Eden, Knowledge, and the Tree of Life

Dear Reader,

This afternoon I found myself reflecting on the Garden of Eden. Does it still exist somewhere? And if it does, what would be the effects of global warming upon it? The thought may seem far-fetched, but considering both scripture and today’s headlines, I believe it is worth pondering.

So here is the question: If Eden was real, does it exist today? Or is the earth itself our Eden — and are we in danger of being driven out a second time? From a purely agricultural standpoint, the earth remains a garden, still able to sustain its population. Symbolically, humanity’s relationship with God’s creation places us right on the edge of Eden’s gates.

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The Debate of Our Day

Here in 2025, we face a deep divide between national sovereignty and global responsibility. President Trump’s address at the United Nations emphasized sovereignty, independence, and skepticism toward climate agreements. By contrast, scientific voices warn of warming seas, rising temperatures, and ecological instability.

Which voice do we heed? “Hoax or con-job”? Or the ancient commission:

“And God blessed them, and God said unto them, Be fruitful, and multiply, and replenish the earth, and subdue it: and have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over every living thing that moveth upon the earth.”
— Genesis 1:28 (KJV)

To me, the answer is clear: our stewardship comes from a higher authority than the sovereign kingdoms of the earth. Dominion does not mean exploitation. It means care, guardianship, and responsibility.

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The Old Temptation, Repeated

It would be an error to repeat Satan’s enticement at the tree of knowledge: “You shall be as gods.” Two errors never make a right. The misuse or denial of knowledge today — ignoring science, twisting truth for power — only sets us on a path of catastrophe. In this, we mirror the Fall, choosing desire and control over obedience and stewardship.

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Exile and Its Consequences

Just as Adam and Eve were exiled from Eden, we risk exiling ourselves from a livable earth if we neglect God’s call to care for creation. Symbolically, such an exile means climate disasters, displacement, and the loss of harmony with creation. Spiritually, it means defying God’s plan of renewal, choosing destruction instead.

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The Promise of the Tree of Life

Yet God has not left us without hope. In Revelation we are shown the Tree of Life, whose leaves are “for the healing of the nations.” Within my own faith, I believe restoration comes not by going back to Eden, but by moving forward into Christ’s reign.

• Stewardship = tending and keeping the earth, not exploiting it.

• Repentance = changing how we consume, how we treat creation, and how we respond to truth.

• Faith = trusting that Christ, the true Tree of Life, will guide us into a new Eden.

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A Final Question

So I ask again: Will we be driven out once more, or will we live as stewards preparing for restoration? The choice is ours. Eden may be hidden, but the Tree of Life still stands before us in Christ — calling us to faith, repentance, and care for the earth entrusted to us.

A Message of Kindness

Dear Reader, 

While listening to a talk by President Russell M. Nelson tonight, I was drawn to a thought about kindness—where it can be found and for what purpose. The thoughts below follow: 

Each day brings us opportunities that reach far beyond the moment. “Each day brings opportunity for decisions for eternity.” Our choices—especially the way we treat others—reverberate across generations and into eternity. 

President Nelson reminds us that “eternal principles that govern happiness apply equally to all.” Kindness is one of those eternal principles. It cannot be bought, borrowed, or bartered. It is the simple, quiet decision to honor others as children of God. 

But too often, he warns, “too many have sadly surrendered their agency to the adversary and are saying by their conduct, ‘I care more about satisfying my own desires than I do about bearing the Savior’s power to bless others.’” When we turn inward, kindness diminishes. When we turn outward—toward family, neighbor, and stranger—our lives begin to reflect the Savior’s love. 

The Lord has not asked us to be flawless, but He does ask us to place our faith in Him. “Even the best teams can fail. Celebrities can fade. There is only One in whom your faith is always safe, and that is in the Lord Jesus Christ. And you need to let your faith show!” That faith blossoms into kindness when we reach out, forgive, and serve, even on days that feel heavy. Indeed, “we can feel joy even while having a bad day, a bad week, or even a bad year!” 

