy at five months. Another heartbreak. Another moment where we could have fallen apart — but didn’t.


💍 The Day We Chose Forever

My divorce finalized in August. We married on August 21, 1976, in Las Vegas at the tiny white “Chapel of Eternal Love.” We dressed in a gas station bathroom — me in a long white polyester dress with a white embroidered collar. We couldn’t afford a room, so we celebrated at Denny’s in the middle of the night. Then we drove home, closer to each other than two people have ever been.

That night wasn’t fancy. It wasn’t grand. But it was ours, and it was perfect. We made it OUR chapel of eternal love. From that day, I never felt otherwise, that our love is eternal.


Family time camping.

🏡 Becoming a Family

Corey came home after nine months missing. Alex and Ben came home a few days later. Oh, we were so very happy! We celebrated Halloween and Thanksgiving together. Fantasia was our first movie as a family. You brought me flowers every day for years. We were complete — or as complete as life allowed.

Varian. Church every Sunday. Sarah’s birth. No bucket seats — always cheek to cheek.

Washington. Boeing. Rachael’s birth. Acreage, camping, canning, goats, pigs, rabbits, homeschooling. A whole world built from scratch. We were so much in love, so thankful for each other. Even 20 years later, we couldn’t wait to hold each other tight every night.


Hawaii Temple

✨ Sacred Places, Sacred Promises

Our sealing in the Hawaii Temple — ten days in paradise, one on Maui. Sushi for the first time. Pearl Harbor. BYU–Hawaii. The Polynesian Cultural Center. Driving all over Oahu with joy in our bones. Stargazing into the brilliantly clear night sky, thanking our Father for our many blessings.

Mt. Haleakalā — the highest volcanic mountain in the islands. The young doctor and his pregnant wife who joined us. My altitude sickness. Your shoulder injury. The doctor treating you on the beach the next day. Even in the strangest moments, we were blessed.


🌱 The Middle Years — Work, Service, and Hard Lessons

School. Degrees. Fostering. Political life. Exhaustion. Parenting styles clashing. Kids running in opposite directions. Painful years. Both girls pregnant. The kind of heartbreak that ages a person.

Then, Penryn Park — caretakers. Isolation. Peace. Healing. Unity. The earth itself seemed to hold us together.


🌾 The Later Years — Dreams, Realizations, and Grace

Hawkins, East Texas — the dream fulfilled, then sickness, like a dark shadow, creeping in, once again. The slow painful realization that some dreams arrive later than we hoped. But even then, we stayed side by side.

Now we plan the conclusion gently. We take things slower. We prepare for one last move — to be near family. To settle all things. To finish our story the same way we began it: together.



💛 What I Celebrate Today

I celebrate your strength.
I celebrate your devotion.
I celebrate the way you have carried burdens no one else sees.
I celebrate the way you have loved me through sickness, exhaustion, and every season of life.
I celebrate the way you have shown up — again and again — even when life was unfair.

I celebrate us.

Fifty years of temples.
Fifty years of moves.
Fifty years of children, losses, miracles, and memories.
Fifty years of choosing each other.

My love, we have lived a life that could fill volumes. And through every chapter — the beautiful ones, the painful ones, the ones we barely survived — you have been my partner, my protector, my companion, my home.

Happy 50th Anniversary.

I love you more now than I did on the night we stood in that tiny white chapel.


And I will love you still in every chapter that remains.


✨ Gentle Closing Blessing for the Anniversary Letter

May the years ahead be lighter than the ones behind us.
May peace settle into the corners of our days,
and may kindness be the language we speak to one another.

May we walk slowly, hand in hand,
grateful for the chapters we’ve lived
and tender with the ones still unfolding.

May God hold us close,
heal what has been heavy,
and bless the rest of our journey
with gentleness, warmth, and quiet joy.

And may love — the steady, enduring kind —
continue to be the thread that ties us together
in every step we take from here.




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Peaceful, Blessed Sabbath Day

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Silent Sunday

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When an Atheist Went Searching for the Crimes of Religion — and Found God Instead

www.godreports.com/2018/04/jewish-atheist-found-god-at-stanford/

At just eleven years old, Barak Lurie declared himself an atheist. Not out of rebellion, trauma, or philosophical sophistication — but out of what he now calls the childish simplicity of assuming that what cannot be touched must not exist.

