The Lord can help me make good choices when I am tempted to sin.

No, David was not a remarkable person. But he was a remarkable king. And you are also a king. You are not one thing but many. You are goodness and badness all knit together. And to be a good king is to be still. To look inside. To breathe. To hear. To know. And when you find weaknesses, look for hidden strengths. And when you find strengths, look for camouflaged weaknesses. And always look for help. Your friends and family are not perfect. But they will still fight for you. Look for their strengths. See their goodness. Trust that God can create an army out of broken pieces. And with this army, you will face giants. And when you do, don’t look away. Even if what you see is ugly, bad, and shameful. Be like David, look and trust. Because God is great enough to deliver you and everyone else from even the worst parts of ourselves.

The gift of discernment helps me distinguish between right and wrong.

The universe is like that; we think we are evaluating, assessing the merits of the music we hear, the painting before us, the words and deeds of friends or critics. In a sense, of course, we are called upon to discern and to choose. But in another, perhaps deeper sense, we do not ourselves determine what is good or beautiful, or worthy or wrong. We are always revealing the composition of our own souls in every act of passing judgment.

—Terryl Givens, “The Weight of Water”

Usually, a tree grows its branches until the crown encounters neighboring trees of the same height. Its branches stop growing instead of entering the others’ space, creating separation lines and boundaries in the sky. Rather than encroach, the tree finds greater benefit from coexistence. Trees have a sophisticated system for measuring light and telling time. They can tell whether light is coming from the sun or being reflected off leaves. When they discern that light is being reflected off leaves, they know there’s another plant nearby and that they need to slow down growth in that direction. It’s also a way for trees to optimize light exposure for everything under the canopy.

Above all things, our Mother Tree is love expanding outside of time. Her reach is endless. Her branches extend out into the world, responsive to seasonal changes, elemental shifts, and to all of Her children. She knows how they need to grow. In the crown of the tree, we begin to see as our Mother sees (D&C 76:7–10; 1 Cor. 13:12); we walk in the way of discernment (Prov. 9:6). In all the regions of the Mother Tree, we are taught how to distinguish truth from falsehoods, reality from delusions, and to embrace that which binds through love.

We heed the Mother’s voice in our hearts that says we are one.

As we learn to trust Her more, we in turn open ourselves to greater visions of what is real and lasting. “Farther up is further in.” We descend lower and lower and ascend higher and higher to continue to discover both ourselves and Her. In this process of remaking ourselves time and time again, we sink deeper into our own humanity and ascend higher into our divinity—the one embracing the other. We learn the holy power of the interconnectedness of all things past, present, and future. As we’ve seen, Her wisdom moves us to consider life at macro and cosmic levels.

—Kathryn Knight Sonntag, “Crown”

In the end, Solomon died and was buried. And worms and roots ate his flesh. And on top of his grave grew a few lily flowers. And they were more beautiful than any of Solomon’s palace rooms, or his throne, or his clothing. And before he died, he wrote one last proverb for the people to remember him by. And if he had a tombstone, he would have had this written across the front. Because it was the truest and wisest thing he ever wrote:

After everything I have learned and done, after gaining all the wisdom of God and spoiling it on myself, I have one conclusion: Obey God.

And he was right. Because ultimately, at the end of everything, God wants our hearts, not our minds. And to obey God is to serve him. And to serve him is to serve his children.

Through covenants made in the Lord’s house, the Lord dwells with me.

Find everything we’ve published in Wayfare on the temple experience here.

But according to Doctrine and Covenants 93, the idea of worship is more than just the location itself—it is understanding who God is and believing that we, too, can actually become all that he is. The crux of the section occurs in D&C 93:19, stating that we “may know what you worship, that you may come unto the Father in my name, and in due time, receive of his fullness.” Suddenly, mortality is more than Plato’s cave, where we are only able to glimpse the shadows and flickers of a life beyond this one. Rather, worship is an act of unalloyed submission toward God because we know that he can thrust us to heights that our finite minds cannot imagine.

—Sarah Shumway Day, “Lending a Child to the Lord”

Find everything we’ve published in Wayfare on covenants here.

The primary work of LDS rituals is to invite us into relationships. Sometimes the word Church members use to describe these relationships is “covenant,” a term that can feel archaic and even legal. Church members often talk about “covenants” as though they are contracts in which each signatory promises something contingent upon the performance of the other, as though the relationship with God established in the temple endowment ceremony is comparable to executing a mortgage agreement.

But I think that sort of interpretation reflects, again, the world of shopping and commerce modern Americans are used to, when in fact the implication of the rituals themselves points less to commercial contracts, in which two people exchange something, than to the establishment of kinships, which are personal relationships that cannot be obliterated even when one party behaves badly. All throughout scripture, after all, God declares that his covenant with his people will never be canceled even if the people violate it. Isaiah 54:10, for instance:

For the mountains shall depart, and the hills be removed; but my kindness shall not depart from thee, neither shall the covenant of my peace be removed, saith the Lord that hath mercy on thee.

The rituals of Latter-day Saint worship, I think, point us in this direction. They don’t exist to give us information that we need to better fulfill a contract. Instead, they invite us to behave as though we are always already in relationships in which we give to each other out of care and kinship.

—Matthew Bowman, “Rituals of Becoming”

Sanctuary: Discovering the Temple

A Faith Matters podcast for curious, open, & honest conversations as we explore and re-discover the temple together.

By Faith Matters

“His heart was not perfect with the Lord.”

But as we still our hands and close our eyes during prayer, we are reminded that some of life’s most magnificent truths cannot be articulated. The ineffable will always remain irreplaceable; many of the things that matter most can only be understood, as the Little Prince once reminded us, as matters of the heart. Even if our hope is to make meaning of the information that flows into us unendingly from the digital world around us, we must make space away from those incessant inputs if we are to have hope of finding truth or meaning. Especially in a world where attention has been commodified, balkanized, and monetized, closing my eyes can represent a powerful and purposeful declaration that not all of my attention is for sale. Some sacred precincts of my heart and soul cannot be bought or sold on the open digital market; some private inner sanctum remains available only to me and to God.

…In this context, the act of bowing my head during prayer is a radical act of choosing the object of my devotion. Even if I can only glimpse the character of the divinity I worship, yet this is a God I can actively seek and to whom I choose to be devoted. Unlike the nameless and faceless algorithms that rule the digital universe, the God I seek to worship is a pair of Heavenly Parents who are infinitely defined by mercy, justice, hope, benevolence, and love. Thus, choosing to bow my head in deference to this definition of divinity is both a symbol of my humility before God’s love and also a manifestation of my commitment to become more loving.

—Tyler Johnson, “Form as Function”

“Humanity, created by God in all its grandeur,” writes Pope Leo in his 40,000-word encyclical on artificial intelligence, “is today facing a pivotal choice: either to construct a new Tower of Babel or to build the city in which God and humanity dwell together.”

It’s a stark contrast, the Tower of Babel or the City of God. As Pope Leo writes, Babel was “supported by a uniformity that eliminated diversity and that chose homogenization over communion” while the City of God, by contrast, “rebuilds relationships before rebuilding with stones” and “rediscovers a common language—not one of uniformity, but one of communion.”

…For Cheney, the core concern around AI has to do with maintaining our individual agency, which, alluding to a Latter-day Saint scripture, he defines as “the choice to act rather than be acted upon.” This is the central sentiment of his company’s manifesto (or “doctrine,” as Cheney calls it). It’s also a sentiment I encounter frequently in different tech circles on the Wasatch Front—a sentiment I find simultaneously inspiring and troubling.