As we come to know who we are—“It is important for you to know who you are and who you may become”—we recognize our divine capacity for kindness. Service becomes the natural outpouring of conversion. Whether through missionary work, family life, or simple daily acts, “a desire to serve is a natural outcome of one’s conversion, worthiness, and preparation.” 

At the heart of God’s plan is love, expressed in marriage, family, and eternal relationships. “Marriage and family are ordained of God. The family is the most important social unit in time and in eternity.” Within families and communities, kindness is the glue that binds us together now and forever. 

Faith in Christ empowers us to choose kindness over selfishness, service over apathy, and joy over despair. In doing so, we carry His light to others, making His eternal principles real in daily life. 

The challenge: Find moments in your daily experience to show kindness to others. Notice how even a small act of kindness can ripple outward—and ask yourself: how might it change your life? 

Abel and Cain: Choosing Love in a world of Hate

Dear Reader,

When we turn to the earliest pages of the Bible, we find the story of two brothers. Cain is remembered for his envy and violence, while Abel is remembered for his quiet faith and righteousness. Though Abel never speaks a recorded word, his actions live on: he gave God his best, offered in faith, and was called righteous by both Christ and the apostles. Cain, by contrast, allowed resentment to fester into hatred, and hatred into murder.

This contrast is not just ancient history—it is the very struggle of our own hearts and our own time.

The Way of Abel: Good Action in Faith

Abel’s story reminds us that goodness often appears in small, faithful actions. He tended his sheep with care. He gave God the best portion. His life was not flashy, but it was real. In Hebrews, we are told, “By faith Abel offered a more excellent sacrifice.” His faith was not theory—it was lived action.

In our world today, Abel’s personality is still needed. To listen instead of rage. To forgive instead of retaliate. To give our best instead of cutting corners. These are the offerings of the heart that speak louder than words.

The Way of Cain: The Cost of Hatred

Cain’s story shows how unchecked anger and envy can poison even family ties. His offering was half-hearted, and when he saw God look favorably on Abel, his anger turned into hate. Instead of mastering sin, Cain was mastered by it.

Today, we see the way of Cain whenever hateful words spread faster than kindness, whenever grudges are cherished more than forgiveness, whenever violence—whether in speech or deed—feels easier than reconciliation. Hatred always destroys more than it builds.

Our Choice Today

We stand at the same crossroad as those two brothers. We cannot control the actions of others, but we can choose our own. Will we walk the way of Cain, letting envy, pride, or bitterness govern us? Or will we take the way of Abel, offering our best with sincerity and faith—even if the world mocks or misunderstands?

The apostle John writes: “Do not be like Cain, who belonged to the evil one and murdered his brother… but let us love one another.” (1 John 3:12, 11). In recovery, in faith, in community, we are called to practice the quiet faith of Abel—sincere actions that honor God and serve others—because such actions shine against the darkness of hate.

Even now, Abel’s life still speaks. So may ours

Love, Forgiveness, and the Spiritual Life

 

Dear Reader,

Love is the key to all true understanding. Love is not about control or possession but about connection — a bridge that draws me closer to Heavenly Father, Jesus Christ, and those around me. Too often we use words like “I love you” casually, almost like saying “Have a nice day.” Yet love carries far deeper meaning. As Tolstoy once observed, everything we truly understand comes through love. That is the spirit I hope to express each time I speak of it.

In my life, I have found that love and forgiveness cannot be separated. Forgiveness is not a single act but a way of living. When I forgive, I not only release others but also discover freedom within my own heart. As one writer said, to forgive is to set a prisoner free and discover that the prisoner was you. Christ Himself taught us to forgive as we have been forgiven, even to love and bless our enemies.