“If you can’t see, hear, smell, or touch God,” he recalls, “it’s very easy for a child to say, ‘Well, I can’t see Him. Therefore, He doesn’t exist.’”

Raised in a non‑observant Jewish home in Connecticut, Lurie grew up in a culture where God was rarely mentioned except in jest. His parents believed in God but never imposed faith. School reinforced skepticism. And young Barak, bright and curious, leaned into it. He journaled arguments, devoured Ayn Rand, and sharpened his atheism into something almost evangelistic.

“I wanted to find arguments for my atheism,” he says. “I pushed it by talking to other people about it.”

—

The Stanford Thesis That Changed Everything

When Lurie arrived at Stanford University, he expected his atheism to deepen. After all, many students watch their faith erode under the scorn of professors. But something unexpected happened.

He chose an undergraduate honors thesis designed to prove the famous mantra:

Religion has caused the deaths of untold millions.

“I set out to prove it,” he says. “And within two weeks of deep research, I realized — I am really wrong on this.”

His research revealed that atheistic regimes — Stalin, Mao, Pol Pot — were responsible for ten times more killings than Christianity, totaling roughly 200 million deaths in just 80 years.

It was a discovery that embarrassed him. The evidence had been there all along. But the implications ran deeper than statistics.

If atheism produced such devastation, what did that say about the worldview he had embraced?

—

The Philosophical Cracks in Atheism

In his philosophy courses, Lurie encountered a problem atheism couldn’t solve: free will.

True atheists, he realized, must logically be determinists — the sum of their influences, with no moral responsibility. But Lurie knew he made choices. He knew he was accountable. And accountability implies a Creator who endowed humanity with agency.

“Once I accepted that I had free will,” he says, “I opened the door to the possibility that there was a Creator.”

From there, more questions followed:

• Where does beauty come from?

• Where does love come from?

• Why do humans create art, music, humor?

• Why do we seek meaning at all?

None of these could be explained by pure Darwinian evolution, he concluded. Biology alone cannot account for sunsets, symphonies, or sacrifice.

“Not one of our human values can be explained by evolution,” he says.

—

The Mathematical Impossibility of Random Life

Lurie also confronted the staggering improbability that the universe — ordered, beautiful, and finely tuned — could arise by chance.

Even famed atheist Stephen Hawking acknowledged the impossibility. Yet Hawking clung to atheism by proposing a multiverse, a theoretical escape hatch to avoid the conclusion of a Creator.

To Lurie, this was telling:

“When randomness fails, atheism must invent new universes.”

—

Dostoevsky, Atheism, and the Rediscovery of God

As Lurie continued his thesis, he focused on Fyodor Dostoevsky — a writer who wrestled deeply with atheism before returning to faith.

“You cannot truly appreciate God unless you have rejected God,” Dostoevsky wrote.

Lurie resonated with that. His own rejection had sharpened his eventual belief.

By the time he finished his thesis, he had rediscovered God — slowly, thoughtfully, and profoundly. He began reconnecting with his Jewish roots, attending synagogue, and rebuilding a worldview he had once dismantled.

“It was like learning a second language,” he says.

—

Atheism Kills — and the Book That Shook the Conversation

Lurie also confronted the staggering improbability that the universe — ordered, beautiful, and finely tuned — could arise by chance.

Even famed atheist Stephen Hawking acknowledged the impossibility. Yet Hawking clung to atheism by proposing a multiverse, a theoretical escape hatch to avoid the conclusion of a Creator.

To Lurie, this was telling:

“When randomness fails, atheism must invent new universes.”

—

A Jew Who Loves Christians

Lurie’s journey has also led him to appreciate Christianity deeply. He and fellow Jewish thinker Dennis Prager often discuss how closely Christian ethics align with Jewish values.

“I would love for this whole world to become Christian,” he says. “We need people who subscribe to the Ten Commandments.”

He now serves on boards including PragerU, Stand With Us, and the Jewish National Fund, advocating for Western values and religious heritage.

—

From Atheist Child to Defender of Faith

Today, Barak Lurie is a husband, father of three, attorney, author, radio host, and outspoken defender of faith. His story is a reminder that sometimes the search for truth leads us exactly where we least expect.

He set out to prove religion was deadly.

Instead, he discovered God.

