The Parable of the Bees--Part 2

It’s time to talk about bees again. It’s a perfectly normal and reasonable testimony topic. I can hardly remember a monthly fast Sunday meeting where bees weren’t brought up at least twice. So, when it comes right down to it, I am forced to admit that Nate has a point when he tells me not to talk about things because I sound “nuts.” 

I guess the first time he said that to me was in reference to the dream I had that led us to Rexburg in the first place. But Nathan applied for the job in Rexburg and received no response. It was because I had received a strong spiritual impression that I jumped through hoops to get him that job. And, if we’re being completely honest, even though Nate thinks I’m a little crazy when I talk about the miracles in my life, he has never declined to follow my spiritual impressions. When I told him that God wanted us in Lincoln, he said, “Why didn’t you tell me?” and accepted the job that same hour. I think we both get credit for that. You see, I have come to a very clear conclusion about acting on perceived spiritual impressions.

You get credit for trying.

So, if you wake up tomorrow with the absolute certainty in your heart that God wants you to eat ice cream for breakfast, and then you immediately wonder if you are being completely crazy for assuming such a silly thing is from God, and then you go get yourself a huge bowl of Rocky Road just in case...God acknowledges that (whether He sent the impression or not) you are doing your very best to do what you think He wants you to do. I believe you get the points in that case. I have decided to act on every impression because I desperately need extra credit in this class. 

Furthermore, let’s never forget Doctrine & Covenants 59:21. Always default to giving the Lord his due. 

Let’s talk about bees…again. 

Two weeks ago my rock, Quentin, started his mission. He had already told his seminary class that last year he was absolutely certain he did not want to serve a mission. He explained that Chloe’s suicide attempt had been a great trial for him. When he came across a scripture that promised missionaries that their families would be blessed, he began to rethink his plan. In his words, “I started to think that my family could use some of those blessings.” With the encouragement of a wonderful bishop and the momentum of an incredible patriarchal blessing, Quentin made the decision to turn in his papers and give two years of his life to God. He consecrated two years of his life because God had promised to bless his family. Those words are almost overwhelming to write. 

And so it was that two days after he was set apart as a missionary, his dad got fired from his job. 

Yup. He’d completed exactly one day of those two years and instead of seeing promised blessings, he went into his room to pack up a few of his most treasured things. He had not previously packed up anything in preparation to leave for two years. Rather he had chosen the tactic of making me promise that his room would be untouched while he was gone. He wanted to come home to exactly what he had left behind and I promised to do my best to make sure it happened. Except it wouldn’t. So he found himself a box and took a few of his treasures and packed them away so that when we moved, those things would be as safe as he could make them. He didn’t get angry and demand to know where the promised blessings were. He chose faith, again. 

As for me, the thought of uprooting my family once more and potentially hauling Evie across the country at exactly the same age I had done it to Chloe wasn’t fun. There were a million other considerations too, and each one seemed to add weight to my already broken heart. But nothing felt as heavy as worry that my sweet Quentin would feel betrayed by the God he had chosen to serve. Close behind that pain was the reality that God was taking away from me the one thing that had held me even remotely together: My seminary class. Quentin and Seminary…the two things that God had put in my life before it collapsed because nothing surprises God, and He knew exactly what I would need.

On Friday, Nathan had slipped into despondency. There was no sense of purpose or anxiousness to solve our new problem. He didn’t seem to be able to do anything but mourn his own self worth. He would later tell me that all he could think of in those days was, “I don’t want to do this anymore.” I was sitting in the living room. He was on his chair. I was trying to coax him into conversation. Out of nowhere, I had one of those, “pure knowledge” moments. It filled my body from head to toe. I knew that God was speaking to me. I knew what he was saying. “This is not a trial. This is not a test. You will be happier because of this. This is a reward for your faithfulness.” 

Huh. Ever since moving to Nebraska, I had one specific gospel message I liked to repeat. People love to teach that God is planning something better for your future. They say that when you experience difficult trials, He sometimes takes away what you love so that He can give you something better. But Nebraska isn’t better than Idaho. And my life for the past five years was not better than my life before. You see (as I explained every chance I got) the Lord isn’t interested in giving you something better. He’s interested in making you something better. Sometimes that means taking away things that you love. Sometimes that means you have to hurt.

The parable of Job is not meant to teach us that if we endure a temporary trial, we get double blessings in the end. Remember that Abraham died owning only the land on which his wife was buried. It took literal centuries for his descendants to inherit the land he was promised. His life was kind of terrible right up until the end. But, through those trials, he became worthy to inherit the kingdom of God. I never wanted people to think my testimony was that we would be blessed with what we wanted because we endured our trials well. That kind of thinking leads people away from God if they do not immediately receive the blessings they expect. I wanted very much to show the Lord that I would be forever faithful and expect nothing in return. Well, “nothing” isn’t true. I know he’s carried most of my burden through every trial. I’ve never been alone. 

