Exactly what he did to his brother isn’t pertinent. The point is that he did wrong, and he knew it.

Their mom, afraid of how Jacob’s brother might retaliate, sent Jacob to a neighboring city to stay with his uncle for just a few days until things simmered down.

A few days turned into years. Jacob started a new life with his uncle, and, probably afraid of confronting his bother, never really returned home.

Until one day. God worked on Jacob, just like He does on all of us at certain times, and Jacob knew it was finally time to go home and face his brother, whose name was Esau.

By this point, Jacob had married, he had tons of servants, and he had become extremely successful in the livestock industry. So he took everything with him: all the servants, all the cattle, all the flocks. They journeyed back towards Jacob’s homeland until some messengers that Jacob had sent ahead returned and reported that his brother would be coming to meet him—accompanied by four hundred men.

Esau’s army terrified Jacob. He thought he was done for. Jacob split his company in half and ordered the back half to flee if anything went down. Then he sent servants ahead from the front half with large droves of cattle to meet Esau and tell him that all the animals were gifts to him from Jacob, in hopes that he could appease his angry brother.

The next morning, after almost no sleep, Jacob and his family saw Esau and his army approaching in the distance.

As Esau came closer, Jacob, in a final act of desperation and humility, bowed himself to the ground seven times.

The gesture wasn’t needed.

Esau came running, and then the two brothers embraced.

I imagine they hugged for a very long time. I know for sure that they kissed and wept.

The first thing that Esau finally said was something like, “Who are all these kids with you?” Jacob responded that they were his children and presented each of them to their uncle. Then Esau said, “What’s the meaning of all these flocks and cattle that you sent ahead to me?” Jacob responded that they were an offering of peace.

Esau said, “I have enough, my brother.”1

Jacob nevertheless insisted, saying,

“Take my blessing, because God hath dealt graciously with me, and I have enough.”2

And so it is for each of us who makes amends with those we’ve wronged. Regardless of our temporal circumstances, when we can say that we have a conscience void of offense towards God and towards any man, then we can say that we truly have enough.

There are people I’ve wronged who I desperately wish I could apologize to. If I could, I would gather the extent of my riches—cows, sheep, bank accounts, stock options, all of it—and send them ahead as a peace offering. If I could, I would bow to the ground seventy times seven in utter humility and penitence. If I could, I would give a hug and a kiss and all the tears I have to say I’m sorry.

But this life may never afford that opportunity.

And ultimately, riches and gifts don’t really actualize an atonement between two parties. Rather, it’s a broken heart and a spirit of contrition that are most efficacious in bringing together the wrongdoer and the wronged.

Notwithstanding, in an attempt to pay my debts without a rendezvous at which to pay them, I impart of my substance as much as I can, “because God has dealt graciously with me,” and others could benefit from “tak[ing] my blessing.” In other words, “I have enough,” and giving what I can to others is all I can do to show my gratitude for the forgiveness I have received, until the final day comes when I can bow at the feet of those I’ve wronged and ask for the forgiveness I still lack.

When that day comes, I hope that after all my reconciliations are over, we all breathe a deep sigh of relief, and then take a wide-eyed look around and say something conciliatory like, “Now tell me who all these kids are with you!”

Andrew and I had only met once or twice before, but somehow I received an invitation to his senior organ recital. Because of the coronavirus, I hadn’t seen live music being performed in a long time, so I decided to go. (Also, being an overworked law student, I though that a midday Saturday concert would be a refreshing break from my usual weekend study session.)

A few friends and I drove up to the Cathedral of the Madeleine in Salt Lake City. Since Andrew is a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and most of the guests at his recital were also Latter-day Saints, we held a typical Latter-day Saint prayer right there in the cathedral before the show, and then he began.

Andrew played some of the finest classical organ music I have ever heard. The pieces were extremely challenging, the melodies infinitely intricate, and the crescendos soaringly majestic. It was no surprise that after the big finish, we all stood up, turned around to face Andrew in the organ loft, and offered him a standing ovation.

But I was picking up my jacket to leave when the organ started again. This time, however, the music coming out wasn’t anything classical. It was modern. I heard simple chords starting to pervade the cathedral, and after a few measures, I realized what was happening.

Andrew was offering an encore—of a familiar Latter-day Saint hymn.

A hush fell over the crowd and the entire audience sat back down to listen to the final piece. The verse began, and I was filled with emotion when I recognized the hymn to be “Sweet Hour of Prayer.” As Andrew played, he slowly added stops until the song crescendoed in the middle of the last verse. At the climax, the walls were rattling, our seats were shaking, and the juiciest chords were pricking our hearts and making the hair on our arms rise. 

Suddenly, the crescendo ceased. 

There was a pause. 

And then final phrases of the hymn rang out sweetly and gently across the cathedral.

For some reason, my eyes watered.

It’s not often that, in our contentious world, a large group of people unites to show deference to a single person or cause. There are rare exceptions. For example, when an ambulance comes wailing down the road, drivers nearby will unanimously agree that the emergency vehicle’s errand immediately outranks their own. If you’re running late for a multi-billion dollar business meeting? You still move aside for the ambulance.

That type of cooperativeness is always touching to me. The instant and unquestioning submissiveness of it all is so unusual and delightful.

While we don’t agree on everything, I have to say that the members of my global church are likewise united when it comes to giving deference to our leaders. The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is a centralized religion, with global leaders headquartered in the United States who travel frequently across the world. And almost every time the president of the Church or one of the Apostles is going to address a large crowd, it’s customary for the members to stand when that presiding authority enters the room. I have attended countless events where these Brethren have spoken, and the instant, unquestioning, and universal deference given to these men of God—demonstrated by standing up from one’s seat—is a rare and impressive gesture.

There are a few patterns in our Church which are universal and yet unwritten. One is that, before a meeting of the type I’ve just described, someone will usually be playing prelude music to foster a contemplative and worshipful environment. This music is played most often on a piano, or, in certain areas of the Church like the United States, on an organ. I, myself, have played the organ many times for meetings in which an Apostle has been present (although I’m an amateur organist when compared to Andrew).

Before the start of almost every meeting of this nature, the crowd will be bustling, people will be greeting their friends and finding their seats, the organist will be playing the prelude music, and a general energy and excitement to see one of God’s messengers will pervade the air.

But when the Apostle enters the room a minute or two before the designated start time, the members will suddenly fall silent. As I described, everyone will stand up in an act of humility and submissiveness. And the only thing you’ll hear in that sudden stillness is… you guessed it: the sound of the organ, still playing the prelude music.

And so when my eyes watered at the end of Andrew’s recital, it was because the sweet sound of a Latter-day Saint hymn, echoing across a large and still cathedral, brought back all the warm feelings of every time I’ve seen members of the Church show deference to one of God’s mouthpieces.

The impressive way that the good members of my Church practice humility before the Lord melts my heart and inspires me to be more cooperative, reverent, and submissive. As a community of believers, we take to heart the Old Testament scripture that “Surely the Lord God will do nothing, but he revealeth his secret unto his servants the prophets.”1

Whenever I’m assigned to play the organ where an Apostle will be present, I like to time my set of prelude songs so that I’m playing the following hymn2 when he enters the room:

We thank thee, O God, for a prophet
To guide us in these latter days.
We thank thee for sending the gospel
To lighten our minds with its rays.

We thank thee for every blessing
Bestowed by thy bounteous hand.
We feel it a pleasure to serve thee
And love to obey thy command.

Indeed, it’s a pleasure for me and for all of God’s children to serve the Lord and obey His commands. And what better way to know what the Lord wants us to do than by listening to the voice of his servants, the prophets.