—

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Defending Religious Liberty: Why ‘Religious Tests’ for Public Office Threaten Us All

Recent discussions surrounding political figures and their views on which denominations are ‘truly Christian’ have brought a critical issue to the forefront of American public life: the preservation of religious freedom for everyone, not just for one’s own group.

The Core Issue: Shifting from Theology to Government Control

It is common for different religious groups to debate doctrine and theology. However, a dangerous line is crossed when those theological disagreements move from the pulpit to the halls of government. Reports involving figures like pastor Doug Wilson, who has expressed a desire for a ‘Christian Republic’ that would exclude Latter-day Saints (and others who do not meet his definition of orthodoxy) from holding public office, serve as a warning. This is not just a theological dispute—it is a challenge to the constitutional principles of our nation.

Why Article VI Matters

Regardless of our individual faith, all Americans should be concerned about the concept of a ‘religious test.’ The U.S. Constitution’s Article VI explicitly states that no religious test shall ever be required as a qualification for any office or public trust. This protection is essential because:


• It prevents the state from defining legitimacy: Once the government has the power to decide which denominations are ‘real’ Christians or which faiths are ‘legitimate,’ it gains the power to dictate who belongs in public life.


• It protects agency: True freedom requires that individuals be free to choose their own faith without government-imposed barriers to their participation in society.


• It protects all minorities: A precedent that allows one group to exclude another based on theology today can just as easily be used to exclude other religious or non-religious groups tomorrow.

Fairness for All

Defending religious freedom does not mean believers should retreat from public life or stop advocating for moral foundations. It means advocating for an environment where:

  1. Religious liberty is universal: As President Dallin H. Oaks has taught, we should not seek total dominance for our own position, but fairness for all.
  2. Conscience remains free: Civil government exists to restrain crime and protect rights, but it must never attempt to control the conscience of its citizens.
  3. Civic participation is not conditional: An individual’s right to vote or hold office should never be viewed as a temporary ‘political convenience’ or a conditional privilege granted by those in power.

Conclusion

We can value America’s Christian foundations and the moral inheritance of our founding documents without resorting to theocracy. The best way to preserve our own liberty is to vigorously defend the same rights for those whose theology we might disagree with. By choosing to uphold the constitutional ban on religious tests, we protect the sacred principle of agency and ensure that America remains a land of freedom for all.

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My Hope and Dream

I’ve been experimenting with Nightcafe and am so happy at the way this has turned out.

My prayer is that, when the time comes, I will be greeted by my own children whom I have lost, foster children who passed away in my home, and all the multitudes of ancestors I’ve done the work for.

The tragic Acadians lost in the diaspora called The Great Dispersal that drove many to Louisiana.

To the Ancestors who came to the New World from France and dug trenches called dykes in Nova Scotia. All of these contributed to my bloodline, on both sides of my parents.

One, a veritable hero, Beausoleil Broussard, my direct ancestor that I happen to share with Beyoncé.

Another ancestor, unnamed due to threat of shaming, an ancestor who was the unknowing carrier of the deaf blind and balance scourge of many Cajuns, Usher Syndrome. Another, Tay Sachs syndrome, shared by tight-knit Jewish communities.

To my Louisiana Ancestors, who braved yellow fever, great storms and hurricanes, and sweltering heat. Worst of all, the mosquitoes who ravaged bodies with yellow fever. Even the awful monster, leprosy, inhabited so many bodies, clinics still exist in Louisiana. Yet, they survived. With their celebrations at Mardi Gras, and family crawfish boils, along with cotton picking parties and Saturday night dance halls. My childhood was filled with such great memories! In fact, I was nearly born on my grandfather’s shrimp boat on New Year’s Eve night. The shrimp were running so good, nobody except Mama was in a hurry to get off that boat! I just barely made it to the hospital at Lafayette General (called Charity Hospital at the time. The building’s still there.)

To my one line of Irishmen, the Pepper’s, who came right after the great potato starvation time, who first witnessed persecution, and then, founded a good life of blacksmithing. (My grandmother’s grandmother wasn’t allowed to speak in her native tongue, even at home, but my mother recalls her beautiful “sing-song” accent in her Cajun speak.)

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Happy Easter!

Christ is Risen!

Truly, He Has Risen!