I know, I know…way too much rambling…not enough bees. Almost there.

On Tuesday, Quentin was set apart as a missionary. On Thursday, Nathan lost his job. The following Tuesday, Nate, Evie and I got up at four in the morning to put Quentin on an airplane to Salt Lake City to start his in-person MTC training. After a difficult goodbye, I went to teach my seminary class. We returned home afterward to his empty bedroom with one packed box of his most treasured possessions sitting at the foot of his bed. 

A couple hours later, Lachlan came inside to report that there were bees in the yard and they were acting crazy. 

We only had one hive, but it was a strong one that had survived the winter and produced well. They were native Nebraska bees, which matters because none of the hives we had purchased had survived. We had gone through an infestation of wax moths a few years ago which had destroyed not only the colonies, but also the beautiful wooden hives that Nathan had made himself. 

On that lovely Tuesday, right after putting Quentin on a plane to Utah, with our lives in shambles, we watched as a swarm of bees swirled around the back yard and took up residence on a bush that was barely budding in the spring weather.  

I have had experiences with bees before. God has used bees to help me understand that he knows me. This could not be a coincidence. Just days before, God promised me that this trial would bring happiness. Quentin stepped out into the mission field with perfect faith, expecting the promised blessings for his family. And, to make perfectly certain there was no confusion, God, once again, sent the bees. Adelaide and Nathan suited up. They caught the swarm and put them in a hive box. They took to it immediately. They didn’t even try to leave. 

Later, I reread what I had written when the bees came the first time, five years ago. These words stood out to me, “Perhaps it seems the most inconsequential of things. I started with two hives. They were taken from me. Heavenly Father gave them back in the very moment where I felt lost just so I could understand that nothing and no one is ever lost.” 

Except…this time, I started with one hive and suddenly I had two. God promised this trial would bring more happiness, but that was long-term, right?; dared I believe that sometimes the story of Job played out as written?

That’s not the end of the story. 

Less than a week after we caught the swarm, seminary ended. It was a really hard time for me. I wanted so much to feel like God had given me a work to do with those kids. I wanted to believe that my calling mattered. Leaving after two years, not even getting to see any of them graduate or get called on a mission, was very painful.  Nathan was feeling a bit better. He was in talks with half a dozen sites, trying to find a new job. He had already scheduled some locums to keep the bills paid in the meantime. Quentin seemed to be doing well in the MTC. Although there were to be so many difficult times in the upcoming months, things were looking up and everyone was feeling a bit better about the uncertainty. 

It was the following Wednesday, one week to the day after Quentin had entered the MTC, that Evelyn ran inside to report that the bees were acting crazy. I stepped outside to a familiar scene. It was the same bush. It had to be the same swarm, right? They had left their hive? Nathan inspected the swarm and then suited up to look inside the empty? beehive they had absconded from. Except it wasn’t empty. It was teeming with bees. Nate found brood and lots of new comb. He checked the other hive, the older one. That colony was doing fantastic. It was unbelievable. This was another swarm. A week later. On the same bush. I don’t think God wanted me to be able to pretend any of this could be anything but a message from Him. This time Rhianna suited up and, once again, the bees settled seamlessly into their new home.

Two weeks ago we had Quentin, Seminary, a good job, and one beautiful beehive. Now there are three. 

So here’s my testimony. God speaks to His children. He speaks to us each differently. Never make the mistake of thinking that he doesn’t talk to you because you don’t experience it the way somebody else does. He sends a still small voice. He sends a burning in the bosom. He sends dreams. He sends friends. He sends pure intelligence. He sends angels. He sends warnings. He sends peace. And sometimes…for the really spiritually dense, He sends bees.

Never Put Limits on the Power of Jesus Christ

 Audio

I’m going to start today in John 11. Mary and Martha are mourning the death of their beloved brother. These two devoted women have accepted the divinity of the Savior, Jesus Christ. They believe in Him with all their hearts. In fact, when he arrives, four days after Lazarus’ death, they both express the exact same sentiment. First Martha in verse 21 and then her sister, in verse 32, “Lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother had not died.”

 I can imagine the scene a week before, as Lazarus’ illness progressed. I doubt very much there was any sleeping. These two, faithful sisters likely sat up through the nights, anxiously attending to their brother and always with one eye toward the distance, looking for the light of the Savior’s approach, in constant, pleading prayer. “Oh, let Him come, before it’s too late.”

This story, in the aching hearts of two women whose faith is both beautiful and laudable, illustrates the principle I want to share today. It’s a cautionary message, more for me then for anyone. You see, Mary and Martha knew that Jesus could have saved their brother, that is extraordinary faith. But, even their expression of faith, “Lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother had not died,” is laced with limitation. Knowing exactly how this story ends, the message I wish to share today is very simple, “Never put limits of the power of Jesus Christ and His atonement.”