May the gentle sound of the organ in future occasions of worship inspire in you a spirit of cooperativeness, deference, and submissiveness to the will of the Lord.

Enjoy this recording I made of part of Andrew’s encore. Several months after his recital, Andrew became my classmate at the J. Reuben Clark Law School at Brigham Young University.

It was probably morning or afternoon on the day of Passover when a man carrying a pitcher of water—probably a servant or employee—turned from the street into the house of his master.

Usually, carrying a water jug is awkward because it’s heavy and there’s no good way to hold it, so I can imagine the servant trying to walk carefully so as to not slosh too much water onto the ground.

I can also imagine that, walking that way, he wasn’t too hard to spot from around the corner where Peter and John—disciples of the Lord Jesus Christ—were waiting to find him.

Jesus had important plans for that evening—it would be the day where He instituted the sacrament and told his disciples of His impending death—and he had sent Peter and John in search of a venue where those events could take place. When He requested of those two, “Go and make preparations for us to eat the Passover,” they had naturally responded, “Where do you want us to prepare for it?”1

I can imagine Jesus turning to look them directly in the eyes and telling them, with a hint of a gentle smile, “When ye are entered into the city, there shall a man meet you, bearing a pitcher of water; follow him into the house where he entereth in.”2

So Peter and John had done just that, and now following the servant into the house—which I presume must be pretty spacious—they look around until they spot the master of the house.

The following conversation that they have with this man touches me to my core.

I assume that the goodman of the house has no idea who they are. Perhaps he thinks they’re caterers or businessmen or some type of traveler. Approaching them after noticing that they’ve stepped into his home, I can imagine a look of concern on his face at seeing two unexpected visitors. But then I think Peter or John speaks first, and they speak plainly and directly, delivering the exact words that they’ve been instructed to say:

“The Master saith unto thee, Where is the guestchamber, where I shall eat the passover with my disciples?”3

I imagine that a moment of silence ensues as the master of the house tries to process what he’s being asked. But then, for whatever reason, he leads them to a large upper room in his house which is completely furnished and prepared.4

What went on inside the master’s head is for us to forever wonder. We have no idea how long he paused, whether he asked any clarifying questions, or if perhaps he knew the disciples already. But what we do know is that he took Peter and John and brought them upstairs and gave them an entire room—fully furnished—to use on this holiest of holiday evenings.

Why did that man give them the room? And why was it already fully furnished?

Maybe it was because he knew, instantly, that the Savior needed him to make room for Him.

And maybe, just maybe, this man had been preparing his entire life so that when the proverbial bridegroom came—the Savior Jesus Christ himself—he would be ready to greet him.

Moses sang, “The Lord is my strength and song, … and I will prepare him an habitation.”5 And unlike the episode thirty three years previous when nobody had a room for Jesus to enter this world, this goodman of the house was not about to let the Lord go without a place to eat His last supper.

And so while the rest of us live our lives praying, “Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies,”6 this man turned that psalm on its head and prepared a table for his Lord at which to eat in the presence of His enemies.

The Lord said “I go to prepare a place for you,”7 and this man said, “I’ll work my whole life to prepare a place for You, Lord, so that when Your messengers come knocking at my door, I will have a large upper room, fully furnished and prepared, waiting for You. And when they come into my house asking for room, I will know exactly who they are and exactly what they need from me.”

If hope that if some day, a pair of apostles or a pair of angels or a pair of whoever appears before me and makes a request on behalf of the Master Jesus Christ, I will drop everything I’m doing—every Passover preparation, every holiday light-hanging, every party preliminary, every business busywork, every to-do list task—and give those messengers what they ask for.

And what’s more, I hope I can live my life preparing things that are useful to the Lord—talents, time, relationships, brownie recipes, warm blankets, or warm hugs—so that when He asks, the room upstairs that I show Him to will be large, and will be fully furnished with all the tools that He needs for me to employ in His service.

The best people that I know—my mother, my friend Mark, my classmate Eric—live this way, and I have seen the Lord put them to use time and time again in the building of His kingdom.

The truth is, however, that the Lord and His prophet and all His authorized servants are asking us for help every single day. What they ask for is almost never as grandiose as preparing a banquet room. Rather, what they ask us to do is minister to the “fainting, struggling seaman,”8 the wanderer among “earth’s harvest fields so wide,”9 the “fatherless and widows,”10 the lost sheep.11

And while it may not be on the mountain height, or over the stormy sea—or even in the room where the passover meal was prepared—that Jesus needs us to serve, every station and every ministry is just as important to the Lord. Our call is to “lift up the hands which hang down, and strengthen the feeble knees.”12 And in doing so, we will be preparing our lives for the day that the Lord’s servants approach us and ask us to make room for the Lord.

The greatest preparation that has ever been made was “the atonement which has been prepared from the foundation of the world, that thereby salvation might come to him that should put his trust in the Lord”.13

May our life’s ministry reflect our gratitude for the Savior’s great, atoning sacrifice that prepared the way for us to access the large upper rooms of our Father’s mansion above.

Bishops, please know that a relatively short time spent with a … young adult can help them understand the power available to them through the Atonement of Jesus Christ. It can provide a vision that will have a profound influence upon their entire life.1

Elder Quentin L. Cook

One Sunday when I was a teenager in Florida, the bishop2 of my church, Stan Padgett, asked me to accompany him on a visit he was making to a lady in our congregation. He picked me up in the evening and explained as we drove that the woman was experiencing some domestic problems and, in an emergency, had fled her home. Someone had arranged for a temporary place for her to stay, and she had arrived there a few hours ago. We were going to see how she was doing.

We pulled up to a little run-down house. It was getting dark, and I remember that a single light on the porch lit the doorstep. Bishop Padgett let me carry the tray of brownies his wife had made while he knocked on the door.

As we stood there for a moment waiting for her to answer, I wondered why the Bishop had brought me along. I was sixteen and didn’t know anything about domestic abuse. I didn’t know how to comfort an adult woman, much less one who had been forced to flee her home. I was at a loss for any way that I could be of help. But despite all of that, I didn’t actually feel uncomfortable. Bishop Padgett was next to me, and he was an experienced minister. He would know how to act and what to say and what to do.

The woman gently opened the door and we stepped inside. I looked around the small living area. There was no furniture because the house had been procured only earlier that day. All I remember seeing is several black trash bags of clothes on the floor.

Bishop and the woman talked for a bit. I don’t remember any of the words that were exchanged, but I know that they were words of comfort coming from a man who knew how to follow the Holy Ghost to know what to say.

There must have been a folding chair or something like that in the house, because before we left, the woman sat down and Bishop laid his hands on her head and gave her a blessing in the name of Jesus Christ. Then we said goodbye.

We were only there for a few minutes. Somehow the brownies we had left with her seemed insufficient to address her desperate situation, but I knew that our visit had nothing to do with brownies and everything to do with comforting.

I remember looking at the single porch light shining into the dark night as we backed out and drove away. For some reason, the image of that porch light has remained forever in my memory.

The first time you do anything new, you learn so much just from being exposed to the situation. For example, on my first day as an intern for a residential developer, I did almost no work, but I learned a ton just from hearing real estate terms that people were tossing around the office.

Similarly, on my first experience in the ministry with Bishop Padgett, I learned so much from simply standing next to him and seeing how he treated a suffering woman. I learned how to greet someone when you’re standing on their doorstop. I learned how to deflect attention away from an embarrassing situation. I learned how to have a conversation with someone who is in crisis. I learned how to express love. I learned how to end a visit and say goodbye. These were things that as a sixteen-year-old, I didn’t have much practice in.