As I strive to live in the spirit of love and forgiveness, I begin to taste the spiritual dimension of life. For me, this means placing my will and my life in the care of Heavenly Father and trusting the guidance of Jesus Christ. Gratitude keeps me in this place of surrender. When I give thanks in the moment, I recognize how often His hand has blessed and sustained me.

I recall the freedom I felt after posting a letter of forgiveness to my former wife and acknowledging my own errors in that marriage. In that act, I was both forgiving her and asking for forgiveness. Peace replaced anger, and healing entered the grievance. By living Step 3 — turning my will and life over to God — alongside Step 9 — making amends wherever possible — I found spiritual freedom. As another reminder puts it, it is through gratitude for the present moment that the spiritual dimension of life opens up.

Through Christlike love and forgiveness, even toward those who have harmed us, we discover a deeper happiness. It is no longer something we chase but the grace of living each moment with God. The Apostle Paul calls us to be transformed by the renewing of our minds (Romans 12:1–2), and Mosiah assures us that those who walk faithfully with God are “blessed in all things, both temporal and spiritual… in a state of never-ending happiness.”

My prayer is that each of us will choose love and forgiveness as daily companions, and in doing so, find the joy of walking with Christ. I know that Heavenly Father calls me to be renewed, to be transformed, and I have faith in the promise that those who remain faithful will be blessed both temporally and spiritually — and will one day dwell with Him in never-ending joy.

Centered in Joy and Gratitude

 

Joy is the ripple that unites us all—found in every faith, every philosophy, and every heart willing to embrace gratitude and love.

Dear Reader,

Last night in an AA meeting, the subject for discussion was: “How do we find joy in our recovery program?” That question carried me into a memory from earlier in the day, when I had coffee with a longtime friend. As I listened to him share his life today—with poise, calmness, and a clearer vision of who he is becoming—I felt a deep and unexpected joy. Gratitude welled up in me for the chance to witness his transformation.

That same theme of joy is found in the words of Rabbi Irwin Keller, who reminds us that joy is not the same as happiness. Happiness, he says, is fleeting, tied to circumstances; but joy is a stance, a practice, “a way of moving through the world with presence and connection and love.” You can read his full reflection here: “Insisting on Joy”.

The Talmud commands us to increase joy in the month of Adar—not just in good years, but in every year, because otherwise, no year would qualify. In difficult times, joy becomes not frivolous escape but an act of radical resistance.

I find that resonates with recovery. Joy is not an outcome we chase—it is a by-product of showing up, listening, and walking together in honesty and love. Just as Rabbi Keller describes joy in shivah or civil disobedience, many of us in recovery have known joy in rooms filled with tears, laughter, and hope. Joy emerges when we connect deeply—when gratitude for one another breaks through the walls of isolation.

The Baal Shem Tov once taught: “Accept everything that happens to you in this world in the spirit of love, and then both this world and the next will be yours.” That mirrors what many of us have discovered: that joy can live alongside grief, fear, or struggle, and even transform them. Joy doesn’t erase difficulty; it suffuses it with meaning, love, and light.

Rabbi Keller tells of activists who, even in the darkest days, buried friends in the morning, protested in the afternoon, and danced all night. “The dance kept us in the fight because it was the dance we were fighting for.” That vision is not far from recovery itself. We dance—sometimes quietly, sometimes with laughter—in gratitude for life, for sobriety, for one another.

The psalmist wrote: “Those who sow in tears will reap in joy.” Perhaps our work in recovery and in life is to sow joy now, to cultivate gratitude and love in the soil of today, trusting it will blossom in due season.

So may we keep choosing joy—not as denial of reality, but as its deepest embrace. Joy as gratitude, joy as connection, joy as resistance, joy as gift.

Centered in Compassion

 

Dear Reader,

In an AA meeting last night, the discussion turned to a simple but profound question: How do we find joy in recovery?