It’s almost funny how casually we talk about the omnipotence of God without ever really considering what it means to us personally. The scriptures tell us…”He hath made the earth by his power, with God all things are possible, All power is given unto me in heaven and in earth, there is no power but of God,  The Lord God omnipotent reigneth, He is mightier than all the earth, and able to do all things.” But somehow, even though we know that, we believe it, we profess it, we occasionally stumble when it comes to its application. 2^nd Nephi 27:20. “I am able to do mine own work.” His work. “To bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of Man.”

 

And yet, so many of us suffer from crippling cognitive dissonance on this point when it comes to our own salvation. We, like Mary and Martha, might profess our faith in Jesus Christ’s power with a statement beginning with a qualifier like “If.”  “If thou hast been here, If I never make this mistake again, If I had never missed a family night, If I read my scriptures more, If I choose the right career, If I am always patient with my children, If I had a better marriage, If I could get over my fear…then the Lord could save me.” Brothers and Sisters, Never put limits of the power of Jesus Christ and His atonement.

 

This talk is on repentance, but I am not going to review the four “R’s” or talk about how faith is an action word. You already know that. I think sometimes in our admirable culture of self-sufficiency and pioneer style consecration; we need to be reminded that “not everything is about us.” The work of Salvation belongs to Jesus Christ, He who is “mighty to save.” This means that your faults, insecurities, personal failings, family dynamics, neuro divergences, and even the magnitude of your sins, don’t factor into it at all. The only thing you need to bring to the table, the only thing you can bring to the table is your willingness to accept the Savior and keep trying. Repentance is not even about never sinning again. It’s about always coming back when you do. It’s not about you. It’s about Him. Elder Uchtdorf taught: “Salvation cannot be bought with the currency of obedience; it is purchased by the blood of the Son of God.”

And from Doctrine and Covenants 45:

Listen to him who is the advocate with the Father, who is pleading your cause before him—

 

Saying: Father, behold the sufferings and death of him who did no sin, in whom thou wast well pleased; behold the blood of thy Son which was shed, the blood of him whom thou gavest that thyself might be glorified;

 

Wherefore, Father, spare these my brethren that believe on my name, that they may come unto me and have everlasting life.

 

It’s not, “Behold how great Brother Jones is or behold all the awesome things Sister Jones has done, or even behold how very sorry they are” It’s “behold the Atonement of Christ.”

 

Sometimes we inadvertently place our own human limitations on the power of Jesus Christ by looking for exceptions, failing to see his miracles, or assigning time limits to when and where the Lord will intervene in our lives. These human tendencies cut off repentance and healing. They turn our focus back onto ourselves.

Years ago I was teaching a fantastic group of ten-year-old girls in primary. One week we were having a lesson on eternal families and one young lady, her name was Becky, declared, “I will never have an eternal family because my dad will never get baptized.” We were only in that ward for four years and, after his baptism, Becky’s dad served faithfully as my home teacher for two of them.

In that case, despite assuming she was an exception, there was a quick and powerful miracle in store for Becky’s family. That’s not always the case. Another girl in that same primary, Emily, always raised her hand the quickest when the music leader asked if anyone had a favorite song. Without fail, she would ask to sing, “When I am Baptized.” She chose that song because, despite the fact that she and her mom attended all their meetings every week, neither of them had been baptized. Her dad wouldn’t give permission for his family to join the church. And so she came, week after week, wanting her life “to be as clean as earth right after rain,” and knowing that the promises of the gospel were as much for her as any of God’s children. I don’t whether or not she’s still waiting.

Joseph F. Smith taught, “Jesus had not finished his work when his body was slain, neither did he finish it after his resurrection from the dead; … And when will he? Not until he has redeemed and saved every son and daughter of our father Adam that have been or ever will be born upon this earth to the end of time...”

Neither Becky’s dad nor Emily’s are exceptions. You and your family aren’t either.

Sometimes we place limitations of the Savior’s power by failing to see and acknowledge the miracles that are happening all around us, every single day.

I have to shake my head whenever I hear someone express regret that there seems to be fewer miracles in our day then there was in the scriptures, or even in the pioneer times.  I think we need to ask ourselves what, exactly, a miracle is. Gospel Topics defines it simply as  “a divine manifestation of God’s power.”

When my grandpa was born, the average global lifespan was 31 years. For most of human history, 1 out of 2 newborns wouldn’t reach 15. This held true for my grandmother’s family, four out of eight children died. But I have eight living children. My oldest daughter had pneumonia as a newborn. Rhianna was born premature. She was the same gestation as an aunt of mine who only lived 20 hours.

I don’t suppose I’ve ever seen a seagull clear a crop of locusts. But I have never in my life been one bad harvest away from starvation, either. I think grandma would see that as a miracle.