…But we might ask: What if the primary problem we’re facing is that “those who choose to act” aren’t as introspective, generous, or wise as they should be? What if the problem isn’t so much a lack of bold action, but a lack of wisdom, which weaves together the active and passive elements of agency?

…If we are going to build the City of God we must stop laying the blame primarily on communities that are slow to adapt and start calling out those who use their agency to expand their dominion against the will of others.

We must, above all, recognize that without wisdom, what we call “progress” is, in reality, its opposite—an abandoned tower to nowhere.

—Jon Ogden, “Agency Without Wisdom”

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2 Kings 2:9-10 Elijah said to Elisha, “Stay here; the Lord has sent me to Bethel.” But Elisha said, “As surely as the Lord lives and as you live, I will not leave you.” So they went down to Bethel. (NIV)

In the last story, I told you about Elijah, who became a powerful prophet. This story is about someone different who also became a prophet. Unfortunately, the two men had very similar names, and so for the rest of history, people have struggled to remember who was who. And we are always confusing the one with the other. But while they have similar names, they were very different people.

Elijah, you already know about. He was a brave and powerful prophet who corrected Ahab, started a famine, was saved by a widow, and raised a child from the dead. And after that, he did more and more miracles and became famous. People would recognize him when he was coming. He was easy to spot because he always wore a red scarf. And when he walked by, people would point and whisper, “There goes Elijah, th…

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1 Kings 17:14 For thus says the Lord, the God of Israel, “The jar of flour shall not be spent, and the jug of oil shall not be empty, until the day that the Lord sends rain upon the earth.” (KJV)

Solomon was dead and buried, and his son Rehoboam was king. The people came to Rehoboam and said, “Your father made us pay so much in taxes, and he turned some of us into slaves. Please, we don’t have any money left to feed our children or buy them shoes. Reduce the taxes! Free the slaves!”

But Rehoboam said, “No! My father was wiser than any one of you. That’s why you need a king, because you’re not very smart or clever or educated. So just trust your king to know what’s best.” And to teach the people a lesson about questioning royalty, Rehoboam doubled the taxes. But the people didn’t like being called stupid, and they didn’t like paying high taxes, and so they drove the king out of his golden palace and chased him all the way out of town. And they said, “Anyone who wants to follow that terrible king, you can leave too. Don’t let the gate hit you on the way out.”

Even though it doesn’t make very much sense, a lot of people followed King Rehoboam. And everyone else stayed and picked a different king. And the family of Jacob split in two, which was already sad enough. But things were only going to get worse, because neither king was very good. They made bad decisions and thought they were better, knew more, and were more important than other people. And they passed these ideas to their children, who became kings. And these ideas grew stronger and stronger and became worse and worse until a king named Ahab took the throne.

If you told Ahab he was doing something bad, he’d laugh in your face and say, “Guards, throw this person in prison.” And you’d be locked up, and then he’d probably kill you. And so Ahab did whatever he wanted whenever he wanted. And one day, he decided that the God they’d been following all these years had never done a very good job. He starved them and had them live in deserts, and then gave them a Promised Land that was already occupied.

“If this God of ours was as powerful as he says, things should be a lot easier for us. Why would we have wars or famines at all? So we’re going to worship a new god who is a little better at his job.” And Ahab found another god, and he built statues and temples fit for his new, powerful, mighty, warrior god. And he proclaimed, “This god will take care of us.”

And so God went looking for someone who would be brave enough to stand up to Ahab. And he found the man living on a small farm where he grew olives and kept sheep. His name was Elijah. And God said, “Elijah, go and tell Ahab he’s doing everything wrong. Tell him that there is no other God but me, because I am the only God. His imaginary god can’t protect him or provide rain or grow crops or really anything because he is not real. I am the creator of the earth. And so no one can tell my world what to do besides me. To prove it, I will start a famine, and his god won’t be able to stop it.”

This scared Elijah. Not only was God talking to him, God was telling him to go and correct Ahab, who was known for killing people who corrected him. But Elijah was brave and trusted God. Maybe Ahab was mean and powerful, but God was God. So off Elijah went.

When he arrived at Ahab’s castle, Elijah introduced himself and said, “Ahab, I have come to tell you that your god is not real. Our God, the God of the family of Jacob, has told me that there’s a famine just around the corner, and your pretend god won’t be able to stop it. You’ll see.”

And then Elijah did what any sensible person would do: he ran for his life. He ran out of the throne room and the palace, beyond the walls, through the city, over the bridge, and into the wilderness. He ran and ran and ran and did not stop until he couldn’t breathe anymore. And after catching his breath, he ran some more. And God directed Elijah into the wilderness, up a hill, through rocks, and over ridges until he came to a small stream.

And that’s where Elijah camped, hiding from Ahab and Ahab’s soldiers. He didn’t know how long he could survive here with nothing but a little stream to keep him alive, no olives or meat or food of any kind. But then a crow came with a mouse in its claws and gave it to Elijah. And Elijah made a fire, cooked the mouse, and ate it for dinner. And while that might sound disgusting, to Elijah it tasted delicious. It was better than any meat he’d ever eaten. Each day, the crow would come back and feed Elijah like he was one of its own baby chicks.

Days and months passed, and the famine came. And while the people in the city grew hungrier and hungrier and thirstier and thirstier, Elijah was safe and fed because he was in the nest of God’s protection, eating from God’s own hand. But as the famine continued, the stream went dry, and Elijah was left with food but no water. And while you can go weeks without food, you can only live a couple of days without water.

Elijah kicked the ground. He’d assumed that God would just keep taking care of him day after day. This whole time, he could have been taking steps to care for himself. He could have planted crops, found some sheep, built traps, or dug a well. But he’d just sat here, taking advantage of God’s kindness.

“God’s goodness was big and long but not forever,” he thought. Even he must grow impatient. Even he must have limits. Even his miracles must expire. And so Elijah prayed and told God he was sorry. And God spoke again to Elijah and told him not to worry, he would still take care of him. All Elijah had to do was go back into the city.

So Elijah followed God out of the wilderness and back into Ahab’s city. And God led Elijah to a widow and said, “She will take care of you.” The woman was thin, her eyes were dry, and her lips parched. She walked slowly to save energy because she was starving. Elijah stepped back and shook his head. “Surely not her, God,” he thought. The woman’s life was already desperate. How could he possibly ask her for help? It would be wrong, cruel, humiliating.

This was going to be even harder than correcting Ahab. But God was God. And God had told him to ask this woman for food. And so even though Elijah could hardly look at the widow’s eyes, he did just that.

At first, the woman wanted to yell at the man. Didn’t he know that everyone was hungry? Didn’t he know that she was starving because she was giving most of her food to her son, who was also starving? And if she fed this man, that meant she would have nothing left for her boy? Wasn’t it obvious? Wasn’t his request preposterous?

But then she thought again. This was the end of her life either way. She only had enough food left for one person, one meal. She was going to die. Her son was going to die. And while this famine would take their lives, she was not going to let it take their dignity. They would remain kind to the very end. They would share even if they didn’t have enough to share. If they were going to die, they would die living like they deserved to live.

And that is the most remarkable part of this whole story: The widow fed Elijah. She was willing to die to save a stranger. But she did not die, because God made another miracle happen. As she scooped flour for Elijah, more flour appeared. And as she poured oil, more oil appeared. And she kept feeding Elijah day after day, and there was always food left for her and her son.