So, for me to truly grasp what a good minister did, what helped the most was to watch an experienced minister do the ministering. In the moment, I didn’t realize how much I was learning. But I’ve based my entire life’s ministry since then on what I learned that evening from a visit by a gentle Bishop who thought to bring along a young teenage boy.

As disciples of the Savior Jesus Christ, a lot of the ministering we perform is everyday acts of service: calling a friend, holding open a door, or offering a smile. Those small acts grow people’s trust in us little by little.

That trust is what allows others to feel comfortable asking us for help when emergency situations arise. As I’ve gotten older, God has placed me in high-stakes situations equivalent to what He knew I could handle. I’ve been called for car crashes, hospital visits, and middle-of-the-night blessings when someone’s parent was dying. I’ve had friends confide in me a wide spectrum of personal struggles, worries, and fears. All of this is part of becoming a minister who is growing in awareness of the world and the trials in it.

At this point in my life, sometimes I still feel a little scared when I’m called to go “to the rescue”3 in a new situation I’ve never faced before. But that fear is usually well overpowered by confidence from having been supported by the Savior in every prior instance of ministry. Jesus himself promised his disciples who were beginning their ministry,

“Don’t worry about what you’ll say or how you’ll say it. The right words will be there; the Spirit of your Father will supply the words.”4

Today I give thanks to all my mentors in the ministry—the first being Bishop Padgett—who have trained me how to minister like the Savior would.

I think that the goal of each disciple of Jesus Christ is to be like the single porch light on that woman’s house: a beacon of light in the dark for those fainting, struggling men and women who need rescuing, who need saving.5

Indeed, Jesus told his disciples, “Ye are the light of the world,”6 and that includes my mentors, it includes me… and it includes you!

Bishop Padgett ordained me a priest in 2012, around the same time that this experience occurred. Several months later, I had a volunteer appreciation breakfast at a local restaurant and was waiting outside on a bench for my teammates to show up. As I waited, the Bishop pulled up in his car for a breakfast meet-up of his own. “When does your meeting start?” he asked. “Eight a.m.,” I responded. "Good, mine too,” he said. “Will you give a prayer for us?” He then called me to be his assistant, which calling I held until he participated in my ordination to elder in early 2014.

I love Bishop Padgett. What a dedicated man he is. I pray for him often, that he might be strengthened in his calling. He is a role model, and I’d like to be very much like him.

From my journal, May 13, 2012

A few Decembers ago, several friends and I traveled down to Arizona for the wedding of our friend Mariah. We had all met while volunteering in a summer theater program in Illinois the previous summer.

That trip was notable for two reasons: one, I got my first speeding ticket; and two, I met Mariah’s mom, Julie.

Mariah’s wedding was perfect: everything happened on time, the venue was beautifully decorated, and I even boogied on the dance floor for a few songs (there’s video evidence of that somewhere). After a sparkler sendoff, the merry couple went on their way, and my friend group hung around to help the family tear down the decorations.

Transforming the ornate winter wonderland back into a plain church auditorium seemed like it would be daunting task. There were faux fir trees to collapse, gossamer to roll away, lights to unstring, and more. Luckily, we had an organized leader directing the entire process: Julie, the mother of the bride.

Julie had changed out of her dress and back into her jeans, and following her charge, we got to work. The clean-up was just as fun as the reception. Music was playing, uncles were cracking jokes, and little kids were running all around. Julie was in good spirits the entire night, and even though the breakdown process took several hours, she was never rushed, anxious, or demanding. We had a lighthearted evening, and the work didn’t feel like work at all.

Finally, long after dark, the clean-up was finished, and we all drove over to Julie’s house. On top of all the responsibilities she had undertaken that day, she had also offered her home for me and my friends to spend the night. We helped unload the decorations into the garage and the leftover refreshments into the kitchen. It was snowy outside and we made multiple trips in and out of the cold to get all the cars unloaded. We brought our luggage into a spare room, took off our shoes, and then… finally, finally, after hours of partying, cleaning, and unloading, we were finished. It was midnight.

Julie should have been exhausted. It was the wedding day of her oldest daughter. She had decorated the venue, pampered the bride, attended the marriage, hosted the reception, and torn down the venue, all in a single day. All the while, she had spoken to everyone with love and an upbeat countenance, never conveying any type of stress. She had greeted relatives and new acquaintances all evening, directed a group of rag-tag young adults in a cleanup, mothered her tired younger children who needed attention, and still, had maintained a good attitude the entire day, well into the night.

And so, at midnight on one of the most exhausting days of Julie’s life, the mother of the bride entered her home, set her things down, brought us all bedding, and then…

She sat in the living room to chat.

And it wasn't just small talk. We talked.

For hours.

Spread around the warmth of her living room fireplace, my friends and I talked with the mother of the bride about life, love, hardships, parenting, careers, and everything else that comes up in one of those deep conversations you have when you know someone is really listening to you. Julie’s middle daughter sat with us too while Julie stroked her hair and tenderly explained some of her daughter’s life questions and asked for our advice.

That evening, Julie set aside all the stresses of the day—the snowy roads that the newlyweds were driving on, the leftover food spoiling on the counter, the responsibilities at church the next morning—and just chatted with her daughter’s friends, a group of young adults she had met only a few hours before.

It was early in the morning when we all finally went to sleep. Julie wasn’t in a rush to send us to bed.

I decided to sleep on the couch next to the crackling fireplace. From my makeshift bed in the middle of the house, I could hear as Julie got up several times in the middle of the night to attend to her youngest daughter, who was feeling sick.

At some point during all that, someone tip-toed up to the couch and laid an extra blanket over me while I slept.

The very last verse of the Old Testament describes how Elijah—or at least his influence—will “turn the heart of the fathers to the children.”1

In my faith tradition, we like to interpret this primarily as the spiritual longing to connect to our ancestors. But what if Elijah’s spirit also inspires us to be good parents and good children?

I’m just thinking about Julie’s refined abilities to mother her own children and the friends of her children. (And probably a lot of other people.) Isn’t that an example of the heart of the “fathers” (read: “and mothers”) being turned to the children, through Elijah’s influence?

At the very least, it’s an example of love borne though the influence of the Savior, Jesus Christ.

And so I think about how Julie is the epitome of a Christlike woman, who “riseth also while it is yet night,” who “is not afraid of the snow for her household,” who “openeth her mouth with wisdom,” and in whose “tongue is the law of kindness.”2

And I have to agree again, once more, that this mother of the bride—along with my own mother and my own sister—warrants the laud offered by the very last Proverb:

“Many daughters have done virtuously, but thou excellest them all.”3

Professor Stancil might have left everyone else terrified by the end of our first class of the semester, but not me.

After the period finished, I talked to one of the students Stancil had grilled in front of the entire class about the casebook reading, and I asked her how much notice she had that she was going to be put on the spot.

“About ten minutes,” she said.

But while Stancil’s interrogation produced lots of nervous fidgeting—and innumerable brow-wipes of relief from those who weren’t called on—I thought it was rather fun. After all, we’re all going to be lawyers someday, so we’d better get used to being grilled by someone like a judge.

Professor Stancil was kind enough to give us some advice before he started in on the mock oral arguments, however:

“Don’t just gloss over any evidence that doesn’t support your side, because your opponent will be all too happy to mention it to the judge.

“Instead, be brave enough to bring up your opponent’s best points, and then explain why they’re wrong. If you bring them up, rather than your opponent, you can frame them in the light that’s most favorable to your case.”

I wrote that down so I would remember it when it was my turn to be grilled.

Think about the children

A few weeks ago, my undergrad professor and mentor, David Wiseman, cheerfully agreed to take a phone call about another article I was writing.

I live in a basement apartment where the cell reception is bad, so I had gone outside to the driveway to call him and was pacing around in the snow as we chatted.