Nowhere are the miracles of modern life more apparent than in the lives of women. We can read the scriptures, study the words of modern prophets, share the gospel, research our family history, and write boring sacrament talks all without getting out of bed. If Mary and Martha had had a dishwashing machine, they both could have sat at the feet of Jesus to listen. President Nelson begged his sisters to become gospel scholars, but it is the power of God that makes that possible for us today.

 In 2001, President Oaks described Family Search as a miracle. Since that time, when the site boasted a total of 640 million entries, it has grown a little. In 2024 you could search  20.5 billion entries. For any non-mathematicians, that second number is more than 32 times the first. The salvation of the dead cannot be described as anything but miraculous.

It took 40 years to build the Salt Lake Temple. Dedicated in 2023, The Helena Montana temple was assembled on site in around two weeks.

Despite the fact that studies are showing a horrifying drop in religious faith globally (including 17 percent in the last ten years in the United States-the largest ever recorded), the worldwide number of convert baptisms for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints reached an all-time high during the 12-month period from June 2024 to May 2025, surpassing any previous 12-month period since the church's founding in 1830. Just look at what the Lord has done just in our own ward.

Last year, there were 10 percent more seminary students than the year before. How can teenagers getting up at 5 in the morning to attend a religious class be anything but a miracle? Having served in seminary the past year, I can tell you every single one of those youth IS miraculous.

And each Sunday, a worthy 11 or 12 year old young man, passes you the emblems of the atonement and hands you the power to allow Jesus Christ to burn your soul clean of sin. During his lifetime, Jesus taught that the very reason he performed miracles was so that everyone could know that he was capable of forgiving sin, of healing us from the darkness of this world. If we limit the definition of a miracle to something that will be acknowledged as the power of God by someone who does not have faith, we are eliminating all miracles, because people without faith have never developed it because of signs. They can explain away absolutely anything God does.

Miracles haven’t ceased. Perhaps they’ve become too common. So common, we don’t even recognize them anymore. God is enacting constant miracles in preparation for the second coming. The scriptures teach that God cannot do miracles if we do not have faith. I don’t think our faith effects God’s power to act. I think our faith is required in order to recognize miracles when they happen. Only by faith can a divine manifestation of God’s power strengthen, empower and sanctify us. Miracles are intended to show us the power of God. And once you start seeing them, you can’t stop.

“Whether is it easier to say to the sick of the palsy, Thy sins be forgiven thee; or to say, Arise, and take up thy bed, and walk?

 

“But that ye may know that the Son of man hath power on earth to forgive sins,

 

“I say unto thee, Arise, and take up thy bed…”

 

“And in nothing doth man offend God, or against none is his wrath kindled, save those who confess not his hand in all things...”

It’s hardest to see the small miracles when we desperately need a big one that never seems to materialize. I guess there are times when we call cry like Joseph Smith in Liberty Jail, “Lord, How Long?” One of the greatest limitations we set on the power of Jesus Christ and His Atonement is to assign times when we feel blessings should be received, prayers should be answered, or change should be finished.

Going to church is hardest when we’re struggling. It’s difficult to sit through sermons about all the blessings of doing your best and wonder why it doesn’t feel like you can see those blessings in your life despite really trying to do what God has asked of you.

One thing I have never doubted is my ability to receive revelation. I would always say that, “even though I don’t get specific answers very often, when I do, I know.“ When those answers came, I would walk forward with complete faith, being certain of the Lord’s direction.

This past year, there have been a few times, when I received an answer that didn’t seem to make sense at all with the circumstances of my life. I tried moving forward with faith, but discouragement was swift and brutal. It left cracks in my testimony that allowed the adversary to speak to my heart.

I was wrong about what the spirit was telling me. And if I was wrong this time, was I wrong in the past? Have I been acting as if I was being led by the spirit my whole life, while actually I was just making everything up as I went along? How can I possibly act in faith, now that I know that I do not know how to receive revelation. Where do I go from here?

But guess what? It’s not about me. By doubting my ability to receive revelation from the spirit, what I was really doubting was God’s ability to speak to me. I asked myself whether it was possible that If I was trying to receive revelation, and working to do so, was it possible that He was unable to reach me? The Lord, God Almighty… what? Had a broken phone line? The Holy Ghost called in sick? Ridiculous. He doesn’t even have a body.

What I was really doing is setting time limits. That revelation does not make sense today, so there must be something wrong with it…with me. Never put limits of the power of Jesus Christ and His atonement. Elder Holland taught, “Some blessings come soon, some come late, and some don’t come until heaven; but for those who embrace the gospel of Jesus Christ, they come.”