And she watched her son grow strong, and smile, and laugh, and run in the streets. And she wept in relief, her fears and sorrows spilling from her in a great cataract of joy. Her boy would live. The love of her heart, the reason for her struggle, the purpose of her life was going to live. Somehow, they were going to survive this famine. Somehow, they’d make it.

But then her son began to cough. And the next night, he grew sick and started to shake. She felt his head and it was as hot as an iron. Sweat poured down his face, and she held him against her chest, pleading with God. “Why did you give us food if you were going to take him anyway? Why did you raise our hopes only to dash them? You should have just let us die! It would have been less cruel.”

But then she realized that maybe God wasn’t being mean or cruel. Maybe he had other concerns or priorities. Maybe her family had reached their miracle quota. Maybe he’d done all he could and more than she deserved. And while she wept, her son grew limp and cold in her arms. And in the morning, he was gone. The window sat in silence, her tears spent, her emotions drained, her hope depleted. God’s miracles were over.

But then Elijah was in the doorway. He lifted the boy out of her arms, and he prayed. And then she felt it, a whispering in the room, a draft of air, a prickling in her bones. God was there. And so was her boy. He was stepping back into his body, now blinking, now breathing, now standing beside her, wiping a tear from her eye. And there he was, her boy, very much alive.

The widow cried, and Elijah sighed. And once again, God’s miracles continued. And Elijah and the widow learned together that God’s miracles don’t run out. Rivers dry up, life ends, crows fall from the sky. But God’s goodness continues forever and ever and ever. It is a stream that runs cool and clear through the desert. A jar of oil that cannot be emptied. A still small voice that pierces through winds, earthquakes, and fires. A kindness that persists through hunger and suffering. A drought cannot dry it. Death cannot kill it. Because the miracles of God are the fruits of his love. And his love fills the earth like weeds. And weeds will always find spots to grow. In crevices, on mountains, under shade, and in the sun. And if it ever feels like a miracle has stopped, another is about to begin.

To purchase a hard copy of The Bible Storybook: The Old Testament, visit ForLittleSaints.com

To access the complete audiobook of The Bible Storybook: The Old Testament, become a Friend of Faith Matters by subscribing at FaithMatters.org/subscribe.

In this on-stage conversation, Steve, Alisha, and Ben share personal and vulnerable reflections on what it means to seek God when the road ahead feels uncertain, and the courage it takes to keep moving forward in faith. They explore belonging, revelation, and the complexity of spiritual life as they describe discerning and following paths that looked very different from one another’s and the ones they once expected—often amid the pain of being misunderstood.

This session was a powerful reminder that God is at work in every life, and that each person’s journey is sacred.

As Ben shares near the end of the conversation, “The stories that truly matter are the stories of the LGBTQ people that you know in your lives.” That’s our invitation this month. We hope this conversation opens the door to deeper connection with people in your own life whose paths may look different than your own.

We’re grateful to Steve, Alisha, and Ben for their vulnerability and wisdom.

You’ll hear Steve mention a short film at the beginning of this session that tells more of Alisha’s story. It’s beautiful and moving, and you can find a link below.

Souled of Other Stars

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Crucial Conversations Across Faith Divides: The Courage to Stay Connected

On June 16th, Joseph Grenny and Tucker Boyle invite you to an evening designed to equip you for some of the hardest conversations life brings, the kind that happen between loved ones when faith changes.

Joseph will draw from his decades of work with crucial conversations, walking us through practical principles for navigating high-stakes moments without losing the relationship or ourselves. Tucker will bring a somatic and nervous system lens to each principle, helping us notice what’s actually happening in our bodies when these conversations get hard. 

The insight at the heart of the evening: people on both sides of a faith transition share remarkably similar embodied experiences. The protective urges, the impulse to shut down or push harder, the way the body tightens before the words even come, these aren’t signs that something is wrong with you. They’re signals worth learning to read. This insight can open a pathway to patience, empathy and even compassion when in otherwise risky moments. 

All it takes is one party to a conversation with this capacity to dramatically alter its outcome.

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One Heart One Mind

Lower Lights Monthly Gathering - June 10

Friends…

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One Heart One Mind

Becoming One

I’m excited to announce to the broader community that Lower Lights will be hosting its first retreat in London this fall…

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With the help of the Lord, I can overcome any challenge.

One person with faith in Christ can make a difference.

In this conversation with Father Jim, we talk about the difference between kindness and people-pleasing, about staying connected to religious institutions that can both nourish and wound us, and why he believes doubt is a natural part of a living, growing faith. In a moment when so many public voices feel reactive and divisive, Father Jim stands in conviction without losing compassion—offering a steady, grounded wisdom that feels deeply needed right now.

Listen to our conversation with Brian McLaren on his book, Life after Doom: Wisdom and Courage for a World Falling Apart. This book is an empowering call to action and an invitation to do the kind of inner work that makes us brave in the face of real fear and uncertainty. Brian asks, “What if it doesn’t turn out? How will we face the future if things get worse instead of better?” He offers gentle encouragement to reach deeper into ourselves and find a stronger, more resilient type of hope: the kind that, as Václav Havel said, “is not the certainty that things will turn out as we wish, [but] is the conviction that some things are worth doing, no matter how they turn out.” We think this episode offers real wisdom and a fresh perspective on how we can navigate these challenging times with faith, hope, and love:

“Jonathan loved [David] as his own soul.”

Forgiveness is the sure path to peace and healing.

We need compassion, but we also need to have a way of naming when we harm other people, and we need a way of restoring. And when no one is really responsible, no one is really forgivable.

There’s this sense that no one is really responsible, but also you can’t be redeemed. There’s a gracelessness about our public conversations. There’s a gracelessness, and a resistance to the idea that anyone can really change.

The radical claim of my faith is that anyone can change. No one is beyond the reach of grace. It’s my most controversial opinion. And our desire to externalize evil from ourselves into other groups and other people means that we resist that, because “evil is out there, not within me,” is a much more comfortable position psychologically. …

I think part of the reason I want to reclaim sin and its healthy liberatory form is it might help us re-find our way back to forgiveness for ourselves and for each other.

—Elizabeth Oldfield

The Lord can give me direction.

The term “epistemic confidence” refers to a person’s confidence in their own ability to know what is true and false—they recognize themselves as having the authority to know independent of others. Anderson contends that women often lack confidence in their own knowing, as well as their own ethical commitments and practices. She observes, “Confidence as a social phenomenon, but also as a practical disposition of trust in, or faith with oneself as another, remains vulnerable to personal contingencies,” such as gender and other factors that socially shape bodies.¹ To have confidence is to be able to say “I can” in regard to knowing and acting in a way that is congruent with that knowledge; yet too often, gender and other factors of embodiment leave a person feeling that within their social context they cannot know and act in accordance with that knowledge.

Women are often at a remove from their own knowing and, as result, from acting with integrity in accordance with that knowing, precisely because they lack this epistemic confidence. They doubt even their own experiences, including spiritual ones, because they believe their knowledge and epistemic confidence must be mediated by others. As the post-Christian feminist theologian Mary Daly put it, “Women have been unable even to experience our own experiences.”² In order to protect not only women but all people from such detrimental circumstances, we must allow God to mediate our relationship to the Church and also recognize that just as with Hannah, sometimes it is those in power that need to re-examine their assumptions and perceptions, rather than just the less powerful people whose views may come into collision with them. If I had better understood this more than half of my life ago, I believe I would have made better decisions, ones that were more in line with my understanding of my personal revelation, and been willing to stand my ground when the legitimacy of that revelation was called into question by others with male bodies and institutional power.