That question stayed with me. Earlier in the day, I had coffee with a friend I have known for several years. As I listened to him share about his life today, I felt a deep joy. He is a changed person—calmer, more centered, and with a clearer sense of who he is and where he is headed. The joy I felt was not in my own circumstances, but in witnessing his growth.

I was grateful just to be there. The Tao teaches, “A deviation of a hair’s breadth at the center leads to an error of a hundred miles at the rim.” The same is true in the positive sense: even a small adjustment at the center of the heart can lead to beauty and success far down the road.

In life and in recovery, when our hearts shift even slightly toward compassion, the outcome carries us far into peace and connection. By choosing to right ourselves early—even with the gentlest of efforts—we set our path toward wholeness.

I began with the subject of joy in recovery, and I see now that joy is found in moments of compassion: in witnessing real change, in withholding judgment, in simply being present.

Alexander Pope once prayed: “Teach me to feel another’s woe, to hide the fault I see, that mercy I to others show, that mercy show to me.” True compassion begins with humility—the willingness to soften our judgments, to withhold condemnation, and to see another’s pain as real and worthy of care. What greater joy can there be?

President Russell M. Nelson reminds us that “the joy we feel has little to do with the circumstances of our lives and everything to do with the focus of our lives.” When our focus rests on love, mercy, and service, joy comes naturally, even in life’s storms. Compassion is not only about seeing another’s pain—it is about choosing joy in lifting burdens together.

Today, may we pause long enough to see with new eyes—eyes centered in compassion—so that even the smallest adjustment of the heart may open a wide path of healing and joy.

Freedom and Diversity: Building a Brighter Future

 

Dear Reader,

Freedom and diversity are the cornerstones of a thriving society. Together they form the foundation on which progress, compassion, and innovation are built.

When we embrace one another’s unique backgrounds, perspectives, and experiences, we create communities that are stronger than any single voice could achieve alone. Every culture, story, and viewpoint adds depth and richness to the shared human experience. True freedom means giving each person the space to express themselves authentically—without fear of judgment or exclusion.

Diversity ensures that no one voice is left behind. It calls us to value a wide range of perspectives, from the quiet wisdom of elders to the bold creativity of new generations. When freedom and diversity work hand in hand, they allow us to grow in understanding, to solve challenges with new insight, and to walk together toward a future that is inclusive and compassionate.

In recovery, faith, and daily living, the lesson is the same: life is richer when we open our hearts to others. By championing both freedom and diversity, we don’t just honor individual dignity—we create the conditions for healing, connection, and lasting change.

May we strive each day to protect freedom, celebrate diversity, and nurture the community that results. In doing so, we light the way for generations to come.

With respect and hope,
Steve

Am I One of Them?

 Dear Reader,

Today while reading AA’s Daily Reflection, I found myself remembering my early days of recovery. Back then, I often asked, “How do you know if you are an alcoholic or not?” It is my experience that many of us, in one way or another, have faced that same question: “Am I one of them?”

With the years, after countless meetings, sponsoring others, and serving where I could, I’ve come to accept that I do indeed fit the profile. The real challenge, however, is not just recognizing that truth but choosing to stay close to the fellowship. As we often hear, it is safest to remain “in the middle of the herd.” When someone begins to feel they are no longer “one of them,” troubles soon follow. Too many times, I have watched friends drift away, only to slip back into the grip of alcoholism — some never making it back. Just this week I heard of one such loss, a life cut short after a return to drinking and drugs.

In moments like these, I turn to scripture and to wisdom beyond myself. Ruth once said to Naomi, “Thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God” (Ruth 1:16). In her words, I hear the heartbeat of belonging — the courage to declare, “Yes, I am one of them.”

In the AA Big Book, I find a similar truth: “We are people who normally would not mix. But there exists among us a fellowship, a friendliness, and an understanding which is indescribably wonderful” (p. 17). What unites us is not sameness but shared purpose, and the grace of walking together.

