Possibly Insightful Ramblings

We unlocked the door of the small basement nestled between several elegant churches and the University of Pittsburgh campus. A waft of curry struck our noses as we entered the echoing white rooms we would call home. Our first home together, in fact. We’d left behind everything we’d been accustomed to before—our family and friends, every state we’d ever called home, and our designation as single people. A mere one week married, we were embarking on our lives together in a foreign city. That was nine weeks ago. As Bryce observed yesterday, we’ve spent nine times more of our married lives in Pittsburgh than anywhere else. We’ve grown to love this city. After a few weeks, the curry smell even dissipated from the apartment. And, while we were less than fond of Pittsburgh traffic and roads that caused more than their fair share of adrenaline rushes, we at least now will always be grateful for the traffic patterns in good old Charlottesville. We never thought we’d call Pittsburgh hom...

I climbed out of bed that chilly December morning of 2010, feeling the weight of a rigorous semester slipping from my shoulder. Finals were over. Bring on Christmas break! This joyful occasion however, was darkened by the shocking rumors I began to hear almost as soon as I left my room: "The tabernacle burned down last night." "There was a fire, and the tabernacle was destroyed." As I completed my textbook sell-back and wandered around campus finishing my end-of-semester tasks, I was shocked and sad. I had stood in that very building just a week prior, listening to a Christmas concert with my family. The tabernacle couldn’t have burned down! Google searches and more conversations, however, confirmed these rumors. The building was destroyed. As my dad drove me home along University Avenue, I glimpsed the charred and still-smoking remains of Provo's beloved tabernacle. I could hardly believe that the place where I had spent numerous hours with my family ...

It’s Christmas Eve again. That night of nights—that magical series of moments when it seems like the world holds still to remember. A pause. A breath. A moment of holy respite that transcends the clamor and bustle that otherwise fill our lives. A moment when heaven seems to reach down and touch the earth as it did that night so long ago in Bethlehem. Tonight, I join in that silent sense of awe and wonder. My heart joins with the thousands of others who contemplate the boundless goodness of our God in sending his Son as a Babe to walk our mortal journey. I stand in awe of that holiest of gifts—the Gift that not only came to the Holy Land millennia ago, but is likewise efficacious in our lives today. As I contemplate the countless ways in which that Gift has blessed my life over the past several months, I am humbled by the grace and mercy and love of God evidence in the miracles I have seen. I have felt the transcendent love of God for His children.  I have seen Him send comfort...

As a teenager, trying to figure out my place in the world and how to handle my life, I affixed to my bedroom door a small blue sticky note with the words, “Be kind—everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle” [i] scrawled across it. Amidst my own insecurities, I sensed that the kids I interacted with at school were likewise struggling to find their place, to discover their purpose and their plan. They were fighting battles just as real and significant as the ones I was facing. Perhaps their struggles were different than mine. Some trials were more visible than others. Some seemed completely foreign to me, while others I related to perfectly. But everybody was going through something. And I wanted to be a support, not someone who contributed to the pain. Now, I won’t say that I perfectly lived up to the mantra that sent me off to school each morning. Because I didn’t. But that principle has proven to be a rock in my life as I have grown and continued to face my own challenges. And as ...

After months of preparation and countless hours of practice, more than 13,000 youth from the 27 stakes of the Payson, Utah temple district joined together to put on an inspiring cultural celebration this evening. I was excited to have the opportunity to watch my younger brother participate as a member of the brass band. We were all maybe just a little too excited to get into the stadium. This is about 15 minutes after the gates opened., and nearly 2 hours before the performance was scheduled to begin. Essentially every seat in the west stands was taken. As we all then began the nearly two-hour wait for the performance to start however, we started to feel some raindrops. And then some more. And then some hail. And pretty soon, we were soaked. But collecting hailstones was nonetheless entertaining. This picture doesn't quite capture it, but we were just a little bit wet. After a while of sitting out in the downpour, we were told the performance had been suspended unti...

During my freshman year at BYU, it was announced that the LDS church would build a temple in Payson, Utah. I still remember walking across the crosswalk to my apartment right after I’d found out, texting my roommate the tremendous news. I had secretly been hoping for a long time that a new temple would be built in my little corner of Utah Valley. And now it was happening! I felt an excitement that outweighed even the slight disappointment that it was to be built not in my hometown, but in the city of my high school’s biggest rival. Despite that minor set-back to my recent high-school grad self, I knew that my new temple was going to be something special. And now, nearly six years, a mission, a college degree, and a complete dissolution of any feelings of rivalry with Payson later, I am witnessing the completion of that edifice that I have so long anticipated. In two weeks “my” temple will be dedicated and begin operation as a holy house of the God of Israel. Sacred ordinances will...

I knocked on the oversized wooden door in the maternity ward of the hospital, eager to meet my little nephew. My brother opened the door and ushered me into the cool, dark room where the new family had spent some of its first hours together. I greeted my sister-in-law and exchanged a few words with the new mother. And then I saw the bassinet, cradling the newborn boy. My heart suddenly swelled with the realization of the miracle I was witnessing. Here was a brand new life—never before known to the world—making his first appearance, encased in the precious frame of an infant. A miracle of creation had been performed. Someone had just come down from a more eternal sphere into our fallen one, “trailing clouds of glory” (William Wordsworth, Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood .) And the air was still charged with wisps of that glory. I listened to the instinctive, yet experimental, whimpering coming from lungs not yet quite used to this thing we call air. ...