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Just Recalling That Blessed Thursday Long Ago…

I just received a message that was so touching, reminding us all of that Sacred, Blessed Thursday So very long ago, when the Lord spoke to His disciples, but they didn’t understand.

Not until they witnessed the Resurrection of Jesus Chridt, our Lord, Savior, and Master of us all. The true sacrifice wasn’t only on the cross.

It happened in the Garden of Gethsemane, when He took upon Himself the total of the sums of the sins of the world.

Think of it! He bore our sins – every one of us! From the beggar to the thief, from the robber to the murderer; from the sinful to the ones who try. He experienced every single thing a human can experience.

Why? So He can know how to succor us. So He’d understand how the Cancer patient felt, how physical pain of every kind felt; how emotional pain felt; how spiritual pain felt; any type of pain a human can experience. He felt it.

He knew that He had to know these things in order for us to trust Him, to believe Him, when He said, “I know. I can take it away from you. Follow Me.”

Oh, the love He has for us! We are truly His brothers and sisters. He is our Elder brother, the firstborn of the Father.

I believe in my heart that He had a relationship with each and every one of us. Before we were born, we knew Him intimately as our Elder brother.

The fact that He bore your sins, my sins, and everyone who ever took a breath here’s sins, that shows the great love He has for us.

If you don’t know that with all your being, please ask Him. He will communicate this fact to you in the way you’ll know it.

Deeply personal.

One on one.

No barriers.

He reaches out to us individually in so many ways. All we have to do is, “Be still and know that I am.”

In Jesus’ Name, Amen

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The Oil Press: Christ’s Agony in Gethsemane and the Gift of Repentance

Nestled on the slopes of the Mount of Olives, just east of Jerusalem, lies a quiet garden whose name carries a weight far heavier than its olive trees. Gethsemane. In Aramaic and Hebrew it means “oil press”—the place where olives are crushed until the pure, healing oil flows. There, in the shadow of ancient trees, the Savior of the world chose to be pressed under a burden no mortal could possibly bear.

It was the night before Calvary. The Passover meal had ended. Jesus led His disciples to this familiar spot, then stepped away alone. The scriptures describe what happened next with stark honesty: “And being in an agony he prayed more earnestly: and his sweat was as it were great drops of blood falling down to the ground” (Luke 22:44). He was not merely anticipating the cross. In that garden He took upon Himself every sin, every sorrow, every sickness, and every heartbreak that would ever be felt by any child of God. The weight was so crushing that even the Son of God trembled and asked if the cup could pass from Him—yet He submitted: “Nevertheless not my will, but thine, be done.”

Think about the name again: the oil press. Olives do not yield their richest oil by gentle handling. They must be crushed. The stone rolls over them relentlessly until every drop of life-giving oil is released. In Gethsemane, Jesus became the ultimate olive. He allowed Himself to be pressed so that the oil of salvation could flow to every one of us. The pure, healing, sanctifying power of the Atonement was squeezed from His soul that night.

Now consider your own moments of repentance.

When the Holy Ghost gently (or sometimes not so gently) brings a sin to your remembrance, you feel a pressure in your chest. Guilt. Remorse. A heaviness that makes sleep difficult and peace impossible. That pressure is not punishment—it is the garden of your own Gethsemane. Your heart is being pressed. The old self is being crushed so that something pure can come forth: a broken heart and a contrite spirit. Just as the Savior’s agony produced the oil of redemption, your godly sorrow produces the oil of repentance. It hurts. It is meant to. But it is also the very process that prepares you to receive the healing He already purchased.

I have felt that press. You have too. The tears in the car after a harsh word to a loved one. The sleepless night after realizing you betrayed a trust. The ache that comes when you finally admit you’ve been running from God. In those moments you are not alone. The One who bled in Gethsemane is right beside you, whispering, “I already carried this. Let Me help you release it.”

And here is the beautiful truth that turns every tear into thanksgiving: because He was willing to be pressed to the point of blood, you never have to stay crushed. The same garden that witnessed infinite suffering now offers infinite mercy. The oil that flowed from His agony anoints your wounds, softens your heart, and lights your way home.

So today I stand in awe and say simply, “Thank You.”

Thank You, Jesus, for not running from the press.

Thank You for staying in the garden when every fiber of Your being cried out to leave.

Thank You that because of Your suffering, my repentance is never hopeless—it is healing.