 

When we struggle with unanswered prayers or unrealized blessings, we’re assuming that anything God has not already done for us is something He is not going to do, or even not capable of doing. We’re like the Nephites saying that the “time for the sign” of the Savior’s coming is passed, not realizing that he’s “even at the doors.”

 

Healing from the horrors of life, and repentance is just another form of healing, often takes time. He has promised that “as often as my people repent I will forgive them.” He has not put limitations on you. Return the favor.

 

Before anyone starts thinking that Sister Hancock is preaching grace without works, let me say that it is important to recognize that Agency will always be respected and even as we sit down to feast at the Lord’s supper, it is completely on us to choose to pick up the fork. But it is vital to understand that our choice to eat or not does not in any way change the nutritional quality of the meal. Christ can speak to you. Christ can cleanse you. Christ can heal you.  Christ can save everyone you love. In fact, that’s His work. And He has promised us that he is able to do his own work. Without exceptions.

Then said Jesus unto them plainly, Lazarus is dead.

And I am glad for your sakes that I was not there, to the intent ye may believe;

… And when he thus had spoken, he cried with a loud voice, Lazarus, come forth. And he that was dead came forth.

 

Christ will also redeem you.

Audio

 

 

 

Nothing and No One is Ever Lost (A Parable)

Perhaps the most important lesson we can learn is not only how to hear the Lord, but also to recognize that “all things testify of Christ.” This is apparently a mantra of mine, because it wasn’t very long ago when I noticed Sean reading on his Kindle during Sacrament meeting. In an angry whisper, I told him to put it away. I followed the order with, “I don’t think that book is teaching you about your Savior.” With a characteristic snarky face, followed by a gotcha smirk, he said, “But Mom, all things testify of Christ.” He won that round. 

Early 2021 was a really hard time for me. In February, Nathan moved to Lincoln, Nebraska. I was left to try to hold our family together while preparing to move them across the country.  I felt like I was losing everything that mattered to me. Our home would soon go on the market. But this was a drawn out process, so I had to go through the slow torture of remembering both memories and plans that I would soon lose altogether. And I was doing it without Nathan, who tried to come home monthly, but who was a visitor in our home, having already moved on. 

One day, in the early spring, I stopped to go stare at the beehives. I was aware that it was warming up and the bees should be venturing out. The beehives were completely inactive. It wasn’t really a jarring experience to realize that they were all dead. Of course they were. Wasn’t that the theme of the year? During one of Nathan’s short visits, I had him carry the empty hives into my kitchen. After he was gone, I began the sticky, dirty, time-consuming process of harvesting the honey. Most of the bees were piled in the bottom of the hive, but a few of them were stuck to the comb. I didn’t know what had killed them. Perhaps the Rexburg winter? It wasn’t the wasps this time. Wasps would have robbed the hive and carried off the bodies of the bees. 

The process of harvesting the honey was both sad and satisfying, It was nice to have a task other than cleaning and packing to take my attention. Every filtration made the honey clearer, cleaning out the imperfections. It was an immensely positive experience to place jars full of translucent, golden honey in front of the window and watch the sun light them up. But after days of the kitchen being a sticky mess, I was anxious to have the beehives out of the house, and so I placed them on the back patio, unsure what would happen to them when we moved. 

The next day, I looked out the window to see a thrilling and scary phenomenon. The hives were covered in bees. The entire porch was. Anyone who stepped out of my kitchen onto the back porch would have been surrounded by thousands of them, swirling around and swooping into and out of the open hives. I knew they were robbing them and I loved it. I figured that, perhaps, letting the bees rob those hives would help someone else's hives to survive. I also thought that, perhaps, if there were so many bees on my porch, we might just convince a scout to take up residence in one of my hives. So I donned the suit and put one of the hives together, leaving the other open, for easy access.

The bees continued to rob the hives, a little bit fewer each day. After a week or so, the bees could be counted in dozens, rather than thousands, I just left the hives where they were, killing the wasps that came near, but letting the bees take whatever they could from my poor, dead husks of hives.

Months passed. June came far too quickly and slowly. Our moving date was set for June 21st. We would pack the trucks on my 42nd birthday. I was, in my estimation, far too old to be starting over. It hurt. I had prayed over and over for Heavenly Father to help me, “sing as I walked.” As arrogant as the comparison is, I continually reflected on my pioneer ancestors and the number of times they had to abandon their homes. Yet, the children’s song says that they sang as they walked. I was disappointed that with the relatively small trials I was facing, I seemed unable to do it with a cheerful heart. I felt like I was mourning a life unlived, at least anywhere except my mind. I was mourning the pictures of my daughters in their wedding dresses that I intended to take with them sitting on the branch overhanging the river in our side yard. I had watched a group of retired ladies in my ward who spent their golden years going on outings and trips together. I was mourning the mounting list of friends I had made in Plano who I wanted to make my squad as our children grew and required less of our time. I was even mourning the peaceful, hillside cemetery I passed on the way to church, where I thought I’d quite like to be buried someday. I was mourning my forever home, as we had called it when we moved there and promised the children that our habit of moving every couple years was coming to an end. I was mourning smaller things. The loss of a calling that I loved. The sight of the temple from my backyard. The library. The kitchen shelves. The driveway puddles Nathan hated so much. Weekend trips to visit my family.