“I love my parents to death,” he told me, “But after reflecting on my childhood, I realized that I don’t want to control my own kids to the point where they can’t learn about the world themselves.”

David told me that he had been raised in such a regimented and shielded way that he wasn’t really allowed to make mistakes.

I kicked a chunk of frozen ice on the ground and thought about my own parents. I truly believed they did a good job of keeping me accountable for my choices, while at the same time, not shielding me from the world.

I think they succeeded because they had followed Stancil’s advice.

It’s all about teaching

Well, okay, my parents are older than Professor Stancil, so maybe they didn’t get the advice from him. But they understood the concept that you can’t shield your children from the opponent’s tactics. Rather, you have to be the first to teach your children about them. If you teach about them, rather than your opponent, you can frame them in the light that’s most favorable to your case.

You might be clearing your throat and asking, “Um, what opponent?”

Oh, just “that old serpent … who is the father of all lies.”1

That scumbag.

You see, just like in the legal world, as parents, we can’t just ignore, or hide our children from, the devil’s tactics. We have to know about them, read the scriptural and modern prophetic guidance about them, and even read the scholarly research about them. And then we have to teach our children about them.

I’m not saying the world is a scary place. On the contrary, I believe the world is full of good people and good things. So when I say “the devil’s tactics,” you could also think the words “societal ills”, like technology overuse, substance abuse, or maybe even political polarization.

But at a certain point, every kid becomes a young adult and leaves their home to confront these ills—and others—for themself. If they’re educated in a way that they know what’s out there, but truly understand the reasons for their self-restraint, then they can confidently and gracefully live in the world, but not be of it.

You can do this

What this comes down to, in the end, is teaching.

It takes bravery to teach about hard things. Sometimes you’d rather ignore them. It might be easier to pull your children out of public school, turn off your WiFi router, and play Monopoly. (Alright, I went to public school, but I also played Monopoly.)

But your children—or the judge—will inevitably find out about the opponent’s best points. At that point, the choice they make will depend on whether you were able to teach your “child in the way [they] should go.”2

And even if your child makes the wrong choice the first time he is not under your watchful care, you can be assured that “when he is old, he will not depart from [your teaching.]”3 “Old” could mean “as an older teenage”, or perhaps “later in adulthood”, or maybe even “in heaven”. But in time, your teachings will have their intended effect.

So, let’s all be good learners, so we can be good teachers!

Your children will appreciate it.

(Unless you’re a scary teacher like Stancil and then maybe we can look for another method…)

A special thanks to Professors Stancil and Wiseman who reviewed this article good-naturedly.

If you’ve read One L: The Turbulent True Story of a First Year at Harvard Law School, then your imaginations would be correct—if this were Harvard, and if the book were actually a true story, which it’s not (Scott Turow had to dramatize some things if he wanted to make any money selling a book).

No, BYU is a little different than Harvard. Maybe a lot different. Everyone here is very kind, there are no egotistic people (if anything, I’m probably the worst offender), and if there’s any competition, it’s about how many pints of chocolate milk the boys can down before getting sick (me = less than one).

So when I refer to first words, I’m talking about some legal principles I actually learned as a child that ensure that people can’t be dishonest and still prevail in court.

Me as a sneaky child

One of the silly things I used to say as a kid to my sister was, “I take first words!” That meant that if my sister slipped up and said something incorrectly, and then afterwards tried to correct it, I would take her first statement as the only valid statement. Hence, if she said “you can have my cookie” but meant to say “you CAN’T have my cookie”, well, guess what… I take first words (and I also take cookies).

I always believed as a kid that I could catch people on technicalities. I would read through my teachers’ syllabi in high school and try to catch holes in the “contract” that would allow me to do less work, then argue my case before my teacher and attempt to prevail based on my reliance on the faulty language. (To any of my teachers reading this—wow, I’m sorry…)

What I didn’t understand was the concept of good faith.

Good faith

No, this has nothing to do with religion (that would be the last twelve paragraphs). Good faith means honesty, reasonableness, and fairness. A good faith interpretation of my sister’s statement, for example, was that she didn’t want me to have her cookie. So my mom would arbitrate the ensuing argument by considering the contextual evidence. What was my sister’s subjective intent when she said the words? What would her tone of voice have conveyed to an objective listener? What about the history of her prior dealings with me? (I.e. since when had my sister ever been known to just give me a cookie?)

I fought back against these arguments because they didn’t favor me. I only focused on the textual evidence and I took my sister’s words at face value. She meant what she said, and she said what she meant. If she slipped up, then too bad. That’ll teach her to be more precise the next time she opens her mouth.

But nevertheless, my mom’s judgement was law, and there was no appealing it: the good faith interpretation of my sister’s statement was that she didn’t want me to have the cookie.

Now is that unfair or WHAT?!?

She literally said I could have her cookie! Why should I consider her subjective intent? I can’t read minds! And relying on the tone of her voice is so idiosyncratic! If I were from Micronesia, maybe her tone of voice would have signaled to me that she was being generous! And who cares about what my sister has done in the past? Maybe she had actually wanted to give me a cookie, but then she changed her mind and is lying now about what she really meant to do!

SO unfair!!!

At that point, I would usually stomp out of the courtroom into the drizzling rain, hail the nearest cab, and catch a ride back to my bedroom.

Realizing the truth

The doctrine of good faith, however, has a retort for each of my points. It always took some time alone to be able to recognize it.

First, yes, she said that I could have the cookie. However, don’t I ever say things wrong? What if I said something wrong that was of greater magnitude? Wouldn’t I expect some mercy for my slip-up?

Second, yes, maybe her tone of voice would have signaled something different to someone else. However, am I from Micronesia, or am I from here? What would a reasonable, objective person have understood from the tone?

Third, yes, maybe this time was different, and she was breaking from her custom. But what are the chances of that? Pretty low, right? Did I really think she was being generous? Or did I know in my heart that she had slipped up, and I was trying to take advantage of her mistake?

I don’t steal cookies anymore

As you can tell, I naturally err on the side of justice rather than mercy. Even though this was a childhood example and today I would be graceful enough to let the same issue slide (cookies from the BYU Creamery are cheap), there are other situations where I would still want to stick to my guns with an unforgiving textualist approach.

But the Savior, Jesus Christ, stands in the perfect center between justice and mercy. His arbitration is always perfect. He understands when someone has simply slipped up, and when another’s true intentions are guileful. He is the Objective, Reasonable Man. He knows whether you’re from Micronesia or not.

In the law, good faith plays a role in all sorts of topics, like whether to admit parol evidence of terms that were discussed but never included in a contract, or whether someone deceitfully racked up expenses before the adverse party was to pay the damages due. In these types of cases, the parties present the best evidence that can be discovered, and the judge makes the best choice she can.

In life, however, there is no destruction of evidence, nor can anyone escape the Great Judge.

Some people might say,

“Eat, drink, and be merry; nevertheless, fear God—he will justify in committing a little sin; yea, lie a little, take the advantage of one because of his words, dig a pit for thy neighbor; there is no harm in this.”1

Will that be you?

Because at the time of resurrection,

“The dead shall come forth, and be brought to stand before God, and be judged according to their works.”2

And that will be a great and terrible day. The memory of our many sins will come back to us. The judgement bar will loom large. And then the Lord will say, with a “voice of many waters, and as the voice of a great thunder,”3

“Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world.”4

At least, that’s one of the two options. 

I’ll assume the best for me and you.

As long as we live in good faith!

If you knew you were going to die soon, what would you want your family to know?