Thank You that the oil of Your Atonement still flows freely for anyone who will come to their own small Gethsemane and say, “Not my will, but Thine.”

Whatever weight you are carrying right now, take it to the garden. Lay it at the feet of the One who already bore it. Let the press do its work. And then rise, forgiven, lighter, and filled with the oil of gladness that only the Savior can give.

He suffered so you could be free.

What a Savior. What a gift. What an oil press.

The Oil Press of Gethsemane

Just as olives must be pressed and crushed to release their purest, healing oil, our Savior willingly suffered in the garden of the oil press. There He bore every sin and sorrow so that the sanctifying oil of His Atonement could flow to every soul who comes with a broken heart and contrite spirit.

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It’s January! A New Year. A Time of New Beginnings

Maybe you’ll set a goal for this new year⁠. Some people choose a word to represent their intentions for the year ahead. This year⁠, our family will be focusing on the same verse of scripture: Moses 6:34⁠, “Walk with me.” This was an invitation given to the prophet Enoch.

As Enoch journeyed through the land, the Spirit of God rested upon him. Then the Lord spoke to him. He taught him about His plan of happiness, which would give purpose and meaning to life. Everyone longs to have better and deeper meaning and purpose in their lives. When the Lord finished describing His plan, He gave Enoch an invitation: “Walk with me.”

As you journey through this new year⁠, maybe you’ll find yourself looking for happiness, purpose, and meaning. We could all learn from Enoch’s story and invite the Lord to be part of our journeys this year⁠, no matter where we go…or stay.

As you might already know, I have been dealing with Chronic Kidney Disease. I’m thankful to still be here, as I’ve got much to do. I hope to use my time wisely, so I’ll be ready when the time comes.

You could choose to walk with Him. As you do, blessings await. I’m sure each of us will be better for it, if we determine for ourselves that we will walk with the Lord.

It’s going to be a good year⁠.

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Navigating Grief During the Holidays: Finding Light in the Shadows

The holidays are often painted as a time of pure joy—twinkling lights, family gatherings, and cherished traditions. But for many, this season stirs deep sorrow. Grief doesn’t pause for celebrations; it can make empty chairs, familiar songs, and festive cheer feel like painful reminders of what’s missing.

Whether your loss comes from the death of a loved one, estrangement, divorce, health challenges, or even the family you wish you’d had, holiday grief is real and valid. Expectations of mandatory happiness, resurfacing memories, and cultural pressure for perfect togetherness can all amplify the ache.

“No Empty Chairs…”

The good news? You don’t have to force cheer or pretend everything’s fine. Grief and joy can coexist. Here are some gentle ways to care for yourself this season:

• Give yourself permission to feel. Cry if you need to, laugh if it comes naturally, or simply rest. No guilt required.

• Rethink traditions. Keep what comforts you, adapt what hurts, or skip altogether. Light a candle in memory, share a favorite story, or create something entirely new—like volunteering or a quiet day alone.

• Set kind boundaries. It’s okay to decline invitations, leave early, or ask for space from certain topics. Protect your energy.

• Speak your needs. Tell supportive people what helps: “This year is tough—let’s keep it low-key” or “I’d love to talk about them today.”

• Practice small self-care. Eat, rest, move, breathe. Honor your loved one through a donation, a special ornament, or playing their favorite music.

• Seek support if needed. Friends, grief groups, counselors, or online communities can lighten the load.

Christmas Dreams

If you’re supporting someone grieving, your presence matters most. Listen without trying to fix it. Acknowledge their pain. Offer specific help. Simply say, “I’m here for you.”

Grief changes the holidays, but it doesn’t erase meaning. In time, the sharp edges soften, and space opens for new warmth alongside the memories you carry.

The Magic of Christmas

This season, be gentle with yourself. Your feelings are valid, your love endures, and healing comes in its own quiet way.

Wishing you moments of peace amid the complexity. 🎄

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Created With Nightcafe

Below is my Creation Listing for 2025. As you can see, I haven’t been using this tool very long, but I’m certainly enjoying it. The entries in the piece shows some of my books and yet-to-be published books of this year.

You can see Misty, the mermaid of the Emerald Coast, from my 2 children’s books of the same name. She’s chatting with 6-year-old George Washington and his buddy, the brave eagle.