At the same time, I was mourning the loss of my young family that came with the long anticipated changes of my oldest graduating from high school, seminary, and receiving a mission call. I attended each of the rites of passage intended to honor him on my own, with my heart completely broken, feeling it was profoundly unfair that Nathan wasn’t with me to hold my hand while I cried. Every parent, if they’re very lucky, will experience the pain of this loss, but no one, I reasoned, should have to do it alone. 

On June 7th, fifty friends showed up at my house with tools and tractors, step stools, shovels and skid steers. They knew Nathan had been gone and our lawn mower was broken. They knew that I had not had the time or means to keep up my yard and they knew we were leaving in a couple weeks and would need to sell our house. They came without invitation or notice, to work in my yard. This was not the first and nowhere near the last experience like this, but it was agonizing. I knew I wasn’t saying goodbye to a community, but to a family who loved me as much as I did them. I went to bed with my heart ripped in pieces and woke up to celebrate my sweet Nathan’s birthday surrounded by so much love and feeling completely alone. 

It was two weeks before our move. 

I expected to spend another day wrapped in the monotony of my tasks, working to keep my mind from perseverating on the things that were bothering me. It’s always been my favorite technique for dealing with the unpleasant. My balm is time. I just have to avoid letting things grab hold of my heart long enough to heal. I started in the kitchen, and somewhere around midmorning, I glanced up to see something new happening on my porch. The hive I had set up was covered, on one side, with a blanket of bees. They weren’t swooping around the porch, like they had when robbing it. They were so close together that the hive was hardly visible beneath them. 

I went outside to take a closer look. The bees not only covered the side of the hive, they were also fanned out on the table, close to the entrance. The ones on the table stood upright, with their hindsides in the air, their wings beating quickly from their stationary bodies.

I’m no expert beekeeper. It’s always been Nate who studied them. I simply delighted in gleaning what I could when he would take the hives apart and show me the brood hatching or explain various behaviors. But I knew enough to know that this was a phenomenon called fanning. These bees had chosen a new home and positioned workers at the entrance to fan pheromones into the air, signaling to all their swarm where to come. It was amazing. We’d never caught bees before, only purchased them. 

Over the next couple days, I watched as the bees busied themselves in their new home. It wasn’t long before I could discern pollen on their legs, a sure sign that they were setting up to stay. I was busy too, preparing to leave. And at times I was absolutely overwhelmed. Nate would not be home until time to drive away. Sometimes the pressure got to me. Sometimes I handled it poorly. At those moments, I gave myself a time out. I would slip outside to the chair I had positioned right in front of the hive and watch the bees. 

Before there was time to blink, it was one week before our move. 

The bees were still robbing the open hive. Sometimes there would be hundreds of them on the frames, taking whatever was left. One evening I went out just before dusk. The frames of the open hive were covered with bees, thousands of them.

This struck me as very odd. Bees don’t like to be out at night. As twilight approaches, the activity in a hive will wind down slowly and it occurred to me that these bees should long since have decided to head for home. But they didn’t seem busy at all. Indeed, they seemed peaceful and at rest. The only explanation was that this was another swarm which, inexplicably, had moved into my open hive. Without wasting time, I went to find my bee suit. They weren’t going to like this. I put the hive together, with the bees inside, hoping they would stay. Over the next few days, I watched for pollen carriers and couldn’t believe my luck when they appeared. 

Luck. Is there any such thing? 

My world became even crazier in the following few days. There was so much to do. But there were still a few moments, stolen from the chaos, when I found solace in sitting on the deck watching those bees. And it was in those moments when the spirit found the chance to speak to my broken heart. This world is full of loss. Nothing gold can stay. We are fallen. The world is fallen and everything we love will become dust, destroyed and dead, like my spring beehives, with only sweet (and perhaps sticky) memories left behind. 

“It’s a lie,” the spirit spoke to me. Nothing is ever lost beyond HIS ability to heal. Nothing is ever taken away. If we have patience both with ourselves and with God’s plan everything will be restored beyond our capacity to understand. Even if the Yellowstone Super Volcano erupted tomorrow and Rexburg was utterly and instantly destroyed, it would, in time, be returned to me, perfect and whole through the incomprehensive power and grace of my eternal Savior. 

Perhaps it seems the most inconsequential of things. I started with two hives. They were taken from me. Heavenly Father gave them back in the very moment where I felt lost just so I could understand that nothing and no one is ever lost. 