Philosophy echoes this need as well. C.S. Lewis once wrote, “The next best thing to being wise oneself is to live in a circle of those who are.” To belong is to be shaped and strengthened by the community we choose to keep.

And in the Book of Mormon, Alma asked his people if they were “willing to stand as witnesses of God at all times, and in all things” (Mosiah 18:9). Belonging to Christ’s church has never been a passive identity; it is an active covenant to live, serve, and stand together in faith.

Whether in scripture, recovery, or daily life, the question “Am I one of them?” is answered not by perfection but by willingness — the willingness to show up, to carry burdens, to share joy, and to let ourselves be part of something larger than our own struggles.

Compassion and Forgiveness Interrelated

 

Dear Reader,

In recovery, few principles bring more healing than compassion and forgiveness. They are not separate virtues but two sides of the same coin: compassion softens the heart to see another’s pain, and forgiveness releases both the offender and the offended from bondage.

A story I read recently illustrates this well. JD Vance, now Vice President of the United States, wrote candidly in Hillbilly Elegy about his painful childhood and his mother’s struggle with addiction. His honesty shocked her, but it also became a turning point. Through hard conversations, mutual compassion, and her eventual sobriety, mother and son found a path toward forgiveness. As one article summarized: “JD Vance’s compassion for his mother is a testament to his ability to forgive – and the therapeutic power of it.”

I related deeply to that healing process. When two people extend compassion to each other, forgiveness becomes possible, and lives are transformed. As the Dalai Lama put it: “Compassion is the wish to see others free from suffering.”

Scripture reinforces this union of compassion and forgiveness. John reminds us, “If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins” (1 John 1:9). Christ Himself taught Peter that forgiveness must go far beyond human calculation: “I do not say to you seven times, but seventy-seven times” (Matthew 18:21–22).

Elder Jeffrey R. Holland echoed this truth in our day: “Christlike love is the greatest need we have on this planet … True love lasts forever. It is the most powerful force in the world.” Compassion takes us out of ourselves, as Karen Armstrong explains: “In compassion, when we feel with the other, we dethrone ourselves from the center of our world and we put another person there.” And bell hooks reminds us that forgiveness is never blind: “How do we hold people accountable for wrongdoing and yet at the same time remain in touch with their humanity enough to believe in their capacity to be transformed?”

The greatest example, of course, comes from the Savior on the cross: “Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do” (Luke 23:34).

May we strive daily to live in that same spirit—seeing others through compassion, releasing them through forgiveness, and in the process, finding ourselves transformed and prepared for life in the Celestial Kingdom.

Amen.

The Power of the Present

  

Dear Reader,

There is a wisdom that transcends culture, religion, and empire: the recognition that the only moment we truly hold is now. The Buddha said it plainly: “Do not dwell in the past, do not dream of the future, concentrate the mind on the present moment.” His words remind us that the present is not a passing point between what was and what will be—it is the heartbeat of life itself.

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Voices Across Time

Mahatma Gandhi carried this thought into the realm of action. “The future depends on what you do today,” he taught. Gandhi’s vision was not abstract but practical: every act of truth and compassion in the present reshapes the world that comes after.

I find this in my own recovery journey. If I spend my energy regretting the past or worrying about whether I will “stay sober forever,” I miss the gift of today. When I take it one day at a time, I can live Gandhi’s truth—what I do today determines the freedom of my tomorrow.

The Dalai Lama echoes this with warmth and simplicity: “There are only two days in the year that nothing can be done. One is called yesterday and the other is called tomorrow. Today is the right day to love, believe, do, and mostly live.”

I’ve tasted this wisdom in small moments: sharing laughter with friends, or handing a meal to someone in need at the mission. In those instances, the burdens of yesterday and the worries of tomorrow fade. What matters is the simple gift of presence—listening, serving, and loving in the moment at hand.

Jesus Christ, too, pointed his disciples to the sufficiency of the present: “Take therefore no thought for the morrow: for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself.” (Matthew 6:34). Faith, he taught, is not found in anxious planning, but in trusting God today.

