What Is Mine To Do?
What Is Mine To Do?
There's a conversation taking place among a number of people I know, and since it's clearly on a lot of minds, I thought I'd throw my own thoughts into the mix.
They'll probably be unpopular.
At this point, that hardly seems worth mentioning. ðŸ¤
The interesting thing is that not too long ago I likely would have been on the other side of this discussion. That doesn't necessarily mean I'm right now or that I was wrong then. It simply means life has a way of changing the questions we ask, and I've found myself asking some very different ones lately.
For years, whenever I encountered another frightening story, alleged conspiracy, another hidden evil, my first question was generally: Is this true? I wanted to understand the world. I wanted to protect people. I wanted to know who could be trusted. Looking back, I don't think I was chasing darkness because I loved darkness. I think I genuinely believed I was becoming more discerning, more informed, more awake.
So I read the books, watched the documentaries, listened to the podcasts and followed rabbit hole after rabbit hole, convinced that one more piece of information would finally make everything make sense. Apparently, sitting on my couch with a glass of Pinot Noir and a true crime podcast in the afternoon had somehow convinced me I was fully qualified to crack open global, high-level cabals. If I'm being completely honest, there was something strangely exhilarating about it. It felt like assembling a giant puzzle, finding connections other people hadn't seen and believing I was uncovering truths hidden from the rest of the world. Even the darkest subjects carried a certain pull. That's uncomfortable to admit, but I might as well be honest about it.
Eventually, something strange happened. The theories began contradicting one another. I found myself choosing between competing explanations rather than uncovering verifiable truth. Some seemed more plausible, while others were simply more captivating. I also noticed something in myself that gave me pause. Once I had invested enough time in a particular narrative, I became less interested in evidence that challenged it. Contradictory information became something to explain away rather than seriously consider. Somewhere along the way, I realized I had become less interested in what I could actually know than in the story I had come to believe.
That realization unsettled me. I hadn't suddenly concluded that conspiracies don't exist. Scripture makes it clear that they do. Secret combinations exist. Corruption exists. Abuse exists. The scriptures acknowledge this. The question has never been whether darkness exists. The question is what disciples of Jesus Christ are supposed to do with that knowledge.
Instead of asking only, Is this true? I began asking: Even if it is true, what is mine to do? That question changed the way I thought about conspiracy theories, secret combinations and (ultimately) my own discipleship.
It made me realize there is a profound difference between awareness and assignment. God may make us aware of evil, but that doesn't necessarily mean He has assigned us to confront it personally. Some people are genuinely called to investigate crimes. Some are called to prosecute them. Some rescue victims. Some counsel survivors. Those are real stewardships, and God bless them for carrying such heavy burdens! But awareness alone doesn't create responsibility. If it did, we would spend our entire lives chasing distant horrors we can't change while neglecting the flesh-and-blood people God has already placed in front of us.
The more I thought about it, the more I found myself looking to Jesus. No one has ever known more about the darkness of this world than He did. He knew every corrupt leader, every hidden sin, every abuse, every injustice, every secret motive. Yet He never seemed distracted by darkness. He wasn't consumed with exposing every hidden evil or chasing every rumor. His attention remained fixed on one thing: doing the will of His Father. Darkness didn't determine His mission. His Father did. That pattern has become meaningful to me.
Moroni gives a similar pattern. He warns us that secret combinations exist, but interestingly, he refuses to satisfy our curiosity about them. He explicitly says he will not write the details of their oaths and conspiracies, then immediately warns us not to let them "get above" us. I assumed that warning referred primarily to societies and governments. I wonder if it also applies to our inner lives. Perhaps secret combinations get above us when they begin occupying more space in our imagination than God does. Fear gradually becomes the lens through which we interpret the world. Suspicion becomes our default posture. Ordinary conversations become clues, strangers become possible participants and darkness sneakily begins shaping our hearts, regardless of whether we have uncovered a single fact. Instead of feeding our fascination with hidden evil, Moroni redirects our attention toward repentance, guarding our hearts and preventing these things from gaining power over us.
A few years ago something happened that forced me to wrestle with this more honestly. Someone I love experienced a profound psychotic episode. As I listened, I realized with a sinking feeling that many of the themes woven into the delusions were ideas I had spent years reading about. I don't believe conspiracy theories caused mental illness. The relationship is far more complex than that. But watching someone lose the ability to distinguish between reality and imagined connections really humbled me. It reminded me that the human mind is a sacred thing and what we repeatedly feed it matters. More than anything, it made me wonder whether I had gradually given more of my attention to understanding evil than to knowing Jesus.
