Blessed Are The Peacemakers

Jesus, Simple Minds, and Me There was a particularly painful time in my life when I truly wondered if God was even aware of my suffering. It was a lonely, desperate season. But God often speaks to me through music, and I’ve received many answers and much-needed insight in that way. One day, while driving and pouring out my heart to the Lord, I had the 80s station playing in the background. Tears filled my eyes as I cried to Him about my struggles. Just before the next song started, I felt Him say, “Listen.” So I did. To my surprise, “Don’t You (Forget About Me)” by Simple Minds started playing. I actually snorted and said out loud, “How can You possibly use this song?” Never underestimate Jesus. As the music played, the Spirit unfolded its message to me, line by line: “Won’t you come see about me? / I’ll be alone, dancing, you know it, baby” Right away, Jesus was beckoning me closer—not from neediness, but out of a deep desire for connection. “Alone, dancing” conj...

“The struggles I'm facing / The chances I'm taking / Sometimes might knock me down, but / No, I'm not breaking” The Garden of Eden is more than a metaphor. It holds layers of meaning—literal and symbolic. Whether Eden was a physical garden on the earth, or a state of being (or both), its purpose was never about keeping us locked away in comfort. It was about preparing us for the journey of becoming. On one level, Eden represents the psychological struggle—painful, but essential—of leaving behind the safety and comfort of a parent’s care. It mirrors the transitions we all face: the moment we leave home, step out of childhood, or part ways with a simpler, more protected existence. These shifts are not rejections of safety—they are invitations to grow. And every loving parent desires growth for their child. The idea that God is cruel for sending us into a dark and difficult world simply doesn’t hold up. No good parent would keep a child locked away in a bedroom out of fear f...

The Tension and the Thread We gather in the quiet dusk And dream of what is yet to be, Of cities paved with golden trust, And hearts unchained, and spirits free. But dreamers wake to dust and thorn, Where voices clash and tempers flare, Where stones must first be bruised and torn Before the path is smooth and fair. Some kneel and pray for skies to clear, Some rise and work with shaking hands, And in that tension—faith and fear— Is where the soul learns how to stand. Oh, Zion is not stitched with ease, But with a thread both firm and kind. It binds not just our hopes and pleas, But what we do—with what’s in our mind. So build, or wait, or speak, or weep— But do it with a heart aware: That love is not afraid to leap, And peace is not just silent air. Our family loves this song—it’s kind of a tradition. We sing it on just about every road trip. It never gets old! My favorite part is the third rap verse—the way it captures the weight of the world, the disillusionment, and that deep, aching...

  “By His Stripes We Are Healed”: Learning to Forgive Through Christ Who Overcame All Forgiveness may be one of the greatest challenges we ever face. For those who have been hurt, betrayed, abused, or wronged, the path toward healing can feel impossible. We know we're commanded to forgive, but how? How do we release the pain that wasn't ours to carry in the first place? This is the power—and the beauty—of Gethsemane. In Come, Let Us Adore Him , Denver Snuffer describes a vision of the Lord’s suffering. What was shown wasn't just a glimpse of agony—it was a revelation of divine instruction. This was not pain for pain’s sake. It was the Savior learning, in the extremity of experience, how to succor His people. Denver wrote: “The Lord was required to overcome both [the sinner and the victim] so that He could succor both” ( Come, Let Us Adore Him , p. 10, emphasis added). The word succor means “assistance in a time of distress.” What kind of assistance does He ...

"If your wings are broken Please take mine 'til yours can open too" There’s a song that carried me through the darkest season of my life—Rachel Platten’s Stand By You. It became my anthem during the most heart-wrenching moments of my daughter’s mental health crisis. I would listen to it on repeat whenever I felt like I had nothing left to give, when I was drowning in the weight of her pain and my helplessness. Even now, when it plays, I still ugly cry—because every word still echoes what I lived, what I felt, and the fierce love that refused to let go. The lyrics speak to a kind of love that doesn't back down. The kind that walks through fire, lends strength when you have none, and stays when others walk away. That’s the love I had to learn to embody—not the easy, feel-good kind, but the kind that breaks, bleeds, and keeps showing up. Before the Storm A few years ago, my daughter experienced something I had never even heard of: cannabis-induced psychosis. Up to that p...

It has now been about eight years since the Lord offered a covenant to a people in Boise, Idaho. And recently, He gave that people a name:  Covenant Christians . This should be a deeply sobering moment for us—not one of boasting or pride. There is a pattern here that ought not to be missed: around eight years after the Book of Mormon was published, the Lord gave the early Latter-day Saints a name too— The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints . And what happened shortly after that? That same year—1838—they were smitten, scattered, and chastened. Armed conflict erupted in Missouri. The Saints were driven from their homes. Seventeen were massacred at Haun’s Mill. The Governor of Missouri issued an Extermination Order, forcing the Saints to flee the state. Joseph Smith and other church leaders were arrested and held in Liberty Jail under brutal conditions. The temple they had hoped to build was delayed, and the fullness that could have been was lost. And as the Lord has said to ...