The Stoic emperor Marcus Aurelius wrote to himself in his Meditations: “Confine yourself to the present.” He saw how much energy we waste in regret or fear. To live wisely is to be fully awake to what is right in front of us.

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A Day in the Present

September 11, 2025, reminded me of how rich life becomes when we actually live in the present.

I had the joy of joining a friend for an art exhibit in San Francisco, a breathtaking display on the creation and completion of the Sistine Chapel ceiling. Standing before Michelangelo’s vision, I felt awe—not of history long past, but of art speaking directly into this moment of my life.

The day carried its own marvels of the future as well: my friend and I traveled by AI driverless cab. Trusting the car to choose the route and navigate the city’s complexity gave me a surprising sense of freedom—like living in a glimpse of tomorrow, here today.

Later, over plates of variety at a Chinese buffet, I savored flavors from around the world, each dish a reminder of life’s abundance. That evening, I laughed and pondered as I watched Quantum Leap, a show about time travel—fitting for a day so full of past, future, and present interwoven.

And as if to complete the lesson, I ended my night in conversation with a young man carrying the weight of conflict with his estranged father. I listened, offering compassion and the wisdom my own life has taught me. It struck me again: being fully present with another person may be the greatest gift we ever give.

That day was not extraordinary because of art, technology, or food alone. It was extraordinary because I was there for it. I did not hide in the shadows of yesterday or in fear of tomorrow. I lived it.

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Urgency in Action

For others, the present moment was not about quiet stillness but decisive movement. Martin Luther King, Jr. reminded the world: “We are now faced with the fact that tomorrow is today. We are confronted with the fierce urgency of now.”

I think of this when I hesitate to try new things. After my husband’s passing, I often told myself, “I’ll do it later—when I’m ready.” But the truth was, “later” never came. The first time I said yes to joining a group at church, or to carrying the message of recovery into a detox center, I realized that action must be taken in the now. Waiting for the perfect moment means losing the moment altogether.

Even the great strategists and rulers grasped this truth. Julius Caesar warned, “Delay is the deadliest form of denial.” Alexander the Great marched with relentless immediacy, refusing to wait for perfect conditions. Their lives testify that opportunities belong to those who act in the moment.

Even Joseph Stalin, in his darker vision, demanded unrelenting focus on the present tasks of the state. Though his application lacked compassion, it still reflected the conviction that all real power lies in what is done today.

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The Common Thread

What unites these voices—from saints to soldiers, prophets to politicians—is an insistence that the present moment is not to be squandered. Whether we seek inner peace, social justice, or the shaping of nations, all paths converge in the now.

The past has already spoken. The future is not yet ours. Only in the present can we pray, choose, act, and love.

So, dear reader, may we not dwell in what has been, nor dream idly of what may come, but live today with clarity, faith, courage, and compassion.

Serenity: Finding Calm in the Midst of Chaos

Dear Reader,

One year ago today, I shared a group of quotations on serenity. This year, I’d like to revisit them in a more personal way — weaving them into my journey of recovery, loss, and faith.

Serenity is one of those words that carries both gentleness and strength. It is more than a quiet moment by a lake or a pause at sunset. Serenity is a way of living — a grounding presence that steadies us when the storms of life rise. This is why the AA Promises assure us that we “are going to know a new happiness and we will know peace.” The 12 Steps of recovery help turn chaos into calm. As one unknown writer put it:

“Serenity is not found in the absence of chaos, but in the ability to remain calm amidst it.”

Peace is not about creating a perfect environment where nothing goes wrong. It is about learning how to stay centered when the world around us feels unsettled.

I remember when my late husband died and my household income was cut in half overnight. It would have been easy to panic, to drown in fear. Instead, I listened to the wisdom of others and found a plan to remain in my home while also helping those who needed shelter. What could have been chaos became a blessing — both for me and for others.