I don’t mean to say that I will return to that life, living in my old house and experiencing all of the things I had imagined up in my mind. I mean that we are linked, one in the body of Christ. We are part of the family of God, connected forever and working toward the same goals. We will have these connections in this life and extending into eternity and all of it is part of one gigantic, joyful story.  The sealing ordinances were never meant to be limited to linking individual families. They are to seal us together with God’s entire family, an unbreakable connection to everyone we love, and a restoration of all things through the grace and power of Jesus Christ.

There is no end to glory;

There is no end to love;

There is no end to being;

There is no death above.

Graduation Wish

 Dear Ryan,

Do you remember junior high orientation? I drove you over to the school, but parents weren’t supposed to come in. I asked if you were scared. You said, “no.” I told you, “I am,” and you replied, “I know, Mom.” It’s a story we’ve repeated dozens of times, but there always seemed to be more ahead. I always knew I needed to let you do things on your own, but you have no idea what I’ve gone through waiting for you at home each time. From your first day of preschool, to sending you to interviews and doctor appointments for your mission, it’s been so hard. Do you want to know why? It’s never been because I worried about what you could do. It’s been because I worried whether the rest of the world would see what I see when I look at you. I wanted so much for them to recognize who you are and treat you the way you deserve.

I know I’ve been hard on you. There are plenty of times I was a horrible mother. It comes down to the same problem, but a different audience. I wanted you to see what I see when I look at you. You are destined to be great. I have to be careful with those words. The world has perverted their meaning. Celestial greatness is not measured by the quantity of effect one has on the world. It’s measured by one's ability to do good things with the resources he has been given. God has given you so much. He expects you to be a powerful force for good in this world and he sees you even more clearly than I do. But I see plenty. 

I’m so proud of you. I always have been, but now it’s just overwhelming. 

I want to give you great advice; another lecture about what Heavenly Father expects of you. But I find that I don’t have one left. Although I will always be here, at home, waiting to hear how things went, I find that my anxiety about whether or not you’ll be okay is abating. You’re going to be just fine. And the whole world is going to be better because of you. Despite all of my mistakes, you have clearly grown into the man Heavenly Father expects you to be. Now take all your extraordinary gifts...and do something nice for someone else.

Love Always,

Mom

A Broken Heart

The year two thousand and twenty was supposed to be another great one. I had so much planned. Ryan was entering his senior year. It hurt my heart to know that after this year, our family dynamic would change forever. I felt the urgency to give him more joy and memories to pad him against the difficulties that would inevitably come with adulthood. I planned to send him, Sean, Chloe and Nathan to Education week in Provo. I planned our great, last family vacation. I planned a senior year full of fun and family time. 

 

The pandemic was an unwelcome complication. It cancelled all my great plans. Additionally, Ryan had been doing fantastic in school. My relationship with him had never been stronger. He was funny, hard working, and devoted to the Lord. Cancelled school changed his behavior. Without strict structure he started failing his classes, staying up all night, sleeping all day, becoming defensive and irritable, and arguing with me constantly. These things made my life harder, but they couldn’t crack my optimism. I was certain the hard times would pass quickly, but nothing prepared me for Nathan being unfairly cheated out of his job. 

 

I’m not going to go into detail about this situation. Prayer and reflection have taught me that anger and the search for justice never bring joy. I could write about the unfairness and focus on all the reasons it was undeserved, but the inevitable outcome would be to stoke feelings that I know do not come from the Lord. I chose to let go of the anger, forgive those responsible, and accept the circumstances as the will of my loving, omniscient, Heavenly Father. 

 

I suppose in some ways, I am actually at fault. I was very comfortable in my life. I loved my home. I was surrounded by amazing friends. I adored the children's schools and teachers. We were taking the teeagers to the temple weekly with amazing friends and making enough money to do things for others that I never thought I’d be able to do. I loved my calling. I was blissfully happy in every aspect of my life and didn’t want anything to change. In these perfect circumstances, I began feeling the call to pray that I could become something better.

 

I’ve often heard people talk about praying for trials. I understood the reasoning behind those prayers. At a certain point my gratitude to the Lord for the beautiful life I was living became overpowering. I sorrowed that I could not do enough to show him how much I loved him and his gospel. I recognized, to a point, my own weaknesses and wanted more than anything to be better. I never did pray for trials. I did, however, pray that the Lord would give me every experience I needed to become who I was capable of being. I prayed for humility and patience. I prayed to be a better person, fully acknowledging that these traits were coaxed out in a refiner’s fire. I didn't want to suffer, but I did want to be much better as a person, even if that improvement required suffering. 