In a popular song by The Avett Brothers, the lead singer explains that if he were to die, he wouldn’t want his family members to focus too much on dividing out his possessions. Rather, he would want them to remember how much he loves them:

If I get murdered in the city
Go read the letter in my desk
Don't worry with all my belongings
But pay attention to the list

Make sure my sister knows I loved her
Make sure my mother knows the same
Always remember, there was nothing worth sharing
Like the love that let us share our name

(Murder in the City, 2008)

Aren’t these inward thoughts beautiful? I love the poetic way that he expresses appreciation for his family: there is nothing that compares to the love that comes from sharing a last name—or in other words, from being part of the same family.

The majority of the song is sung by only one of the brothers, but this last stanza is sung by two voices in a lovely harmony (by the two namesakes of the band, Scott Avett and Seth Avett), underscoring the most important message. And it dually demonstrates (1) harmony in musical form and (2) harmony between the family members. After a few instrumental measures, the singers fervently repeat the last two lines once more, while the guitar stops several times to add emphasis:

Always remember, there was nothing worth sharing
Like the love that let us share our name

While the Avett brothers here express the harmony and joy that can come from a united family, the lead singer acknowledges earlier in the song that their relationship wasn’t always without trouble. In one section, he reveals some private thoughts about the way he compares himself to his brother, and wonders whether his parents loved one of them more than the other:

A tear fell from my father's eyes
I wondered what my dad would say
He said I love you and I'm proud of you both
in so many different ways.

Heavenly Father sees us this same way. He doesn’t compare us to our brothers and sisters. He sees us for who we are, His children. And He is proud of us each for our own strengths and accomplishments.

This stanza always brings my memory back to the day that I left on my mission to California. I was in the airport early in the morning, accompanied only by my mother. As I gave my momma a final hug before walking through the gate, she said to me the most tender words which I will never forget throughout the eternities:

“I’m so proud of you."

Then I walked onto the ramp, holding back tears, as I left to spend the next two years separated from my family.

He said I love you and I'm proud of you both
in so many different ways.

I can’t pretend that I’ve been the best family member. I have my fair share of character flaws that make me irritable, judgmental, and impatient. But “God gave us families to help us become who He wants us to be,”1 so whatever family we’ve been given, we ought to love them the best that we can.

My hope is that we may sing the song of life in harmony with our families. We all have different voices to blend, different strengths, accomplishments, and characteristics. But regardless of where our talents lie, God loves all of His children, and if we do our best to love our families and those around us, at the last day, He will welcome us back at the heavenly airport with outstretched arms.

Then, with a hug, He might whisper in our ears,

“I’m so proud of you."

Ten years ago, a heaven-inspired couple chose to show a certain video during a class they were teaching at a church youth conference.

The video was of contestant Paul Potts singing Nessun Dorma on Britain’s Got Talent. In the classroom was 14-year-old me.

The clip begins with the host introducing Potts as an unconfident cell-phone salesman. He is nothing special to look at, and he certainly doesn’t seem one able to sing the protagonist’s solo from the opera Turandot.

But after the judges give him the go-ahead and the music begins, Potts opens his mouth... and out comes the most beautiful tenor voice! With passion, Potts sings the fervent aria until he climaxes on the sustained high B with the words, “Vincerò! Vincerò! Vincerò!” And then the audience swells into an overwhelming applause, the strings and brass of the orchestra play the final triumphant notes, the judges wipe away tears, and people stand and cheer while the studio cameras sweep around the now-majestic Potts, his arms outstretched to the side and head tilted toward heaven.

As I sat in that classroom at 14 years old and watched that clip, my heart filled with the Spirit of the Lord. For the first time in my life, I recognized what that Holy Ghost was. And I decided that I would learn how to regain that feeling so that I could keep it with me for the rest of my life.

This week, ten years later, I watched the same video again and I felt the same strong feelings that I had felt before. However, now having ten more years of life experience since that day, I’ve come to recognize three other lessons in that clip that I hadn’t noticed before.

First, people can overcome the lack of self-confidence with the help of others. During his interview before his performance, Potts states, “I’ve always found it a little difficult to be completely confident in myself.” However, Potts developed his talent and then took the risk of sharing it with others. The audience did their part to encourage, lift, and praise him, their applause adding to the effect of his performance and thereby contributing to his eventual success. As I’ve written before, the power of a supportive family can transform someone struggling into someone majestic.

Second, good music has great spiritual power. It was Potts’s voice and the beautiful orchestration that allowed me to recognize the Spirit of God for the first time in my life. In Nessun Dorma, the music continues for several measures after the soloist's last words—which can be translated as “I will win! I will win! I will win!”—and the rising notes of the final measure give the idea of triumph over enemies, of strength, and of joy.

Finally, cameras can be used as a tool to tell a story. I love the final spiraling shot around Potts, making him seem a small figure in the midst of a magnificent stage and an applauding audience. But this visual smallness is ironic, because in that moment of victory, Potts is larger than any enemy or any threat of death. The spiral reveals him from every angle, exposing him in pureness and humility. It also shows his power over all of his surroundings and it glorifies his triumph, which stands as a symbol of the triumph of the Savior.

In the past ten years, I’ve (1) struggled with self-confidence but have found security in serving others and learning new skills (for example, I started taking dance lessons—although I’m still a terrible dancer). I’ve also (2) improved my musical skills by learning the organ (and taking jazz piano lessons), and I now play every month in the temple, in additional having played for several apostles. And during my time at BYU, I’ve (3) developed the skill of directing multi-camera broadcasts, and I directed my first multicam on live television at the beginning of this year.

As I’ve considered all of these links between my life and the Paul Potts video, I have come to realize that the Lord hand-selected this specific clip to be my catalyst into conversion. He knew (1) what struggles I would face, (2) what musical talents I would improve, and (3) what cinematographic skills I would develop, so he inspired an unnamed couple—whom I have searched in vain to identify—to show this specific video, just for my benefit.

Indeed, “by small and simple things are great things brought to pass”,1 and I owe my conversion to this couple who supplied a small lesson at a youth conference, which led to a great, eternal blessing.

Nobody knows what a boy is worth,
We’ll have to wait and see.
But every man in a noble place,
A boy once used to be.2

My praise goes to the Savior Jesus Christ, and I echo the words of the prophet Nephi, “I glory in my Jesus, for he hath redeemed my soul from hell.”3

If you accept Him as your Savior, too, you will be able to sing in the final day, perhaps with an audience applauding, a full orchestra playing, and a camera spiraling around you,

“Vincerò! Vincerò! Vincerò!”

Every fall, I have the chance to participate in the technical side of a Polynesian dance production at BYU called “Luau”.

One of my favorite dances in the show is called the Sasa, performed by the Samoan section. The Sasa is a community dance. The performers sit cross-legged in rows, and in exact unison, they portray daily movements such as cooking, washing, or rowing a boat. In recent years, groups have often chosen to incorporate more modern movements into the dance, such as the “dab”, the “bernie”, or in the case of our show, the prowl of a BYU Cougar!

The Sasa is led by a fa’aluma, (meaning “clown” or “jester”) who runs around freely on the floor between the rows of dancers, performing exaggerated movements, shouting calls, and keeping the group in time. The dancers on the floor follow the fa’aluma with perfect obedience, repeating his moves, following his tempo, and always maintaining those big, bright smiles on their faces!

A few weeks ago during rehearsal, I was delighted as I watched the charismatic fa’aluma running around our makeshift stage, clapping in syncopation and strutting comical dance moves to the rhythm of the beat.

As I watched this dancer-leader running between the rows and columns of his team, it occurred to me that perhaps this performance could relate to the dance of life that all of us perform.