The Buddha once taught:

“Peace comes from within. Do not seek it without.”

Serenity is not given by circumstances; it is cultivated in the soul. As another reflection says simply:

“Serenity is the soul’s true home.”

Through the steps of recovery and the words of scripture, I’ve found truth in William James’s practical reminder:

“The greatest weapon against stress is our ability to choose one thought over another.”

Our thoughts shape our reality. Choosing calm over chaos, gratitude over worry, and faith over fear is not denial of hardship — it is the discipline of serenity. Calmness is not weakness but strength born of restraint.

This discipline shows up in daily life. It helps me maintain a budget while still enjoying simple pleasures: a movie, or a dinner with friends. Josiah Gilbert Holland expressed it well:

“Calmness is the cradle of power.”

And Sun Tzu, master of strategy, adds a further truth:

“In the midst of chaos, there is also opportunity.”

I see that opportunity today in service — in feeding the homeless, volunteering at an AA service center, and serving as a ward missionary in my church.

Calmness allows us to notice what panic would otherwise hide. As another writer puts it:

“When you are calm, you are the master of your own mind.”

We do not control the world, but we can choose how we respond.

One final reminder captures this wisdom:

“Let go of the things that are not in your control, and find peace in the present moment.”

True serenity is not about fixing everything. It is about acceptance.

“Serenity is the calm acceptance of the way things are.”
“True serenity is when you are at peace with yourself and the world around you.”

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Dear Reader, serenity is not something to chase “out there.” It is something to grow “in here.” It is found in stillness, in acceptance, and in the gentle but firm choice to meet life with peace. May these words invite you home — to the calm within your own soul.

Life in Faith: From Silence to Strength

 

Dear Reader,

I sometimes wonder what it truly means to live a life of faith. Does it mean we simply accept every word of our spiritual leaders without question? Most of us were raised with the scripture, “Be still, and know that I am God.” Yet I have often struggled with what it means to just be still. So I ask myself: how can I gain the strength of faith?

Faith often begins not in noise, but in stillness. Mother Teresa reminds us:

“We need to find God, and he cannot be found in noise and restlessness. God is the friend of silence. See how nature—trees, flowers, grass—grows in silence; see the stars, the moon, and the sun, how they move in silence… We need silence to be able to touch souls.”

In silence, we discover who we are before God. My experience in recovery has taught me to turn to a God of my understanding. In time, I came to see that God is the source of all truth and love. And I began to accept that I am a child of this love.

Margaret Mead offers a paradox worth holding close:

“Always remember that you are absolutely unique. Just like everyone else.”

Faith teaches us that our uniqueness is not isolation. We are one-of-a-kind, yet also part of a greater whole — children of God, bound together in His love. With this understanding, hope begins to grow into faith, a faith that embraces our place in God’s larger family.

Abraham Lincoln reframes the faithful life with these words:

“Sir, my concern is not whether God is on our side; my greatest concern is to be on God's side, for God is always right.”

Faith is not about persuading God to bless our plans; it is about aligning our steps with His. This is what recovery calls turning our will and our lives over to a Power greater than ourselves. As we walk with God, obstacles will appear.

E. Joseph Cossman gives us a word of caution:

“Obstacles are things a person sees when he takes his eyes off his goal.”

And life will surely bring change — sometimes sudden, sometimes uncomfortable. Alan Watts encourages us to see such times differently:

“The only way to make sense out of change is to plunge into it, move with it, and join the dance.”

When our eyes remain fixed on God and Christ, barriers lose their power. Faith allows us to move with the Spirit, trusting that change is part of God’s rhythm — His unfolding dance of grace.

Finally, we are called not only to believe, but to act. In recovery, I’ve learned that faith is lived out in a program of action and service. Archimedes, though speaking of science, offers us a fitting spiritual metaphor:

“Give me a lever long enough and a fulcrum on which to place it, and I shall move the world.”