Under that section, you’ll find the book cover for my Washington’s Fantastical Crossing, where he’s being watched by merfolk – I really hadn’t planned to write so many stories about merfolk!

The one at the bottom middle is part of my America’s Great Perfect Storm. The leopard and night-watchers are suggestive of Obama’s dream — more on that later.

The bottom left is from my YA speculative fiction, “The Covenant Fire”, a story about a team asked to locate and activate an ancient artifact, while avoiding the evil cabal chasing them to recover the artifact to use for their purposes. This artifact is meant to bring about the 2nd Resurrection and gather the Lost Ten Tribes.

“Pages Alight” is my forthcoming podcast on YouTube! Coming very soon.

creator.nightcafe.studio/creation/9P7SXN5m9VIVEBZ8XgHJ/my-2025-wrap

Thanks for reading!

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10 Shocking Facts About the Solar System That Make Life Impossible Without God’s Design!

By Greg Mayro

You are breathing right now because God carefully designed the air around you—and the lungs within you.

And more amazing facts!

gregmauro.com/solar-system-facts-gods-design/

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I Won 2nd Place for This Story!

The assignment was to write a story of “What Happened” with the words, “Just Pick Up the Pieces” somewhere in the story. I chose to write about a Family drama after a Funeral

Funeral Flowers

“Just pick up the pieces.” Her voice trembled, a raw, jagged edge to it, like she’d clawed the words out of her chest and flung them at me. Clara stood in the dim kitchen, her silhouette framed by the gray dawn bleeding through the window, her eyes swollen but burning with a defiance I couldn’t match.

The air was heavy with the acrid tang of burnt coffee and the ghost of our grandmother’s lilac perfume, and on the floor, the shattered remains of her cherished teacup lay like a confession of everything we’d lost.

Each piece was a splinter of memory: her frail hands pouring tea, her voice weaving stories of love and war, her quiet faith that we’d always find a way through. Now she was gone, and the world felt like it had caved in, leaving me buried in the rubble.

I crumpled to my knees, the linoleum cold and unforgiving, my fingers hovering over the shards but too weak to touch them. My chest ached, a hollow, gnawing pain that had started when he walked out—his suitcase thudding against the doorframe, his “I’m sorry” as empty as the apartment he left behind.

But it wasn’t just him. It was Mom’s slow surrender to the bottle, Dad’s vanishing act years ago, the hospital bed where Gran took her last breath, whispering my name like a prayer I didn’t deserve. I was the dreamer, the fool who thought love could hold anything together, but all I had now was this broken teacup and a heart too heavy to carry.

“I can’t do it,” I choked out, my voice barely a thread, unraveling. “I don’t know how to keep going.”

Clara dropped beside me, her knees hitting the floor with a thud that echoed in the silence. Her hand gripped my shoulder, trembling but fierce, like she could anchor me to the earth by sheer will.

“You don’t have to know how, Lila,” she said, her words breaking as a tear slipped down her cheek, carving a path through the exhaustion etched into her face. “You just pick them up. One piece at a time. Not to make it whole again—because it won’t be. But to make something new. Something that can still hold you.”

Her voice cracked, and I saw it then—the weight she’d carried for years. Clara, who’d bandaged my skinned knees and Mom’s broken promises, who’d worked double shifts to pay for Gran’s medicine, who’d held my hand when the world fell apart. She was as broken as I was, but she was still here, still fighting, still picking up pieces when all I could do was stare at them.

My fingers closed around a shard, its edge biting into my palm, sharp enough to draw a thin line of blood. I held it up, the rose pattern catching the faint light, fractured but still beautiful, like a promise that even broken things could mean something. I thought of Gran’s hands, steady despite their tremors, and Clara’s, calloused but unyielding. Maybe I wasn’t them, but I was theirs—made of their strength, their stubborn love.

“Okay,” I whispered, my voice shaking but alive. “One piece at a time.”

Clara’s hand found mine, her grip warm and fierce, and together we reached for the shards—not to erase the cracks, but to build something new from them, something that could carry our grief and still shine.

The End

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Repost: The Doorway of Redemption

wheatandtares.org/2025/10/16/the-doorway-of-redemption/

This is so beautifully written.

We must remember that…

Eve’s words still startle us. She doesn’t apologize for the Fall—she honors it. “If not for our transgression,” she says, “we never would have known the joy of our redemption.”