Just as the dancers sat in orderly rows and portrayed ordinary actions, we too are organized into units—families and extended families, wards and stakes—and we each must perform the daily actions of life: maintaining a home, raising children, and serving our community. In this latter-day era, we also have to learn the modern dance moves associated with keeping ourselves safe from inappropriate media and distancing ourselves from time-draining distractions.

But we are also guided by a Leader, who moves often and widely around the group of dancers. His attitude is one of joy, and He encourages us by clapping to keep us in time, sending calls and inspiration through his Holy Spirit, and modeling perfectly the dance moves we must imitate.

We too, if we follow our Leader in perfect unison, can experience true joy in the daily living and dance of the gospel—evidenced with those big, bright smiles on our faces!

It is my testimony that as we obey our blessed parents, the officers of the Church, and our Heavenly Father, modeling the dance of our Leader, Jesus Christ, our lives will be long upon this earth!

Elder Torres

Further reading:

• Traditional Performance in Samoan Culture: Two Forms, Victoria N. Kneubuhl (Asian Theatre Journal, Vol. 4, No. 2 (Autumn, 1987), pp. 166-176)

• A Grammar and Dictionary of the Samoan Language: With English and Samoan Vocabulary, George Pratt (London Missionary Society, 1893)

• http://amsamoa-busycorner.blogspot.com/p/culture-faaluma.html

• https://dance.lovetoknow.com/samoan-dance

Near the end of the British Pageant, one of our productions in Nauvoo, the recent proselytes in Britain mount a ship to join the body of the Saints in the United States.

The performers fill the stage with joy as they cheer and dance aboard the gallant ship. And then they kneel as they watch the shore fade into the distance, and they sing:

I go because my master calls;
He’s made my duty plain—
No danger can the heart apal
When Jesus stoops to reign!

And now the vessel’s side we’ve made;
The sails their bosoms swell:
Thy beauties in the distance fade—
My native land farewell.1

These converts surely knew that they would never return to Britain in their lifetime. They were leaving behind family, friends, and the beloved country of their nascence.

But with faith they mounted that ship. Why?

“I go because my master calls”.

They went because the Lord called them.

They were “called to serve”, so they said, “I’ll go where you want me to go.”2

Personally, I find myself very comfortable when I'm at home. I like my furniture, my car, my job, and my friends. But the Lord's intent is not for us to be comfortable. No, He calls us to stretch out of our comfort zone, to traverse lands and waters and apartment complexes and front lawns, to enter the homes of the downtrodden and the weary, and to serve as His hands on the earth.

So, while there is some discomfort when the Lord calls me to serve, it is not hard for me to go, and I don’t think it ever has been.

Rather, at the start of any new mission or ministry, I always find strength by remembering the many miracles I have already seen and the guarantee of eventual success. And I remember that the Savior is the true agent in my interactions, while I am just the vessel.

So, my good friends, at the end of this mission in Nauvoo, I look forward to my next ministry. And I hope that I can continue to rely on each of you to be a companion or a help when I need it for the blessing of God's children.

Indeed, we are all one body of Saints with a call to serve, and we will be guided by the Savior in our ministries as we remember that this is His work, and it has to be done His way.

Yes, He will help us, if we are willing, to serve His mission for the rest of our lives.

Love,
Elder Torres

If you’re the type of person who keeps track of holidays, you’ll know that this past Thursday, July 25th, was “Christmas in July”.

There is a missionary in our group, Elder Merrill, who is a Christmas fanatic. All of his friends in high school called him “Father Christmas” because of how much he adores the holiday. Even here in Nauvoo, you can frequently find him humming a Christmas song.

Early this week, the missionaries who live with Elder Merrill decided to throw a surprise “Christmas in July” celebration for him. The elders obtained some Christmas decorations from one of our warehouses. A few sister missionaries put together twelve small gifts that corresponded with the Twelve Days of Christmas. And someone from our Brass Band obtained the sheet music for “Sleigh Ride” and had all 18 musicians quickly skim the music the night before.

On Thursday morning, Elder Merrill woke up to a house fully decorated for Christmas. One elder played seasonal tunes on his fiddle and another gave him a Santa hat to wear. When he arrived to the theater for our morning meeting, he saw a Christmas tree set up in the middle of the stage and the brass band standing in formation. Someone handed Elder Merrill a bowl of spoons for him to shake to imitate the sound of sleigh bells, and then, on a cue from the drummer, the band started in playing Leroy Anderson’s “Sleigh Ride”.

The entire theater swelled with music as the sound of Christmas filled the air. Elder Merrill shook the bowl of spoons in perfect time with the band, as if he had played the song a thousand times before, and he then slid the bowl across the stage and began to dance. Missionaries grabbed each other and polka’d across the stage, others began to clap in time, and I ran to the mission president’s office and pulled him out of the middle of a meeting to witness what was happening.

That humongous room was filled with joy as the band gave its all playing the most flawless “Sleigh Ride” I have ever heard. Members of the original bass band, who had long since passed on, joined us in spirit to fill in the holes that our band could not play, and at the climatic ending of the song, our magnificent trumpeter, Elder Zeller, imitated the whinny of a horse with a gusto that cannot be matched. When the song was over, an encore was called, and the band played the last verse again, and then another encore was called, and they played it all over once more! People were cheering and laughing, missionaries were dancing, the leadership staff was hugging, the mission president was filming the whole ordeal with his phone, and guests outside in the lobby were even craning their necks in surprise to hear what was happening behind the closed doors of the theater.

As I stood in the back of the theater taking photos, I thought about one of the last days that the early Saints spent in Nauvoo before they were forced out of the city.

It was February 9, 1846, and Brigham Young had called the Nauvoo Brass Band to assemble in the upper room of the temple. They had already played a few songs for the people gathered, but suddenly, Brother Brigham stood and announced to the crowd that “he thought it no harm to have a little recreation... as long as it is done in righteousness”, and the floor was then opened for a dance! The brethren and sisters danced to the music of the original Nauvoo Brass Band, and they delighted in each other’s company until 3 AM the next morning!1

I think I can imagine pretty well the feeling in that upper room as the saints danced. I believe it would have been the same feeling that we had in our theater during our Christmas in July. It was the feeling of good company, wholesome recreation, and true joy.

In this life, we will all be required to pass through a vale of tears as each of us confronts the trials that the Lord has laid out for us. But the prophet Jacob explained that sorrow should not be our only mortal experience: rather, “men are, that they might have joy”!2

With that in mind, then, I invite you to embrace the experiences of life and find joy in this great journey.

If you do so, at the last day,

We’ll sing and we’ll shout with the armies of heaven,
Hosanna, hosanna to God and the Lamb!
Let glory to them in the highest be given,
Henceforth and forever, Amen and amen!3

Can you imagine how joyous our reunion will be when this life is over and death is conquered?

Oh, what songs of the heart
We shall sing all the day,
When again we assemble at home,
When we meet ne’er to part
With the blest o’er the way,
There no more from our loved ones to roam!4

We will have the same glorious experience that the saints had in their upper room and that we had in our theater. It will be a reunion of good company, wholesome recreation, and true joy.

So, my good friends, “if [you] hold out faithful to the end [you will be] received into heaven, that thereby [you] may dwell with God in a state of never-ending happiness.”5

In other words, if you live the principles and ordinances of the restored gospel, then the plan of salvation—made possible by the Atonement of Jesus Christ—will be fulfilled.

I know that is true and give you that testimony by virtue of my authority as a minister for the Savior, who loves you, as do I!

Elder Torres

One of the greatest messages of the gospel of Jesus Christ is that we will be able to be reunited with our loved ones who have passed away.

I have never personally experienced the sorrow of the death of a loved one. The closest person to me who has ever passed away was my great mentor and middle school teacher, Mr. Pecylak. My mother and I visited him in the hospital several days before he passed away. He was thin and close to the veil, but I loved him a lot and am so glad that we made that visit.