—Deidre Nicole Green, “Envying Hannah”

Camille Johnson taught in the April 2023 General Conference that the yoke is a covenant relationship. The yoke is a tool with four critical elements.

The first element of a yoke is proximity, meaning closeness and familiarity. The oxen are measured and the yoke is designed to keep them comfortably near one another. The distance between the two oxen is crucial so neither loses sight of or a sense of relationship to the other. A good yoke has the element of safety; when worn correctly, the yoke protects the young ox from pulling too hard or quickly and risking injury. The weight of any one task might be too much when pulled alone, so working within a yoke protects the oxen from harm. Another crucial factor of a yoke is its ability to provide direction. The oxen can guide each other within the yoke and sense each other’s movements. When it is time to change direction, the younger ox can feel the experienced ox turn through the yoke. The final critical element of a yoke is that it is enabling; the yoke allows the oxen to do more than they could do alone. They can do the master’s work with more strength, for a longer time, at a better pace when they work together.

Covenant relationships are likewise enacted to create proximity to the Savior, safety from the harms of sin, direction and purpose, and enabling power.

—Brooklyn Miller, “Burdens and Yokes”

When I encounter a crisis in my own life, my first inclination is to put my head down and get to work—I feel like I just need to do something. However, the Lord doesn’t often give me a laundry list of things to do or fix, but more often quietly whispers, “Be still.” “Be still and know that I am God” is its own kind of action (Ps. 46:10; D&C 101:16). And sometimes it is the most difficult thing the Lord asks of us. That was true in the 1833 crisis: The Lord assured Joseph and the Jackson County Saints that in a future “day when the Lord shall come, he shall reveal all things,” but for now, their charge was to be still (101:32).

Joseph’s waiting did not paralyze him. He did what he could for the Saints in Jackson County with the information and the direction he already had. And sometimes, as we wait and lean into the darkness, we find our own answer by doing the opposite—the principle of indirection.

—Janiece Johnson, “Divine Silence and Indirection”

Good friends can be a blessing from God.

My life is richer because of good friends. Friendship is a relationship that asks for renewal, but which also renews. And even if time, distance, and circumstances weaken bonds, I still believe there is something that lasts, something that leaves its residue on my soul, something pulling at a subatomic level to remind me of the times I have purely given and received love from members of God’s family whom I have, at various times of my life, called the blessed name of friend. And not only to remind me, but to find ways to bring heaven now, wanting all of us linked together.

—Megan Armknecht, “A Heaven of Friends”

I find it striking that Jesus referred to himself as our friend. It signifies friendship as a holy, divine love. “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends,” he said toward the end of his earthly ministry. “Ye are my friends, if ye do whatsoever I command you” (John 15:13–14, KJV). Christ’s invitation to friendship is an invitation to see ourselves as he sees us—as worthy of love. It is also, I think, an invitation for us to see Christ as he wants to be seen—as approachable and open.

Friendship binds our selves to others through attention, care, fun, and joy. This binding is not limited to linking ourselves and others; friendship connects us to places, communities, to our pasts, and to our futures.

- Megan Armknecht, “A Heaven of Friends”

Jesus Christ is my Eternal King.

Straight out of the wilderness, before anything else, Jesus preaches the good news of the kingdom of God — a kingdom that, contrasted with the kingdom of Augustus, blesses the meek, the merciful, the hungry, the poor, and the powerless.

—Jon Ogden, “Finding the Gospel by Seeing Differently”

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This year we’re bringing 13 special breakout sessions to the Wayfare summer festival! These will be intimate, interactive opportunities to learn together with some of our tradition’s brightest and most expansive thinkers. Find the session descriptions below!

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GEORGE HANDLEY

If God So Loved the World, Why Shouldn’t We? This breakout session will be devoted to understanding the importance of civic engagement and care for this world in the Restored Gospel. Our objective is to help you understand the benefits and blessings of LDS experience and how they might be extended beyond the walls of church to meet the considerable challenges of our time. You will be invited to find your path to more principled, informed, and civil engagement on issues that confront society today.

JEFF STRONG

Why are so many Latter-day Saints wrestling with faith, belonging, and connection to the Church? In a candid conversation based on research, personal experience, and insights from Torn, we’ll explore what is happening, why it matters, and how we can better understand and support those we love. The conversation will be followed by an extended Q&A.

KATHRYN KNIGHT SONNTAG

The Great Turning: Awakening to the Sacredness of the Earth. As John Philip Newell says, “We live in a threshold moment. We are waking up to the earth again. We are awakening to the feminine and the desire to faithfully tend the interrelationship of all things.” The Great Turning is a term popularized by eco-philosopher Joanna Macy and systems thinker David Korten to describe this threshold—the essential, ongoing global shift from a destructive, extractive Industrial Growth Society to a life-sustaining, regenerative civilization. It refers to a shifting consciousness, a cultural and spiritual awakening that recognizes human interconnectedness with all of nature. Join me as we reflect on the words of John Philip Newell, write, and share on this threshold moment in which we find ourselves.

JAMES GOLDBERG

Creative Reading, Creative Writing. Religions consistently teach that there is more to things than their surface appearance. In this workshop, we’ll start with an exercise in creative reading, visiting a text to identify multiple layers. We’ll follow that with an exercise in creative writing, visiting an experience to identify multiple layers. These exercises will give participants repeatable techniques for slowing and intensifying their attention.

J.B. HAWS & TYLER JOHNSON

Richard Bushman’s Two Poles: Boston and Salt Lake City. Richard Bushman told his college classmates—on the occasion of their 25th class anniversary—that his life had oscillated between two poles, Boston and Utah. In this session, J.B. Haws and Tyler Johnson will explore Bushman’s dual citizen-type life and his efforts to bridge different worldviews. What might stand out most, with all of the dualities he faced in his life, is the way Bushman has advocated for—and lived out—a kind of integrity that has made him the historian and mentor and disciple that he is.

BRIAN KERSHISNIK

Harvesting from chaos. Almost every religion has a creation mythology where the deity creates everything from chaos. Then we spend our energy trying to fight, avoid, or contain chaos, but apparently that’s where all the good stuff is. The artist Brian Kershisnik will lead a discussion on various life/art practices and methods of observation that help us to dance with, and harvest from, and not be consumed by, chaos.

REBBIE BRASSFIELD & CONOR HILTON

Coming soon to a breakout session near you, a lively, wide-ranging exploration of the intersections of pop culture and Mormonism featuring Rebbie Brassfield and Conor Hilton. Stay tuned for more tantalizing teases of what exactly this dynamic duo has in store for you!

JESIKA HARMON

In this session, Jesika will teach participants how meditation can drastically improve their connection with self, with God, and their Christian discipleship, through guided experience, instruction, and discussion.

HAYMITCH ST. STEPHEN

The Tree of Perception is an immersive, contemplative experience, designed to challenge the way we see, hear, feel, and live. By anchoring awareness on what appears to be a tree of mysterious origins and considering that what we see/hear/feel is not what we thought it was, we can deconstruct our self-centered programs for happiness, open ourselves to wonder, and learn to express beautiful, loving creativity. Jesus repeatedly told his followers to hear, look, or see differently. The Tree of Perception is a space to practice embodying that invitation.