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Repost: What Jane Goodall’s Death Taught Me

open.substack.com/pub/biblicalman/p/what-jane-goodalls-death-taught-me

An amazingly raw masterpiece.

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Conference in Sixty Seconds: Saturday Edition

Thanks for the update! Now, I can watch the reruns on YouTube or the channel.

I watched Conference so you don’t have to. The blurbs are my quick on-the-fly notes of each talk, with correcting edits possible after transcripts …

Conference in Sixty Seconds: Saturday Edition
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A Song of Forever: Holding On to Life Through Love and Hope

“I’ll love you forever, I’ll like you for always, as long as I’m living, my baby you’ll be.” These words, sung softly from a mother to her child in Robert Munsch’s timeless Love You Forever, have lulled countless families into moments of quiet wonder. They’ve been whispered over cradles, read under covers during stormy nights, and passed down like heirlooms, turning ordinary pages into vessels of unbreakable connection. But what many don’t know is the depth of heartache behind this beloved story. Munsch, a father who lost two children at birth and, with his wife Ann, never had the family they dreamed of, until they happily adopted three children. He poured his grief into these lines—a lullaby not just for living children, but for the ones who slipped away too soon. It’s a testament to love’s resilience, transforming profound loss into something that heals and holds us all.

On a personal note, I gave my mother and mother-in-law a copy of this book one year for Mother’s Day. (Of course, they looked at me quizzically until I encouraged them to read it aloud. Once done, they both had tears in their eyes, with the knowledge of my intent.)

https://a.co/d/1cJtlin

This book isn’t just a story; it’s a bridge across generations, a reminder that love doesn’t measure in milestones or years but in the quiet, persistent choice to keep showing up. The illustrations, with their soft blues and gentle curves, mirror the ebb and flow of life—joyful in the toddler tantrums, tender in the grown child’s weary return home. Munsch’s other works, like the fierce independence of The Paper Bag Princess or the playful rebellion in Mortimer, echo this same spirit: life’s messiness is worth embracing, not escaping. Over 80 million copies sold, translated into more than 20 languages, his stories have sparked imaginations worldwide, proving that even from pain, beauty blooms.

Robert Munsch

Yet, reading about Munsch’s recent openness about his own struggles hit me like a wave. Diagnosed with dementia in 2021, followed by Parkinson’s, the now 80-year-old author shared in a September 14, 2025, New York Times interview that he applied for and was approved for Medical Assistance in Dying (MAID) shortly after his diagnosis. He worries about becoming a “lump” for his wife to care for, about losing the stories that define him. His daughter Julie clarified soon after, emphasizing he’s “not dying anytime soon” and is doing well for now, but the weight of his choice lingers. I understand that fear intimately. My own mother battled prefrontal dementia, her once-vibrant mind unraveling into frustration and isolation. The woman who raised me with laughter and wisdom became someone we had to guide, her days a fog of forgotten names, unspoken fears, and huge episodes filled with rage. It was heartbreaking, a slow erosion that tested our family’s love to its limits. And in the quiet aftermath, I’ve wrestled with the same shadows: my brother’s suicide amid his chronic illness, my uncle’s, my mother’s years of suicidal ideation, and even my own attempt during a season of unrelenting despair.

https://www.foxnews.com/media/love-you-forever-author-may-soon-die-assisted-suicide-pro-life-groups-call-decision-heartbreaking

These experiences have etched deep lines in my soul, but they’ve also illuminated truths I hold dear. In the pre-existence, as I believe we did before coming to earth, we chose this mortal journey—not to avoid its thorns, but to walk through them. Heavenly Father allows illnesses like dementia, the gnawing ache of Parkinson’s, the invisible grip of depression, not out of cruelty, but as part of a grand design we can’t fully see. Why? To teach us empathy in our weakness, resilience in our frailty, and compassion for others’ unseen battles. Elder M. Russell Ballard, in his compassionate address “Suicide: Some Things We Know, and Some We Do Not,” reminds us of this divine mercy. He speaks of a faithful man, confined by illness, who ended his life in muddled despair—yet emphasizes that God judges not by the act alone, but by the heart’s intent, the mind’s clarity, and life’s full tapestry. “Judgment is the Lord’s,” Ballard teaches, quoting Elder Bruce R. McConkie: those under great stress, mentally clouded or chemically imbalanced, “are no longer accountable for their acts.” The Lord sees our genetic makeup, our emotional storms, the traditions and teachings that shape us. As Alma promises, if our works and desires are good, we will be “restored unto that which is good” (Alma 41:3).