In a coming day, we will once again "assemble at home", as the hymn Oh, What Songs of the Heart puts it. Can you imagine the joy of that day? Think of it: family, friends, acquaintances, and ancestors will gather to greet us in the spirit world when we die. Then, as in the story of the prodigal son, while we are "yet a great way off", they will see us, and have compassion on us, and run, and fall on our necks, and kiss us.1

Are you excited for that final day?

Tho our rapture and bliss
There’s no song can express,
We will shout, we will sing o’er and o’er,
As we greet with a kiss,
And with joy we caress
All our loved ones that passed on before2

Yes, no song can express the joy of the resurrection!

But it will happen.

And we will see our loved ones again.

Until that great and final day, may we maintain "a lively hope by the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead."3 Jesus Christ has already declared our redemption from the bands of death, and we can now live "firm in the hope of a glorious resurrection, through the grace of God the Father and his Only Begotten Son, Jesus Christ"!4

To those of you who still feel the pain of the death of a loved one, I want you to know that our Heavenly Father understands your feelings. He also knows what it is to lose a son. I pray that you will turn to Him and to the Savior in your hour of need, because They will succor you.

I, too, will try in my imperfect way to comfort you if you have lost a loved one. I love each of you. Some of you I will see when I return to Utah, some when I return to Florida, or California, or Illinois... and some, we may not see each other until the next life. But we will all be reunited after death. I know we will!

On that day, “God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away.”5 And then you and I will "greet with a kiss", and sing songs of joy o'er and o'er!

Love,
Elder Torres

Several years ago while at BYU, an old friend and companion from my mission called me and asked if I would accompany him to visit the family of a missionary who was still serving in the field. We both knew the missionary well and I agreed to go along.

We arrived at their home in Springville, UT, and the mom let us in. We were delighted to first meet all the young siblings who were still full of energy, even though it was late in the evening. We sat down in the living room and talked, and they began to relate to us some of the trials they had experienced since their missionary had been in the field, including a grandchild being born 5 months prematurely and a son developing a life-threatening liver condition. But they also shared with us a few of their family traditions, including the dance studio in their home that they used to host dance lessons every Saturday night. Eventually, the mom pulled out a laptop to show us some of their funny family photos, and we laughed together for the rest of the night.

Of that evening, I wrote in my journal,

I began to see this missionary that I had served with in a different light. My new understanding of the family situation and of the joyful traditions that they shared inspired in me a new love and a greater respect for this missionary.

(Nov 28, 2016)

In an interesting duplication of events, this week, I had the privilege of meeting the family of my current missionary companion, Elder Ewell, who is also from Springville. The Ewells understand how to have a strong family. They love each other thoroughly, they are generous to all, and they’re faithful in the gospel.

After we said goodbye to his family on the last night of their visit here to Nauvoo, Elder Ewell asked me, “So now does everything make sense about me?”

I laughed and said, “Yep, everything!”

I've learned time after time that when we learn to see the people around us as their family sees them (or even better, as their mother sees them!) we can more thoroughly understand how the Savior loves us.

I love all of you and hope that, with the Savior's help, you can discover a new love for the people around you!

Elder Torres

Several weeks ago, Sister Mueller, one of the missionaries who serves as a technician here in Nauvoo, was asked to train for a position she had never worked before: operating the spotlight for our big show, “The Promise”.

Even though she approached the task with some trepidation, she had a good trainer and ultimately ran the spotlight flawlessly (as far as I could tell) on her first try.

Sister Mueller normally works backstage for that show, where it is dark and one can only watch bits and pieces of the production through cracks in the curtain. Working up in the light booth for the first time, she said, was a whole new experience. She could see all the actors on the stage at once, and she always knew where they were going to be because of the operator script that she followed.

As Sister Mueller shared her thoughts about working the spotlight for the first time, she compared the birds-eye view of the spot operator to the view that Heavenly Father has of us. He sees us even when life is dark, and He grants us light when He feels we’re ready for it.

The way Sister Mueller put it, “Even if the stage is dark, we have to trust the Spot Operator.”

He is always there.

He is aware of where we are, even in the dark.

And He will turn on the light at the right time, when we need it.

I know that the Savior truly is “the light of the world”. Indeed, “He that followeth me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life.”1

With that light of life, the Savior charges us also to be lights to this world. As He told His disciples, our light is like a candle, which should not be “put… under a bushel, but on a candlestick” to give “light unto all that are in the house.”2

“Hold up your light,” He beckons us, “that it may shine unto the world.”3

It is my testimony that as we hold up our lights humbly, seeking to serve the way Jesus Christ would serve, people will feel His spirit radiating from us and they will have a desire to be better.

“Ye are the light of the world,” the Savior said, and that includes YOU!

Elder Torres

On the “Trail of Hope”, a guided historical reenactment here in Nauvoo, two wonderful sister missionaries sing a pioneer hymn penned by Eliza R. Snow:

Though deep’ning trials throng your way,
Press on, press on, ye Saints of God!
Ere long the resurrection day
Will spread its life and truth abroad.1

The pioneers faced many trials and “outward ills”, as Sister Snow called them, during their exodus from Nauvoo. I know that many of us, likewise, face trials and “outward ills”, some enough to bring us to our knees in mental or physical anguish.

The hymn, however, encourages us to press on—to hold on just a little longer, until the “resurrection day”.

Why the resurrection day?

Because on that day, “every limb and joint shall be restored to its body, [and] all things shall be restored to their proper and perfect frame.”2

On that day, “there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things [will be] passed away.”3

And on that day, “the spirits of all men, whether they be good or evil, [will be] taken home to that God who gave them life.”4

Until that day, things will be hard, I know. Sickness and disappointment will plague us all. However,

Though outward ills await us here,
The time, at longest, is not long
Ere Jesus Christ will reappear,
Surrounded by a glorious throng.

Yes, in that coming day, our “outward ills” will cease! In the meantime, then, while “tribulations rage abroad”, we can find peace in the Savior Jesus Christ.

Now, may you and I give

All glory to his holy name
Who sends his faithful servants forth
To prove the nations, to proclaim
Salvation’s tidings through the earth.

I am one of those servants, as are the two sisters who sing this hymn on the Trail of Hope. Together, as authorized ministers of the Savior, we proclaim salvation’s tidings through the earth, and we summon all people everywhere to “lift up your hearts in praise to God”.

Until the blessed day when we will all cross the threshold back into our heavenly home and embrace our Heavenly Parents and our Savior, may we “press on” with peace in Christ.

I give you my blessing of strength that you may be able to press on. And, in the name of Jesus Christ, acting in His stead as one of His authorized ministers, I give you my love!

Elder Torres

One evening here in Nauvoo, my missionary friend, Elder Morgan, was performing on the Trail of Hope, which is a guided historical reenactment of the exodus from Nauvoo. Elder Morgan's role on the Trail of Hope is to deliver a monologue extracted from an 1800s journal entry by Martin Peck, one of the original members of the Nauvoo Brass Band.

After Elder Morgan had recited his part to a group of about 20 visitors, their tour guide began to move the group forward to the next station. Elder Morgan turned back around and resumed his motionless pose against the fence, staring out at the Nauvoo temple in the distance, waiting for the next group to arrive.

Just then, someone popped up in front of Elder Morgan. Normally, when people give Elder Morgan a thanks or thumbs-up after his performance, he avoids breaking character and just continues staring straight ahead, but this time, he felt he should acknowledge who was in front of him. He looked down, and it was a little girl!

She looked up into his eyes, and after a pause, she said, simply, "Is it true?"