DARLENE YOUNG

Poetry Writing as Archetype: How the Adventure of Writing a Poem Is Like the Adventure of Living in Faith. Committing to the process of creation is a lot like committing to a life of faith. In this section we will examine the creative process as a metaphor for the experience of a life of discipleship when we can’t know all the answers. How does one begin without a clear end in sight? How and why should we strive for authenticity, consider how we frame things, allow for space, and revise ourselves? Together we will walk through the artistic process and “liken” it to a faithful walk through life.

MICHAEL & ERIN ALLEN

Michael and Erin will be facilitating a Christ-centered, holotropic-style breathwork session consisting of deep cyclical breathing with inspiring music. Breath in many traditions and languages – including Hebrew, Aramaic, and Greek – is synonymous with spirit, wind, energy, and life-force. It is seen as the means not only to regulate the nervous system, but to experience higher states of consciousness, self-realization, and union with the Divine. Participants may experience tingling sensations in the body, processing and releasing of suppressed or repressed mental and emotional blocks, clarity in vision and purpose, and increased spiritual awareness and connection. David O. McKay said, “Meditation is the language of the soul. Meditation is a form of prayer... Meditation is one of the most secret, most sacred doors through which we pass into the presence of the Lord.”

MEGHAN FARNER

The Inner Marriage: Healing Masculine and Feminine Energies for Deeper Spiritual and Relational Connection. What if many of our struggles — spiritually, emotionally, and relationally — stem from ignorance of the deeper laws of creation written into the soul itself? In this collaborative breakout experience, we’ll explore masculine and feminine energy as sacred and eternal forces woven into human transformation. Together, we’ll discuss the eternal law of polarity, healing wounded expressions of these energies, and how polarity influences spiritual growth and partnership. Blending teaching, reflection, and group discussion, this session invites participants into a more whole, grounded, and conscious way of relating to themselves, others, and our Heavenly Parents.

JON OGDEN

Envisioning a Community on Fire. Religious life at times feels dead. Hymns sung half-heartedly, talks without soul, lessons void of verve. How can we collectively and individually spark a living fire inside and outside of traditional structures? What’s working? What’s not working? What new ways of being can we envision? Come share your stories with fellow festival attendees, meet each other, and map a new world together.

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GENERAL SESSION SPEAKERS

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FULL AGENDA

SATURDAY JULY 11TH

• 8:15am Doors Open

• 9:00am Welcome: Rachel Jardine

• 9:10am Musical Performance

• 9:15am Invocation

• 9:20am Poetry Reading: Kathryn Knight Sonntag

• 9:25am Keynote Address: Luke Burgis on Becoming a Person

• 9:50am Conversation: Luke Burgis and Zachary Davis

• 10:10am Story: Mallory Everton

• 10:25am Break

• 11:15am Presentation: Thomas McConkie on Attentional Resilience

• 12:00pm Lunch Break (Catered)

• 1:15pm Breakout Session 1 (choose one)

  • George Handley

  • Kathryn Knight Sonntag

  • Jeff Strong

  • Jesika Harmon

  • Haymitch St. Stephen

  • Darlene Young

  • Rebbie Brassfield & Conor Hilton

• 2:15 Break

• 2:20 Breakout Session 2 (choose one)

  • James Goldberg

  • JB Haws & Tyler Johnson

  • Brian Kershisnik

  • Meghan Farner

  • Michael & Erin Allen

  • Jon Ogden

• 3:20 Break

• 3:35 Musical Performance

• 3:40 Session: Mormon Utopias

  • 3:40pm Elle Griffin

  • 3:50pm Kristine Haglund

  • 4:00pm Conversation and Q&A

• 4:30pm Poetry Reading

• 4:35pm Closing Address: Zachary Davis on a Latter-day Renaissance

• 4:50pm Prayer

• 4:55pm Musical Performance

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DETAILS

WHEN: SATURDAY, JULY 11TH, 2026 (9AM-5PM)

WHERE: UVU Wasatch Campus, 3111 N College Way, Heber City, Utah

TICKET PRICE (INCLUDES CATERED LUNCH):

$95 - General Admission

$45 - Students, adults under 30, and anyone facing financial hardship

$145 - Supporters (help to cover our reduced price tickets!)

If you need more financial support to attend, email us at info@faithmatters.org.

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Ecclesiastes 12:13 When all has been heard, the conclusion of the matter is this: Fear God and keep His commandments, because this is the whole duty of man. (BSB)

After David became old and died, his son Solomon became the next king. He was young and inexperienced, and very nervous. He really wanted to be a good king because his father had been a great one. But being a king was not easy. People would stand all day in long lines to ask his advice. Their problems felt really complicated, and Solomon wasn’t sure what to say. So he decided to ask God for help. “God,” he said, “I really need a blessing!”

And God came to Solomon in his dream. “Child,” God said, “I hear you. What do you want?”

“God, I am so young,” said Solomon. “I feel like I don’t know what I’m doing half the time. I’m trying to be a good king like my father was, but it’s hard. There are so many people. And being their king is not straightforward. Please help me to be wise.”

And God smiled. “Of all the things you could have as…

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1 Samuel 7:18 Then King David went in and sat before the Lord and said, ‘Who am I, O Lord God, and what is my house, that you have brought me thus far?

Saul, who had brought David into his own home just to be nice, was now trying to kill him. And David was on the run. He ran up mountains and down valleys. He hid his tracks by forging rivers and camping in caves. And when David was hungry, there were no five-course meals for him to eat. He had to hunt, and pick tubers and leaves, and sometimes even eat grasshoppers.

Living in the desert, sleeping in caves, eating grasshoppers, these were not things David imagined doing when he was raised as a prince in Saul’s palace. And at first, David was very miserable. He was sunburned and thirsty. He could never find a very comfortable position to rest, let alone sleep. And the crunch and ooze of the grasshoppers made him gag. But as the days passed, he started to like the simple, nourishing bug. And sometimes he’d find a date tree, and the sweetness was the most delicious thing he’d ever eaten.

And in a cave, David learned to be a king. He realized that a person can be the king of the whole world and yet a servant to himself. Saul had let jealousy dethrone him. He thought killing David would bring his kingdom back. But he was wrong. And David, who had learned from Saul how to fight and how to act like a king, was now learning from Saul how to fall like a tyrant.

And on the run, in the cave, through the desert, all alone, David found a new teacher. Because God was there. And he was teaching David how to be a king, not just of other people, but of his own self. And David learned many things. He learned the silence of the night was not emptiness. And in the silence, he could hear the small brush of his shoulder against the stone. The ruffle of cloth against his neck. Joints bend, muscles stretch and relax, breathe in, breathe out. He was alive again in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time. Not since those star-filled evenings when he had watched his father’s sheep.

And when there was wind and storms, he felt a power rushing across his skin, and spilling into his mouth, filling his body. And sometimes he could hear not just his own breath, but another motion even deeper. Like God was speaking directly to his soul. And the unintelligible words wrapped him like a blanket, and showed him things he’d never known about the world and about himself.

He saw that even though he had lived in a beautiful palace and had an excellent education, and even though he had been famous ever since he had killed a giant, he wasn’t actually much different than anyone else. He got angry and wanted revenge. He depended on food and needed sleep. He, too, had pride and selfishness and lust. Maybe he had killed one giant, but there was a much bigger foe he had yet to meet on the battlefield.

And this second giant was much bigger than he’d ever realized. He’d always just focused on his many talents and his several good qualities. But now he was noticing that even these had hidden weaknesses. His skill with words and music had allowed him to cover his feelings and distort the truth. His confidence had blinded him to Jonathan’s sorrows. And his passions were leading him to worship God but also to commit violence against Saul.