 

When Nate lost his job, it hurt. I would go through times of purposeful searching for answers contrasted by periods of mourning for the life I loved and the future I had envisioned for myself. I remember one day spending a few hours mapping each of the places Nate was interviewing for work and finding the nearest temples. I finally acknowledged that our weekly temple trips were not going to be happening any more after our move. It hurt. I was absolutely certain they had been a powerful source of protection for my kids. I tried to find a room to be alone and just cry, but Sean found me. He didn’t say a word. He just sat down next to me, put one arm around my shoulder and let me cry. 

 

In those first months, it was a roller coaster. I prayed to know the will of the Lord. I prayed for strength. I obsessively searched for jobs. I looked at houses and researched every single city that seemed like a remote possibility. I cleaned out closets and got rid of so many possessions that were cluttering our home. I fed the kids meals carefully prepared to use food storage items that would be difficult to move. I felt pain and purpose. After a while, it all seemed a bit routine. But my heart slowly started changing. 

 

As the months stretched and we still didn’t have an answer, I stopped working on the house. I found myself telling the kids to make their own dinner, or I bought pizza. One day Nate came home from an interview excited about a job and said, “Come on, let’s look at houses.” I really didn’t want to. I wanted to lay on my bed alone. Worse, I started to wonder if the Lord even cared where our family went. I didn’t wonder if he was there, just if he had any interest in this situation or our decisions. I had never felt like he wasn’t directing my footsteps before. Why wasn’t he answering me, as he always had before, unless this was simply of no consequence to him?    Shortly after that, Nate left for another interview. He was gone for three short days, but it felt like an eternity. I barely did anything during those days. I was broken. I didn’t care about anything. I didn’t even recognize myself. I knelt down to pray and asked God why I couldn’t feel like me. 

 

When I was a primary child and a young woman, various teachers had taught me the concept of sacrifice. They explained that before Jesus’ life the faithful were asked to sacrifice animals in similitude of him. But after the law of Moses was fulfilled, we were asked to give, “ a broken heart and a contrite spirit.” After reading these words, the teacher would inevitably explain that “a broken heart” was not what we were thinking. It didn’t mean the feeling we felt when someone we loved left us, or something devastating befell us. It meant that we were humble. It was during these very low days when I felt, not my world, but myself, crumbling around me that I started to wonder if the “broken heart” the Lord required might be exactly what it sounded like. 

 

I had prayed for humility, but what does that actually mean? I have long understood the concept that the atonement of Jesus Christ was necessary because it is actually impossible to understand what other people feel without having experienced their pain. Our Savior would not be qualified to judge or advocate unless he understood completely what we have experienced and why we made the choices we did. Likewise, we tend to judge everyone around us so quickly, thinking to ourselves, “If that happened to me…” and being certain how to end the sentence. But if fortune gives us a similar experience in our own lives, we usually find that what we thought we would think or do was completely wrong.

 

Perhaps a broken heart, then, can only be born of the powerlessness that leads to empathy. Perhaps being broken and having no power to lift oneself is the only way to learn that we must depend on the Lord. We are not good enough on our own. We have to rely on grace. In those few days, I came to understand that even as I bore powerful testimony of the grace of God, I had not had to depend on it. 

 

I found myself really wondering what it was that I had lost. I had simply been calling it “me.” I am happy, optimistic, faithful. I always have been. Where had it gone? My next question was where these qualities had come from in the first place. I have called them my “super power.” I forget bad things. I feel joy and gratitude all the time. I always feel led by the spirit. Because of these traits, I was sure I could handle trials even if I did not aspire to them. I was so angry, not at the circumstances nearly as much as how poorly I was handling them. 

 

The answer, of course, is that all super powers come from God. These are spiritual gifts and to one is given one, and to another is given another.  When I refer to feeling like myself, I’m actually talking about feeling the way I feel because of the gifts that I have always had from my Heavenly Father. It hurt my heart to realize that I was such a weak person that these qualities could not hold on through a small trial. 

 

Shortly before Nathan came home, I had an instructive experience. My phone rang. I glanced down at the caller id and immediately answered it, concerned about the friend on the other end. Why was this such an important moment? Because this particular person calls me from time to time, and I always groan when seeing her name on the caller id. She’s constantly negative. Nothing is ever joyful for her. I never want to talk to her because it’s never a happy conversation. But this time, on this day, I wanted to see if there was any way I could help her. I didn’t even hesitate to pick up. And that was the answer I needed. 

 

Heavenly Father answered my prayer to be a better person by stripping me of my spiritual gifts so I could empathize with someone who was blessed with different ones. He wanted me to recognize that these qualities I have are not mine alone. They are gifts from him. We all gain a little pride in the exercise of our gifts, which were given to us so we could more effectively serve other people. But sometimes, when we have been so blessed, we begin to think things that are easy for us ought to be as easy for everyone else. We do not recognize how privileged we are and how great our responsibility is. 

 

I think all my teachers were wrong, at least, for me. For me, a broken heart is indeed what it sounds like. A broken heart made me realize how much I need Him.