The wind of a thousand thoughts and testimonies ran through his mind, the leaves in the trees rustled with nostalgia, and the cosmic colors of the sunset shifted in place.

Then, without breaking her gaze, Elder Morgan replied,

"Yes.”

Then he resumed his gaze into the distance, and the girl ran off to catch up with her family.

Do you realize, with me, the spiritual sensitivity of this little girl? During my few short weeks here, I have been touched by the depth of so many children. Another young girl, for example, ran up to our fuzzy cow mascot (staffed by two sister missionaries inside), gave it a big hug, and whispered over and over, "I love you cow I love you cow I love you cow!”

The prophet Isaiah wrote that in the last days, “a little child shall lead them,”1 and the Savior counseled us to receive little children gently, lest we earn the worse alternative to "a millstone hanged about his neck" and being “drowned in the depth of the sea.”2

In other scripture, Jesus blessed the little children and said to the people gathered, “Behold your little ones.”3

It was that counsel that reminded me to be patient this week when a mother and three young girls walked into our sound booth during a busy show because one of the girls was interested in what we were doing "behind the scenes.” Luckily, the announcer in the booth was experienced enough from having his own grandchildren to give the girls a big smile and then point around to all the equipment we were using.

Indeed, “children are an heritage of the Lord,”4 and "children's children are the crown of old men.”5

May we, then, as disciples of the Savior, receive the little children in His name,6 succor them, weep with them, rejoice with them, play with them, and express to them our love.

We are all children of our Heavenly Father, and the love we give to our fellow brothers and sisters will always be returned to us by our Father and by our Savior, of whom I testify!

Elder Torres

One of the shows we perform here in Nauvoo is called “Sunset by the Mississippi”, which takes place on an outdoor stage and is full of high-energy, family-friendly songs and dances. One of the acts is a clogging number, "Orange Blossom Special", named after a train in the east coast that ran so close to the orange trees that any rider could lean out of the train and pick a blossom from the trees. In the photo above, you can see the final pose of that dance.

Will you take a minute with me to look at the faces of my magnificent missionary friends? Can you, with me, see a special joy in their countenances?

In the center of the photo is the gracious Sister Mann. Let me tell you a little bit of what I know about her. She attends BYU with me, and in her work as a resident assistant, she is a mentor to many younger college girls on her floor of the dormitory. This is her second summer serving as a missionary in Nauvoo, and she has been dancing for all of her life. Her family owns a dance studio and this year their group is touring in Italy. However, Sister Mann left that travel opportunity behind to be able to serve here in Nauvoo.

Sister Mann exemplifies the principle of joy. Several weeks ago during a devotional, she explained that she wasn't always that way. She often dreaded the Sunset show last summer because of the energy it required and the heat of the outdoors. However, her perspective changed over time as she realized that the Savior doesn't want us to suffer through life as we try to endure to the end. Rather, she learned, He wants us to have joy in the journey!

Sister Mann today is one of the happiest people I know. She is always smiling and always has a kind word to say to everyone she meets. Every day when I see her take center stage at the end of “Orange Blossom Special”, just like you see in the photo above, my heart fills with emotion to see her and all the other missionaries giving everything they have for the Savior in the great, climatic ending of the dance.

Indeed, my friends, the Savior wants us to find joy in life. Things will be hard sometimes, which all of you know as well as I do. However, like Sister Mann, we can all put a smile on our face and decide to be happy until we genuinely feel happy! Sometimes it takes all the energy we have, and it definitely always requires the help of Jesus Christ. In saying that, I don't advocate being disingenuous, nor do I discount the need for some of us to seek professional help in the case of anxiety or depression. However, often we spend so much time yearning for a future (or a past) day that we forget to live in the moment.

May we have the discipline to be present wherever we are, to express love to those who surround us, and to have faith that the Lord has our future planned for us better than we could plan it for ourselves.

“Men are, that they might have joy,” the great prophet taught, and I know that Heavenly Father and His Son desire our ultimate happiness.1 They love me, and they love you.

You and I can ALL do this. The Savior will strengthen us as we make our best attempt, or even desire to make our best attempt, to find joy in this life.

May His spirit be with us in our lives and ministries to give us this strength, is my prayer for you, which I offer with all the love I have!

Elder Torres

One of the plays we perform in Nauvoo called “Just Plain Anna Amanda” tells the story of a young girl who wants to feel important but can't seem to figure out how to find her self-worth.

Anna Amanda is the protagonist of the play, but her mother is also a pivotal character in her daughter's development. Mama seems to be an important figure in the community. The beginning of the play establishes that she has some position of authority in a town sociable happening that evening, as she is collecting all the baked goods from the neighbors in her kitchen.

Mama, then, being quite busy that day with the big event in the evening, walks into the living room at the end of the play to find her daughter distressed about her identity and importance.

Now, I'm not sure about you, but when I'm in “get-work-done” mode, especially if I'm in charge of a big event, my first inclination is not usually to have a heart-to-heart with someone to help resolve their insecurities about their self-worth.

But Mama, a wise Relief Society sister, a real pioneer woman, and a true disciple of the Savior, drops all the preparations she has left pending for the sociable and takes her daughter tenderly by the shoulders. Then, in the most gentle way, she asks all the right questions to understand what her daughter is feeling. Then Mama expresses her love and teaches Anna Amanda the true source of self-worth.

The scriptures teach us, “Charity is the pure love of Christ, and it endureth forever.”1

We also learn that when teaching others, we should “[show] forth afterwards an increase of love.”2

Mama follows both of these admonitions in her dealings with her daughter. Other evidence from the play, too, suggests she cares for others in the neighborhood, like a subtle line of dialogue indicating Mama will be taking soup over to a certain Sarah Bridgeforth who is feeling sick.

Today I pay homage to all the Mamas, including my own mother, who tenderly care for their children, their neighbors, the sick, and everyone else. Truly these women are wise Relief Society Sisters, real pioneer women, and true disciples of the Savior.

“Who can find a virtuous woman? for her price is far above rubies... she stretcheth out her hand to the poor; yea, she reacheth forth her hands to the needy... she openeth her mouth with wisdom; and in her tongue is the law of kindness.

“Many daughters have done virtuously, but thou excellest them all.”3

To you all and to my own mother I say thank you, and give my blessing!

Elder Torres

Several years ago when I was a missionary in California, my companion and I visited the home of a Polynesian couple. It was several moments before they opened the door after we knocked, and we found that they had been sitting out on their back porch singing hymns and playing their small instruments.

In my journal, I wrote of that evening,

It was a sweet moment to capture them in... To see this faithful couple—who had everything they could want, including a large house with innumerable bedrooms—sitting out on their unfurnished patio singing hymns together, touched my heart...

In an interesting duplication of events, several days ago, Elder Ewell and I were invited over for breakfast to the home of the Tukuafus, a Polynesian couple living here in Nauvoo. When we arrived, they showed us all of their tropical instruments, most of which I can't even name, and they sang us several hymns together as a couple, all from memory. The feeling in their home as they played was one of reverence and of peace.

The scriptures counsel us, “Is any [among you] merry? let him sing psalms.”1

And the Savior Himself told his prophet, “My soul delighteth in the song of the heart; yea, the song of the righteous is a prayer unto me, and it shall be answered with a blessing upon their heads.”2

Music provides us a way to worship God. Here in Nauvoo, all of our performances are based around music and dance, and I'm sure that likewise, each of you have a favorite song that you like to play when you're happy. Music has a powerful effect on your soul.

I think we can each use music in a better, holier way to lift our spirits and provide us peace in a world full of busyness and worry. As we do so, the Savior Jesus Christ will answer us “with a blessing upon [our] heads”!

I love you!

Elder Torres