And as David began to know himself better, he started to notice other people in a new way. People he passed in the desert. People who had been forgotten, exiled, ignored. And he saw their weakness, but in their weaknesses, he saw sleeping virtues. What at first looked like stubbornness was also steadfastness. What could be fear was also sensitivity. Addictions covered a craving for connection. Criminality was a sort of industry. Slowness was not only laziness, but also patience. Even disloyalty could be a kind of honesty.

And David gathered these outcasts to him. Criminals who couldn’t find a job. Addicts who didn’t know if they could ever be whole. Debtors who had lost everything they owned. Foreigners looking for a home. And David taught them how to know themselves. To see weaknesses in their strengths and strengths in their weaknesses. He built an army of the broken, the outcast, the weary. And they were brave and mighty. And they were not only brave and mighty because they fought Saul and his legions, but because they were fighting their own demons, too.

And every time they won another battle, the army cheered for David, for the man who had shown them that small people could face giants. And David faced his giant time and time again. Not once but twice, David had a chance to kill Saul, but David told himself, “I am not like Saul. I will never be like Saul. I will never let jealousy destroy me or my family.” So David let Saul live. And that was a victory. And the people cheered for David the mighty, David the giant slayer, David the just, David the good. Even Saul had to admit David’s nobility.

And David became one of the most famous kings to ever live. And he did all the great things you’d imagine he’d do. And he built a kingdom with a palace right in the middle of a powerful city called Jerusalem. He put a flag on the wall and said, “This is where we are going to build the city of God.” But as king, he was very important and incredibly busy, and he stopped spending time in caves, or out in the desert, or climbing mountains. And as he became the king to more and more people, he forgot to be king of himself. He forgot about his own giants. He forgot that his great strengths contained fatal weaknesses.

His passion led him to worship God, to dance for God, to sing praises to God. But it also led him to desire things that didn’t belong to him. And in the end, David was not very different from Saul. And just like Saul, David’s jealousy drove him to kill another person. And when David realized what he’d done, he wept, “I’m sorry, God. I am so sorry!” He’d promised himself he’d never be like Saul, and now here he was, Saul all over again. A bad guy. A sinner. A fallen king.

And David knew what he had to do. He had to face the silence. To be back in the cave. To look inside himself, even though he was terrified of what he might find there. His goodness shriveled and small and pathetic, and his badness vast and overgrown. But David was determined to look. To face another giant. And when he looked this time, the giant was bigger and scarier than he’d ever imagined. And David didn’t know how he could ever win. But like he’d done so long ago, when he’d faced Goliath, when life had seemed simple and straightforward, when belief was fresh and pure, David believed again. He believed in the boy who was still inside of him, somewhere. And he believed that somehow, someway, God could deliver him from even this new, indomitable foe.

And he was right. As David faced his giant, he heard whispers, like a deep echo. The words of God were reaching into his soul. And they spoke for a long time, and while he didn’t know the words, he knew what they meant. Somehow, miraculously, God still loved him, and believed in him, and was rescuing him, even though he was not perfect or practically perfect or mostly perfect or even particularly remarkable.

No, David was not a remarkable person. But he was a remarkable king. And you are also a king. You are not one thing but many. You are goodness and badness all knit together. And to be a good king is to be still. To look inside. To breathe. To hear. To know. And when you find weaknesses, look for hidden strengths. And when you find strengths, look for camouflaged weaknesses. And always look for help. Your friends and family are not perfect. But they will still fight for you. Look for their strengths. See their goodness. Trust that God can create an army out of broken pieces. And with this army, you will face giants. And when you do, don’t look away. Even if what you see is ugly, bad, and shameful. Be like David, look and trust. Because God is great enough to deliver you and everyone else from even the worst parts of ourselves.

To purchase a hard copy of The Bible Storybook: The Old Testament, visit ForLittleSaints.com

To access the complete audiobook of The Bible Storybook: The Old Testament, become a Friend of Faith Matters by subscribing at FaithMatters.org/subscribe.

In this episode, Faith Matters co-founder Bill Turnbull joins Judge Thomas Griffith, an expert in constitutional law, to explore the Constitution and the rapid erosion of goodwill and trust in American politics, including among Latter-day Saints. Judge Griffith sees the possibility of a serious crisis and believes that Latter-day Saints can and must play a critical role in healing today’s divides.

We’ve also compiled lots of additional resources that we hope will help as you prepare for this special Sunday lesson—you can find those below. Thanks so much as always for listening, and we hope you enjoy the episode.

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Crucial Conversations Across Faith Divides: The Courage to Stay Connected

On June 16th, Joseph Grenny and Tucker Boyle invite you to an evening designed to equip you for some of the hardest conversations life brings, the kind that happen between loved ones when faith changes.

Joseph will draw from his decades of work with crucial conversations, walking us through practical principles for navigating high-stakes moments without losing the relationship or ourselves. Tucker will bring a somatic and nervous system lens to each principle, helping us notice what’s actually happening in our bodies when these conversations get hard. 

The insight at the heart of the evening: people on both sides of a faith transition share remarkably similar embodied experiences. The protective urges, the impulse to shut down or push harder, the way the body tightens before the words even come, these aren’t signs that something is wrong with you. They’re signals worth learning to read. This insight can open a pathway to patience, empathy and even compassion when in otherwise risky moments. 

All it takes is one party to a conversation with this capacity to dramatically alter its outcome.

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Jesus Christ is my King.

Straight out of the wilderness, before anything else, Jesus preaches the good news of the kingdom of God — a kingdom that, contrasted with the kingdom of Augustus, blesses the meek, the merciful, the hungry, the poor, and the powerless.

—Jon Ogden, “Finding the Gospel by Seeing Differently”

As Latter-day Saints, we believe that we will build Zion by consecrating ordinary things to the Kingdom of God—including our ordinary selves. The Kingdom is not a holy place that we find or inherit. It is an ordinary place that we make holy through our constant attention to the purpose of our existence. Our ordinary planet will become a paradise, and ordinary people will become like God. This, too, will be ordinary in the original sense of the word; it is the state of existence that has been ordained since the foundations of the world. The Zion we build will be the culmination of ordinariness, which will become a thing of great beauty and eternal wonder.

—Michael Austin, “Immanent Grace”

This is our origin story. We are a people who have been persecuted and mocked. But our response is not—cannot be—contempt. We were expelled from American society, and we wandered, and we built. Now, we have been called back to the society that cast us out—not to exact vengeance but to make peace, to share what our long exodus taught us about community building, forgiveness, and reconciliation.

We live in a moment when much of our public life runs on contempt. The measure of a political leader, these days, is often the fury he or she can generate against those who think differently. The Book of Mormon, read carefully, is in part a long warning about exactly this dynamic. It is the story of a people who let contempt harden into faction, faction into conflict, and conflict into collapse. And it holds out, as its most radiant counter-image, a society in which there were no “manner of -ites,” no contentions, and where “every man did deal justly one with another.”

Our apostolic leadership has named what is being asked of us. President Dallin H. Oaks, has called on us to “use the language and methods of peacemakers.” He has urged us to “moderate and unify” on contested issues, to “seek fairness for all,” and to resist the temptation to pursue total victory in our civic disputes. The historian Patrick Mason has observed that among all the Beatitudes, “Blessed are the peacemakers” is unique. The others describe conditions of the soul, but this one commands an action. President Russell M. Nelson taught us that “the Savior’s … true disciples build, lift, encourage, persuade and inspire. True disciples of Jesus Christ are peacemakers.”

