Possibly Insightful Ramblings

I often replay in my mind the transcendent moment when the miracle of new life was complete and I saw my tiny son for the first time. Despite the nine months of pregnancy and the thirty hours of labor, my little one’s advent into the world seemed so sudden; I could hardly believe that the tiny, wrinkly, red, nuzzling creature had already arrived. My life changed forever in that sacred moment as the nurses passed little Joseph into my trembling, inexperienced, but loving arms. Bryce and I stared at the small human I was cuddling, then at each other, then again at our new charge, our eyes filled with tears of wonder and joy. We couldn’t fully comprehend in that instant how precious our little son was, nor what it meant to become parents, but we sensed some of the deep solemnity of the occasion as heaven reached down and touched our family. I was now forever bound to this tiny human who would be completely dependent upon me for years of his mortal existence. My life was no longer my own....

Last Friday as I walked to my car, hands laden with flowers and baby gifts, and heart full of gratitude for the people I’d met over the past weeks, I concluded my summer stint as a camp counselor at a local community college. Although the job was at times quite taxing on my pregnant self, I loved working with the 3 rd to 9 th graders. As they learned to fly drones, make video games, and sculpt, I learned an awful lot about patience, behavior management, and how to help kids feel needed and valued. The path leading to that simple summer job, while not a straightforward one, was nonetheless one that let me know I was exactly where I needed to be; a witness that God cares even about the seemingly insignificant aspects of our lives. I will long remember that night some months ago when in frustration bordering on desperation, I asked God what He wanted me to do during the upcoming summer. I had much earlier been offered the perfect job for the summer: teaching Russian to college stud...

Yesterday evening, I attended a service in which a 9-year-old boy was baptized a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. These baptismal services are always beautiful and sacred experiences; moments where you can feel the hand of heaven reaching down to touch someone who is willing to turn his or her life over to Jesus. You feel the culmination of preparation and serious personal decisions, as well as the promise of a new life and new opportunities on the path back to God. Last night was no different, and I found myself touched, humbled, and awed by the simple beauty of the ceremony and the power of the covenants that my young friend was making. One moment in particular, however, stood out to me more than the rest. As this boy—the newest member of the church—emerged from the water, trickles still running down his face and back into the font, he looked up and asked earnestly, “Did it work?” The congregation smiled and laughed at the sweet innocence of this young ...

Everything changed that day. As I reached for my fiancé’s hand at the Payson, Utah temple and we were pronounced husband and wife, eternity shifted. The heavens had touched the earth and made a new family. From that moment on, everything in my life would be different, cast in a new light, imbued with a new meaning, fitted with a renewed sense of purpose. The ensuing revolution around the sun Bryce and I have taken together has been the best year of my life. It’s been filled with joy, beauty, loss, heartache, fulfilled dreams, renewed hopes, and miracles beyond what I could have imagined. We’ve lived in two states, traveled to 19 states and Canada, held five different church callings between the two of us, earned two more college degrees, and learned an incredible amount about love, sacrifice, and miracles. Those miracles of the Lord have attended us in our journey, from the most mundane to the most heartbreaking of situations. We have seen the God of heaven smile down upon...

I stand with the millions of Americans who are concerned about the recent executive order banning refugees from seven countries from entering American borders.  I do not pretend to be well-versed in politics, international relations, or national security, and I can offer no long-term solutions to questions of immigration or welcoming refugees. But I am a concerned citizen with a strong sense of morality and human compassion, and I write to encourage you to consider the recent executive order not merely in light of what is politically best, but to also take into consideration the dictates of genuine human feeling. It has been my privilege over the past several months to work with a sweet family from the Middle East. Their story is similar to that of so many, and they have moved from country to country in the Middle East before finally reaching the safe and welcoming shores of America. It has been unspeakably difficult for them, yet they are seeking to build a new life in this c...

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 ...