A Simple Change of Clothes

This morning I think I got all my daily steps in just trying to find something to wear to church. I moved from one outfit to another, surprised by how much my mood seemed to influence every choice. I did not feel like I was in any particular mood, yet clothes that usually feel fine suddenly felt wrong. It did not matter whether I liked them or not. Nothing seemed to settle on me in a way that felt peaceful. I finally chose a skirt and top that were simply okay and decided to move on with my morning.

A little later I was sitting at my desk working on my lesson about Rebekah and her kindness in choosing to serve and water the camels. While I was studying, a thought drifted into my mind about another top I had not tried. I paused my work and went to put it on. It felt perfect. That small moment made me wonder if it was just a random thought or if God, who cares about the smallest details of my life, knew I would feel more confident and comfortable with that change.

As I reflected on it, I realized my spirit had been unsettled long before my mind recognized it. My body was speaking in its own quiet way, nudging me toward something that felt more fitting for the day. And the timing of that thought, coming while I was studying Rebekah’s willingness to pause, notice, and respond, felt meaningful. In my own way, I was doing the same thing. I paused, noticed a gentle prompting, and responded to it.

It also became clear that confidence is a kind of preparation. Sometimes God prepares me for the day not only through scripture or prayer, but through small adjustments that help me feel more at ease and ready to be present. Even something as simple as clothing can be part of that preparation. When I feel comfortable in my own skin, my heart opens more freely to serve, teach, or listen.

Whether that thought came from divine intervention or simply from my mind recalling another possibility, it all worked together for my good. It helped me feel more at ease with myself, which allowed me to turn my attention outward and focus on serving others rather than being caught up in how I felt. In the end, the experience became a gentle reminder that God can use anything, even a simple change of clothes, to help me move through the day with a more open and willing heart.

It Wasn't About the Weeds

There are days when the list of things to do feels endless, yet the desire to do any of it is nowhere to be found. This was one of those mornings. I moved slowly through the house, switching laundry, straightening small things, trying to stir up some spark of motivation. As I worked, I prayed, quietly pleading for help to feel something again, to want to do the things that needed doing, to find a little mental and emotional healing in the middle of the heaviness.

It wasn’t dramatic. It was just that quiet ache of wanting to feel like myself again.

At some point, I glanced out the back window and saw the weeds I had worked so hard to clear out last year, standing tall and bold as if they had never been touched. I had sprayed them, tended to them, done everything I could to keep them away. Yet there they were, thriving in the very places I thought I had conquered.

Part of me sighed at the thought of starting over. But something nudged me to step outside anyway, just to see how difficult it would be to pull a few out.

The moment I stepped into the yard, something in me began to shift. I bent down and pulled a few weeds, expecting frustration, but instead I felt a quiet change moving through me. It wasn’t about the weeds at all. It was about being outside.

The sun warmed my shoulders. The grass carried that familiar scent of life. Birds chattered in the trees as if they had been waiting for me to join them. And in that simple, ordinary moment, I felt something loosen inside me.

It was as if the Lord had gently guided me out there, not to tackle a chore, but to breathe again. To feel the world beyond the walls of my house. To remember that healing often begins in the smallest, simplest places.

The weeds brought me outside, but the weeds were never the point. They were just the doorway. What I needed was the sunlight, the air, the grounding of my hands in the earth. I needed the reminder that sometimes the path back to motivation, clarity, or peace doesn’t come through force or willpower. Sometimes it comes through stepping outside, touching the world God made, and letting creation do what it quietly does to soften the heart and learning it wasn’t about the weeds that day!

A morning that began with heaviness and lack of motivation slowly unfolded into a quiet moment of healing. What looked like a chore of pulling weeds that had returned despite last year’s efforts had became a gentle reminder that sometimes God uses the smallest, most ordinary tasks to draw us back into the sunlight, the air, and the places where our souls can breathe again.

I Am a Root

 I love discovering that I AM a ROOT!

Lately I have been revisiting thoughts that help me reflect and understand my value more clearly. I know I am of worth, yet sometimes the heart and the mind do not move in the same rhythm. This happens especially when I notice and then foolishly compare myself to people who seem so gifted, those with higher education, polished confidence, and the ability to teach or lead with such ease. Their talents are visible and celebrated. My gifts have always felt quieter, more ordinary, tucked into the everyday work of caring, supporting, and simply trying to show up.

Many of my gifts grow beneath the surface. Some people bloom in ways the world immediately notices. Their gifts rise above the soil, bright, confident, unmistakable. But others grow in the hidden places, offering strength and nourishment in ways that are no less important. These quiet gifts are often the ones that hold families, homes, and hearts together.