—Thomas Griffith and Joshua Topham, “Our Origin Story”

God calls people by prophecy to serve in His kingdom.

In the restored Church, of course, I also associate the term prophet with the president of the Church. And I wouldn’t want to claim a presidential or priestly authority that is not mine. But even if we stuck to the verb and asked if I prophesy, I would balk. In English, to prophesy is not primarily to proclaim or to call. To prophesy is to pierce through time, echoing the future before it happens. …

I don’t know what the future has in store. Ask me what the world will be like in four, forty, or four hundred years and I’ll tell you I’m no prophet. But there’s more to prophecy than prediction. Ask me what my children and grandchildren might wrestle with and it’s different. I still don’t know. But I’ll crack my heart open to feel for the possibilities.

And maybe that’s the spirit of prophecy. A weighing of the world as it was, and as it is, and as it will likely continue to be. And a turn toward the One who carried everything.

—James Goldberg, “The Spirit of Prophecy”

Once I drew lines between predictions and events like a game of connect-the-dots. But I no longer think about prophetic language as having a one-to-one correspondence between forecast and fulfillment. Now I imagine that prophets glimpse the future at times because they recognize the patterns beneath the surface of history. They see time in shadows and types. Maybe history is like a cloth being folded back and forth over underlying forms. Or maybe it’s like music. When we listen to a musical note, we’re not hearing a single pitch. We also hear overtones, a series of higher pitches with frequencies that resonate with the fundamental tone. Maybe prophets hear the music of the world better than we do.

—James Goldberg, “The Spirit of Prophecy”

“To obey is better than sacrifice.”

There’s a difference between being obedient to eternal principles, and compliance and people pleasing… And so I think it’s important to tease out doing the right thing for the right reason, and doing what someone else tells me to do, even when there’s dissonance and it doesn’t actually feel right.

It’s really distinguishing between, what does God actually want, and what does this human being understand God to want? And that’s really tricky territory for all of us. And I absolutely believe that God wants us to grow through those kinds of situations. There’s a reason that there’s dissonance—that’s where we grow, and that’s how we become godly. That’s how we become divine is by those kinds of collisions.

I think it’s really a matter of why am I doing what I’m doing? Am I doing it because it’s in line with what I believe about God and how I understand eternal truth? Or am I doing it just to check the box or stay on the safe side and not step out of line of kind of human expectations or institutional expectations. At the end of the day, that’s a really personal thing that we each need to wrestle with and determine for ourselves.

I absolutely have a strong testimony of obedience and its value. And I see that as distinct from things like compliance and people pleasing or conforming to institutional expectations.

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Are we capable of choosing selflessness over survival, compassion over indifference, sacrifice over fear? Would love, courage, and friendship endure within us if the world around us collapsed into darkness?

In a magnificent general conference talk given in October 2000, President Dallin H. Oaks sought to answer this question. In his talk “The Challenge to Become,” he emphasized that faith isn’t simply about acquiring knowledge or holding testimony. It is a call to become; to have our nature, desires, thoughts, and actions changed, rather than simply add information.

“It is not enough for anyone just to go through the motions. The commandments, ordinances, and covenants of the gospel are not a list of deposits required to be made in some heavenly account. The gospel of Jesus Christ is a plan that shows us how to become what our Heavenly Father desires us to become.” …

This sobering truth challenges the notion that we can simply “go through the motions” of religious life, reciting prayers without feeling, giving charity without empathy, or observing the Sabbath day without inner rest. We reject such superficiality; ours are not religions of heavenly bookkeeping, where commandments are deposits in a cosmic account. Instead, the commandments form a divine roadmap, guiding us toward our highest potential. They are the blueprint for refining our essence, polishing away impurities like selfishness, anger, or indifference, until we shine with the light of holiness.

—Jarrod Grover, “Becoming the Heart God Desires”

I believe there is an innate and even sacred desire within each of us to discover our own deep wells of passion, creativity, and self-determination. When we see obedience as the path toward conformity, it remains a perpetual struggle for self-mastery. If we see it instead as the freedom to truly love him as we are loved, it becomes the path toward fuller self-realization. Obedience does not gain us more love from God, but rather more power from his love to free us to do the good in the world we were born to do.

—George B. Handley, “Obedience as Gratitude”

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“The Lord looketh on the heart.”

On the surface (in the kingdom of men) the poor and the meek have failed, and small things like sparrows, lilies, a pinch of yeast, and mustard seeds are essentially worthless. But in the kingdom of God, beyond the surface, these small things have tremendous worth and potential.

To change your mind—to repent—is to see this worth and potential. It is to see that everyone is a child of God. It’s to see a world where each person is deserving of forgiveness, a world where even our enemies are worthy of love, a world where we have the capacity to extend grace to all people just as God lovingly sends rain and sun on all people. This is the good news of the kingdom, a kingdom where, unlike the gospel of Augustus, everyone is a brother and a sister, independent of worldly status.

—Jon Ogden, “Finding the Gospel by Seeing Differently”

Poisonous political rhetoric, no matter whence it comes or where it is directed, deserves such strenuous resistance because it suggests an idea that is not true. We cannot be divided into good people and bad. We are, all of us, deeply flawed, complex and contradictory. Most of us try most of the time to get things right, and most often fail to get things right, at least completely, because that is the nature of living in a complex, flawed, and fallen world. But if our membership in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints can help to remind us that everyone we encounter in every circumstance—as well as each of the nameless and faceless people who make up the statistics with which politics so often deals—are literal children of celestial parents, then our beliefs can transform our political behavior. They can help us in this arena, too, to try to be more like Jesus. And that, at the end of the day, is what we are always called—and have covenanted—to do.

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1 Samuel 18:3 Then Jonathan made a covenant with David, because he loved him as his own soul.

By defeating Goliath, David had saved the kingdom. And Saul wanted to pay him back for his heroic actions. And so Saul invited David to live in the palace. And David slept in the same room as Saul’s own children. And even though David was raised as a shepherd who ate bread and goat cheese and beans and slept on a dirty hillside under the stars, it didn’t take long before he felt right at home in the king’s castle with the king’s children.

He was getting used to eating fancy meals of steak and potatoes, twisty pasta with cream sauce, and cheese and crackers with cured meats for snack time. And every meal, there was a large pitcher of pomegranate juice set on the table. And if they drank the whole pitcher, a waiter simply refilled it. At night, David slept on the top bunk, and Saul’s oldest son, Jonathan, slept on the bunk below. And they talked, and shared stories, and joked until long after the…

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1 Samuel 17:47 And that all this assembly may know that the LORD saves not with sword and spear. For the battle is the LORD’s, and he will give you into our hand. (ESV)

The word was out: Samuel had chosen their very first king. And so the people came from all over to find out who it was going to be. And there were no hotels large enough to accommodate a crowd that size, and so they brought their sleeping bags, tents, and pads. And when everyone had arrived, Samuel stood up on a platform to introduce the family of Jacob to their new leader. “Meet Saul,” he said, “your king.”

“Saul? Who is Saul?” The people asked each other. “Does anyone know an important person named Saul?” They thought the king would be someone rich or powerful, smart or well-known.