That question still lingers with me
I have a friend who claims they survived horrific ritual abuse as a child. I've known this person for years, and I've always known them to be honest and full of integrity. Their partner once shared something I've never forgotten. They told me the people involved appeared completely ordinary. Many were respected, successful and influential. "You'd never know" they said. If that's true, then what exactly am I accomplishing by spending countless hours consuming speculation from behind a screen? Even if every terrible story I've ever heard were true, what is actually mine to do?
I cannot dismantle every hidden conspiracy. I cannot verify every terrifying claim. I cannot rescue every victim or expose every corruption. I cannot identify secret perpetrators by scrolling the internet. But I surely can spend hundreds of hours consuming podcasts, videos, visions and speculation if I choose. That realization forced me to confront a difficult truth. I had far more control over where I placed my attention than I did over the darkness I was trying to understand. I had to learn how to modulate my inputs, to intentionally regulate the sheer volume of noise and darkness I allowed past my guard, before it altered my baseline entirely.
Evil has a peculiar power. Once we become convinced we're fighting it, we can begin relaxing the very principles God gave us to keep our judgments righteous. I've watched groups become so certain they were pursuing justice that evidence became optional. Humility became optional. Charity became optional. People became convinced they were defending truth while abandoning the safeguards that protect truth itself. History has seen that pattern before. The Pharisees sincerely believed they were protecting Israel, yet they ignored witnesses, manipulated testimony and abandoned justice in the name of defending it. Sincerity alone is not enough. Truth matters, but so does the way we pursue it.
How do I oppose deception without adopting its methods? At what point does my desire to defeat evil start making me look like the very thing I’m fighting? Can I stand up for truth in a way that actually leaves people closer to Christ, or am I just winning arguments? If my passion for justice is eroding my capacity for mercy, which one am I actually serving? These questions feel much more important for shaping me as a follower of Christ than just collecting more hidden information.
These days, when another frightening story crosses my path, instead of asking, Is this true? Or, Is this important? I ask, Is this mine to carry? More often than not, I sense Him gently redirecting my attention toward the people He has already entrusted to me: my husband, my children, my grandchildren, my neighbors, the lonely person in front of me, the conversation I need to have today, the kindness I can extend today, the truth I can speak today and the peace I can build today.
Theres no shortage of darkness in this world. But there is also no shortage of opportunities to build light. I can't dismantle every hidden conspiracy, verify every terrifying claim, rescue every victim or expose every corruption. But I can tell the truth. I can refuse to bear false witness. I can require evidence before condemning another soul. I can protect the people God has entrusted to my care, strengthen my family, love my neighbor, build peace where I stand. Most importantly, I can keep my eyes fixed on light. When I think about it that way, I realize God has already given me more than enough work for one lifetime.
What I Don’t Know
One realization kinda reshaped the way I think about all of this.
There are countless things I simply cannot know with certainty. I can't independently verify hidden organizations, secret meetings, distant events or the motives of people I have never met. I can't travel back in time.(although I did read a forum post insisting it’s technically possible if you have a modified TARDIS and a reckless disregard for the space- time continuum 😉) I can't witness conversations that happened behind closed doors. I can't know whether every sensational story circulating online is true, partly true or entirely fabricated.
That doesn't mean the truth doesn't exist. It just means I need the humility to acknowledge the limits of my own knowledge.
Some things I can investigate firsthand. Many things I cannot. Somewhere along the way, I realized I had blurred the line between suspicion and knowledge. I had become more confident than my evidence justified.
Maybe wisdom isn't found in having an opinion about everything, but in recognizing the difference between what I know, what I can reasonably infer, what I merely suspect and what I simply do not know.
Oddly enough, learning to say, "I don't know" has brought me far more peace than pretending I did.
My calling isn't to become an expert on every hidden work of darkness, but to become so rooted in the light that darkness finds no home in me. My concern is much smaller and much nearer: to follow Jesus Christ, to be faithful in what He has entrusted to me and to keep my eyes fixed on Him. More and more, I find that is the life I want to live.
When I look closely at Moroni’s warning in Ether, I realize his message was never "Go find out what they are doing in the dark" He deliberately withheld the details of those secret oaths because he knew that fascination with darkness is often what lets it in.
His message was much simpler: Darkness exists, and it destroys societies. So repent. Don't let fear or suspicion control your heart. Guard your mind, and come to the Source of light.
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