Many of us have gifts that go unseen by the world. There are gifts for reflection, for turning hardship into meaning, for noticing the sacred in the ordinary. There are gifts for tenderness, for language, for showing up when things are hard. There are gifts for resilience, for faith, for caregiving, for creating beauty out of memory and loss. These are not lesser gifts. They are simply quieter. Some people are called to build monuments. Others are called to build people. I hope I have been doing the second. A life offered in love and encouragement is a gift the world may overlook, but God never does.

Before a plant ever shows beauty above the soil, it spends a long-time sending roots downward. That downward growth is not wasted time. It is preparation. It is foundation. It is what allows the plant to bloom without collapsing. I like to think that our experiences are God’s way of strengthening our individual roots.

When we look at a plant, the beauty is above ground, but roots carry out roles that are powerful, humble, and often overlooked.

Roots anchor. They hold the plant steady through storms. Anchoring is not glamorous, but it keeps families from blowing apart in hard seasons. Their strength comes from depth, not display.

Roots nourish. They feed the whole plant quietly and faithfully. When we comfort, encourage, and care for others, we are doing the same.

Roots store strength. They hold reserves that help the plant survive winter. I am still learning to survive the winters of my life with courage, patience, and faith. Winter comes again and again, yet because of God, I remain alive beneath the surface.

Roots create connection. I love the thought of this.  I love connecting to others.  Roots can form networks that support and strengthen others. I hope my life has offered that kind of quiet support.

Roots rejoice with the flower. They do not envy the blossom. They work together. The flower takes in the light and the roots take in the water. Both are needed for the plant to thrive.

Our Savior Jesus Christ is the light and the living water. We need both. We need Him. And we need one another.

People tend to admire what is visible, what appears talented, beautiful, accomplished, or charismatic. But the visible is only possible because of the invisible. The world may forget the roots, but the plant never does. The plant knows it needs the roots to survive, and the roots know they need the plant as well. One does not flourish without the other

Being a root is a gift. Some gifts rarely receive applause because the world cannot see the quiet acts of kindness. The root supports the plant and the plant likely helps the root but not matter what, God see all!

I hope that caring for my mother brings her comfort. I hope my love and steadiness give my children and grandchildren a sense of safety. I hope those I have walked beside have felt cared for, prayed for, and encouraged.

As I think about roots and flowers, I am reminded that God never intended any of us to grow alone. Roots need the plant just as the plant needs the roots. One reaches down for strength and nourishment, and the other reaches up for light and life. Both are part of the same creation. Both are needed. Both are loved.

In the same way, we are meant to strengthen one another. Some of us steady the ground. Some of us lift toward the sun. Some of us bloom. Some of us hold everything together beneath the surface. None of these roles are small. None are forgotten by God.

I am learning that being a root is not about being hidden. It is about being faithful. It is about offering what I can, where I am, with the gifts I have been given. And it is about trusting that God sees every quiet act of love and every unseen moment of endurance.

We grow best when we grow together, with God showing us the way.

Gentle Reminders

 

There are days when my mind feels crowded and it becomes hard to focus. Thoughts stack on top of each other, and I move through the day trying to keep up with everything I am carrying. In the middle of all of that, God has a way of reaching into the ordinary and reminding me that He is near.

Today, while I was driving, my watch gave three soft vibrations to let me know my exit was coming up. It was such a simple moment, yet it caught my attention. This little watch, a gift from my sons, communicates with me in so many ways. It guides me when I am using a map. It reminds me to stand when I have been sitting too long.  It tells me when someone is calling or texting and even checks on me if it thinks I may have fallen and so much more.  All of this made me think about how God watches every step I take with far more care and love.

As I thought about it, I realized how much this tiny device mirrors the way God works in my life through the Spirit. I am learning how to understand its signals, how to respond, and how to trust that it is trying to help me stay aware and safe. And in a much deeper and more tender way, the Holy Ghost does the same.

God is always communicating with us. The Spirit gives gentle nudges that guide us. It alerts us when we are drifting. It reminds us to pause. It whispers encouragement when we feel tired or unsure. It speaks in quiet ways that help us stay on course. Sometimes the message is clear. Sometimes we have to stop and look again. But the Spirit is always there, guiding, prompting, comforting, and helping us navigate the day.

Just like my watch, the Holy Ghost offers reminders. To breathe. To listen. To turn. To trust. To stretch our faith. To remember that God is near and we are never alone.