Faith is that lever. God is the fulcrum. With Him as our foundation, even the heaviest burdens can be lifted, and the world itself can be moved through acts of love, courage, and service.

Dear friend, faith begins in silence, grows in identity, aligns with God, stays focused, embraces change, and finally moves into action. It is not a single step, but a journey — a dance, a lever, a life lived with God at the center.

The King in the Field and King Benjamin’s Call

  

                       The King in the Fields                         Mosiah 2:6,7

Dear Reader, 

Today I came across a Hebrew phase “The King is in the Field.”  This intrigued me since much of the chapter of Mosiah in the Book of Morman relates to the teachings of King Benjamin. So, I pursued the Hebrew phase through AI, the Old Testament and Mosiah in the book of Morman. Below is a message based on my comparison. 

King Benjamin and "The King is in the Field."

In Jewish tradition, the month of Elul is a time of preparation for the High Holy Days. It is a month of self-examination, repentance, and turning our hearts back to God. Chassidic teaching uses a beautiful parable to describe this season: “The King is in the field.” Normally, a king is hidden away in his palace, approached only with great ceremony. But in Elul, God — the King — comes into the field, among His people, and receives them with kindness and a welcoming face. It is a time when the barriers are lowered and when anyone, no matter their station, may draw close.

When I read of King Benjamin in the Book of Mormon, I hear a striking echo of these same themes. In Mosiah 2–5, King Benjamin gathers his people at the temple. They come in humility, pitching their tents toward the sanctuary. Instead of remaining in a palace apart, Benjamin speaks directly to his people, reminding them of their nothingness before God, and pointing them to the true King, Jesus Christ, who will come among His people.

The parallels are rich:

• Elul prepares Israel for renewal of the covenant; King Benjamin prepares his people to enter into a covenant with God.

• In Elul, the King walks in the field, accessible to all; in Mosiah, the king is among his people, teaching them face to face.

• Elul is a month of teshuvah — repentance and return; Benjamin’s people cry out for mercy, pleading that the atoning blood of Christ be applied to their souls.

• Elul culminates in Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, with covenant reaffirmation; Benjamin’s people covenant to take upon themselves the name of Christ and live as His children.

It is also important to remember that King Benjamin’s citizens were descendants of Israel — the people of Nephi who had brought with them the Brass Plates containing the Law of Moses and the writings of the prophets. The Book of Mormon records that the Nephites “observed to keep the law of Moses” (2 Nephi 5:10; Jarom 1:5). In fact, at Benjamin’s great address they “took of the firstlings of their flocks, that they might offer sacrifice and burnt offerings according to the law of Moses” (Mosiah 2:3).

This means the Nephites preserved not only the commandments but also the covenantal rhythms of Israelite worship — including the annual cycle of repentance and renewal found in the Hebrew calendar. While the Book of Mormon does not name months like Elul or Tishrei, King Benjamin’s assembly reads as a parallel to those sacred seasons: a gathering of the people, sacrifice, humility, repentance, and the renewal of covenant. Just as Elul prepares for Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, Benjamin’s discourse prepared his people to bind themselves afresh to God, this time through the name and atoning blood of Christ.

In both traditions, the message is clear: God is not distant. He draws near. He meets us in the “field” of our ordinary lives and in the moments of our deepest humility. He does not ask us to scale the palace walls — instead, He comes toward us, inviting us into repentance, mercy, and covenant renewal.

As the people of Benjamin discovered, when we turn to God with broken hearts, we are met with joy and forgiveness: “The Spirit of the Lord came upon them, and they were filled with joy, having received a remission of their sins, and having peace of conscience” (Mosiah 4:3).

Elul and King Benjamin’s sermon remind us that the King comes to meet His people — not to frighten them, but to welcome them into His presence with open arms. Our task is to go out into the field, to listen, to repent, and to take upon ourselves the covenant life He offers.