My Mother

Munsch’s life echoes this. From the ashes of losing his babies, he created Love You Forever—a gift that has comforted millions, including me as I navigated my family’s losses. His stories remind us that even when the body fails or the mind fades, the spirit’s legacy endures. Choosing to end life early cuts short that sacred unfolding, robbing us of the growth, the unexpected joys, the quiet revelations that come only through persistence. I’ve felt the temptation to let go, the whisper that escape is easier than endurance. But staying—messy, hard, holy staying—has shown me God’s hand in the details: a sibling’s unexpected hug, a scripture that pierces the dark, a stranger’s kindness that mirrors divine love. As the Prophet Joseph Smith taught, our Heavenly Father judges “according to the deeds done in the body… and His inscrutable designs in relation to the human family” (Teachings of the Prophet Joseph Smith, p. 218). Suffering doesn’t diminish our worth; it refines it, preparing us for eternal progression “line upon line.”

To anyone reading this in the grip of despair—whether from illness, grief, or the slow creep of forgetfulness—hear this: You are not a burden. You are a beloved child of God, your life a thread in His eternal weave. Your story, like Munsch’s, holds beauty yet untold. Hold on, not out of obligation, but out of the fierce love that says, “I’ll like you for always.” Reach out to those who can help carry the weight. Let their hands, and God’s, remind you that you’re not alone. In the spirit world, as President Joseph F. Smith saw in vision, even those who’ve stumbled can repent, pay the penalty, and receive “a reward according to their works” (D&C 138:58–59). Hope isn’t a fragile wish; it’s a promise.

As I reflect on Munsch’s courage in sharing his story, I pray it sparks not resignation, but resolve—for him, for my family’s memories, for all of us. Let’s choose life, one breath at a time, and keep singing our songs of forever.

If you or someone you love is struggling, please reach out—these lifelines are here to help:

• National Suicide Prevention Lifeline (US): Call or text 988 (24/7 support).

• Crisis Services Canada: Call 1-833-456-4566 or text 45645 (24/7).

• International Association for Suicide Prevention: Visit https://www.iasp.info/suicidalthoughts/ for global resources.

Shirley

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Silent Sunday #1: Your Brother Who Loves You

In the quiet gaze of Jesus Christ, we find a love that speaks louder than words, inviting us into a moment of profound connection and peace.

Your Brother, Who Loves You

Amen,

Shirley

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Why Does God Allow Bad Things to Happen to Good People?

Thinking about the travesties we’ve seen lately, we might have that question on our minds. For that poor young lady whose life was suddenly taken from her, with no one coming to her aid or even comforting her. For our friend Charlie Kirk, who was doing what he loved, sharing his testimony. And yes, for the young men’s family, who was forced to make a choice and turn their son in for the crime. And so many more examples of life’s unfairness. Why didn’t God stop the terrible events? He certainly has the power and ability to stop it.

Facing life’s unfairness requires perspective and faith. Understanding God’s plan helps us see that we are eternal beings on earth to grow and become more like Him. During our time here, we encounter temptation, pain, and suffering. Some of this suffering arises from the choices people make, while other reasons may remain unclear. However, we can trust that these experiences can ultimately lead to growth and good (see Doctrine and Covenants 122:7).

We were promised that we’d be free to make our own choices; He would not interfere with our choices. Satan was the one who offered “a guarantee” that we’d all be forced to comply, if he were given the opportunity to rule as God. But that’s not what Heavenly Father wanted for us. He knew that if He were to interfere in any way, we would not learn and grow to be more like Him.

Jesus Christ has triumphed over all through His Atonement and Resurrection. When we encounter unfairness, we can place our faith in Him and His plan, knowing that He will make everything right in the end. The thought that nothing is wasted — every tear is compensated — is very comforting. Through the Holy Ghost, we can find comfort and strength in our challenges.

By choosing faith and enduring, we are promised peace in this life and eternal life in the next (Doctrine and Covenants 59:23).

Have you seen this for yourself?

Shirley

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