The Spirit is always speaking. God is always reaching. His guidance never fades and His presence never drifts. If we ever feel far away or unsure, it is not because the Spirit has stepped back. It is usually because life has grown loud or our hearts have grown crowded. The signal is still there, steady and sure. When we make room, when we quiet our thoughts, when we choose the things that invite His presence, we begin to feel those gentle nudges again. God never stops guiding us. We simply open our hearts and let the Spirit in.

Wishing for Rewind

Yesterday, after having a little fender bender, all I wanted was a rewind button. I kept thinking how nice it would be to go back just a few seconds, correct my course, clear my mind, and avoid the whole thing. It is funny how easily we can do that when we are watching a show. We can rewind, fast forward, pause, and replay. With a simple click, we can revisit what we missed or skip what we do not want to sit through.

Life does not work that way. There is no going back to redo a moment, and there is no skipping ahead to the part where everything settles and makes sense. Yesterday, standing there shaken and overwhelmed, I felt that truth more than ever.

But as the day unfolded, I realized something else. Even though life does not give us rewind or fast forward, it does give us the chance to reflect. Reflection lets me look back with clearer eyes, not to punish myself, but to understand what was happening inside me. My thoughts were crowded, the roads were unfamiliar, and the weight I was carrying was heavy. 

The truck driver was kind. My car was still drivable. My family prayed for me. I was not alone. Protection wrapped itself around the moment even though it did not go the way I wanted. And maybe that is the real gift. Not the ability to rewind, but the ability to learn, breathe, and keep going.

My quote of the day said, “Better an oops than a what if.” I think that is true. An oops can be repaired. A what if lingers. Yesterday reminded me that mistakes happen, but grace meets us there. Inconvenience is temporary, but protection is a blessing worth noticing.

I still wish life had a rewind button. But maybe what God gives us instead, mercy and reflection and the strength to move forward, is even better, not easier, but most likely better. 

Holding Time with Tenderness

This morning’s quote said, “If you love life, don’t waste time, for time is what life is made up of.” It made me think, what if you’re not loving life right now. What if the trials and tribulations of mortality are weighing so heavily that time doesn’t feel like a gift but something you’re just trying to get through. What then.

I think sometimes these quotes assume a lightness that real life doesn’t always offer. They speak to the version of us that has energy, clarity, and joy. But there are seasons when loving life feels out of reach, when the weight of responsibility, grief, exhaustion, and uncertainty makes time feel more like something to endure than something to cherish.

In those moments, it isn’t about wasting time or loving time. It’s about surviving it. It’s about doing the next small thing, taking the next breath, and trusting that love for life can return in its own quiet way.

And even in the heaviness, I know logically that my life is a gift and that my life has a plan. I know that part of that plan includes valleys to walk through and mountains to climb, places that stretch me and shape me even when I don’t feel strong enough for the journey.

And I believe God understands these seasons more than I do. He sees the weight I carry, and He wants me to give myself grace. Even when the trials feel heavy, life is still a gift to be treasured, because within the hard times there is always something to learn. Through these experiences I hope I am becoming more understanding, more compassionate, more patient, more like Him.

And maybe part of this really is a state of mind, but not in the simple way people sometimes say it. A tired mind, a grieving mind, a stretched‑thin mind will feel life differently than a rested one. God knows that. He doesn’t expect me to force joy or pretend that the weight isn’t real. He meets me in the state of mind I’m in and reminds me that grace is allowed here. Grace is needed here.

Maybe the deeper truth is that life isn’t only made of the time we love. It’s also made of the time we struggle through, the time we question, the time we feel lost. Those moments count too. They shape us just as much as the bright ones.

And maybe loving life doesn’t mean feeling happy or inspired every day. Maybe it means honoring the fact that we’re still here, still trying, still showing up even when the weight is heavy. That, in its own way, is a form of love.

Maybe the invitation isn’t to love every moment of life but to stay open to the possibility that love can return, even in seasons when it feels far away. Maybe it’s enough, for now, to honor the truth of where you are and to trust that heaviness doesn’t mean failure. It simply means you’re human.

Every day, every week, every month still carries a similar journey, like riding a roller coaster in the dark. I can partially anticipate the turns, the highs and lows, the sudden jerks and the quiet pauses, but I still don’t always know what’s coming next. Even so, I know I have to keep holding to the iron rod that steadies me and guides me toward where I want to go. And like so many other things in my life, I need to trust God. He is the one who strengthens my spiritual vision, helping me see more clearly and view my life through a healthier, more faith‑filled perspective. And maybe that’s the quiet miracle in all of this — that even in the dark, even in the uncertainty, I am still being led toward something good.

I believe all of this, but as the saying goes, it’s always easier said than done.