And so they were all surprised when a simple man from the family of Benjamin stepped out from behind a pile of sleeping bags and said, “Hi everyone, I’m Saul.” But their disbelief did not last long. Saul was tall and handsome, with large arms, broad shoulders, a square chin, and a round head that seemed built to wear a crown. Maybe Saul wasn’t famous or rich, but he was strong from years of hard work. Which made him look like a warrior, like someone who could really fight for them.

And he did. Like Samuel predicted, Saul became a great warrior king who fought bravely and boldly for the people. And the people rallied behind him. They served him, followed him, and went to war for him. And while having the people support him like this was really helpful, it was also really complicated. Because it is no easy thing to ask a person to go to war.

At first, Saul truly believed God would help them win all their battles. But Saul was wrong. Sometimes they lost, and a lot of people died. Sometimes they won, and still a lot of people died. Saul’s life had been so simple before. Before he became king, he only worried about his land and his animals. Now he had to worry about everyone’s land and everyone’s animals. Before he prayed for rain, now he prayed for life. Before, he only had to protect a few sheep. Now he was responsible for tens of thousands of people.

As a warrior king, Saul had to slaughter livestock and burn cities. He saw friends die, armies fall, and battlefields covered in blood. So much death, so much suffering. And when the family of Jacob won, Saul thanked God. And when they lost, Saul wondered what they’d done wrong. Why hadn’t God helped them win? God wasn’t knocking down walls or sending plagues or parting seas anymore. Winning felt harder than it should.

And so Saul became practical. Maybe God would help them, maybe he wouldn’t. And since they couldn’t count on God to save them, they had to take responsibility for winning their own wars. They had to make their own plans, fight their own battles, and be their own heroes.

Saul trained his soldiers harder and harder. He developed supply lines and appointed commanders. Because he thought that if they fought well enough, smart enough, and strong enough, one day all the fighting and bleeding and dying would come to an end. And then, there would be peace. But that never seemed to happen. And right after one war ended, another began.

And this new war was against a new army led by a new warrior. But this time, the warrior was even taller than Saul, a lot stronger, and better at fighting. His name was Goliath. And if that sounds like the name of a giant, that’s because it was.

Goliath was ginormous, scary, and strong. And the family of Jacob was pretty tired of war and very afraid of fighting a giant. And so when Goliath made Saul an offer, Saul listened: Instead of the two armies clashing and thousands dying, the family of Jacob could simply send their strongest warrior to face Goliath. And the two of them would fight, and the winner would decide the entire battle, the entire war. One person would die instead of many.

Saul was the tallest, strongest, and best fighter in his entire army. He would have to face the giant. But if he faced the giant, he would probably lose. And if he lost, it was the end of his army, his kingdom, everything. The family of Jacob would become slaves again to a foreign nation. “God,” said Saul, “I don’t know if you’re listening, but if you are, I could really use your help.” He waited for a moment, but nothing happened. No answer, no miracle.

In truth, Saul hadn’t really expected much. He was used to taking care of himself. But this time was different. He didn’t know what to do. On the one hand, he didn’t think he could defeat a giant alone. On the other hand, he didn’t want a bunch of people to die in his place. On the other, other hand, he didn’t want his people to be slaves again. On the other, other, other hand, if he wasn’t brave enough to face a giant, what would everyone think? Saul was stuck. And so he did nothing. And the armies just sat looking at each other, waiting for Saul to make up his mind.

Forty days passed by, and everyone just kept waiting and waiting and wondering what Saul would decide. But all that was about to change because a young shepherd boy named David was just arriving with some cheese. He was part of the supply chain. Not a captain, not a soldier, just a regular boy who was delivering some food. But when he saw Saul’s predicament, he had an idea. “I’ll fight Goliath,” he said. Now this sounded ridiculous because David was not tall or particularly strong. He didn’t look kingly or fearsome. His only experience fighting was warding off wild animals that occasionally attacked his sheep.

Saul tried to explain, “This is a terrible idea. Chasing away wild animals is nothing like fighting a giant. Why do you think you even have a shot?”

David shrugged and replied, “The God who rescued me from the paws of lions and the claws of bears will rescue me from the hand of this giant.”

And what was most remarkable was the way David spoke. It was simple. Like he believed every word he said. And it reminded Saul of himself when he was younger and less experienced. Before all the war and death. Before the victories and the defeats. Before he’d given up always relyingied on another miracle.

But here was a boy who believed so simply and purely that Saul was unable to say no. Hearing David made Saul want to believe again — believe in the boy and believe in the God that the boy believed in. The God who still performed miracles. The God who fought for the family of Jacob. The God who answers prayers.

And so Saul did a remarkable thing. Even though David was young, and weak, and inexperienced, even though it was a very bad strategy to risk the freedom of every single person in the family of Jacob, Saul said, “Okay.” And he gave his own armor to David. “Fight for our people,” he said. “If you win, we will be free. And if you lose, we will all become slaves. But I believe in you. Somehow, I believe you will win. I don’t know why, when it seems so impossible, but I do. So go, take my armor, and fight.”

But Saul’s armor was too big, and so David went to fight Goliath without any armor at all, carrying only a stick and his slingshot. Was it brave or remarkably stupid? The people weren’t sure. And they held their breath as they watched David approach the giant. There was something about the way he ran towards it, so confident and unafraid. He knew he would win. And for just a moment, Saul saw himself in the child. Young again, with a pocket full of faith. Off to find some lost donkeys. And Saul prayed for the boy., “God be with you, my son,” he said.

And David hurled a single stone right at the giant. And somehow, the rock hit its mark, and Goliath fell to the ground dead. The battle was over before it had begun. David had won. And the family of Jacob breathed out a collective sigh of relief. The Promised Land rang with their cheers. The God who had defeated giants before had done it again, right in front of their eyes.

And the family of Jacob cheered louder for David, the miracle worker. David, the giant slayer. David, their savior. And they cheered for Saul the King, who saw strength where others saw weakness, faith where others saw simplicity, and victory where others saw defeat. Louder and louder they cheered. They cheered for David, who never doubted. And they cheered for Saul, who doubted but still chose to believe.

To purchase a hard copy of The Bible Storybook: The Old Testament, visit ForLittleSaints.com

To access the complete audiobook of The Bible Storybook: The Old Testament, become a Friend of Faith Matters by subscribing at FaithMatters.org/subscribe.

Karl Ebeling spent 33 years as a chemical engineer before feeling an undeniable pull back to the land and to a childhood love of farming that had never really left him. He combined his love of the earth with desire to help and heal and founded Eden Streets in 2020, a community farming initiative that helps individuals relaunch their lives and cultivate community through farming. Karl has watched first hand as the earth does her healing work in the souls of men and women experiencing homelessness, addiction, or disconnection.

Today, he joins us to talk about the gifts of creation, and what it might look like to, in Elder Causse’s words, “grow, enhance, and improve upon” them, and what that kind of stewardship does for our own souls.

I was deeply moved by Karl’s grounded wisdom, his reverence for the Earth and by the lessons he’s learning from the natural world about rhythms, relationship, belonging, and peace.

With planting season upon us, we hope this conversation inspires you to step outside, put your hands in the dirt, and experience the way the natural world is reaching out to heal you.

You can find more from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints on caring for the Earth here.

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Jesus Christ can turn tragedy into triumph.

We had lost our Rose. In that emptiness, I had also lost the God who would keep children safe, a God who could protect, a God I had been certain about. I had always prayed to a God who knew the future and could rescue, and more importantly, a God who wanted to. …

I had believed that if I obeyed, if I was good, if I worked hard, if I had enough faith, if I stayed in safe places, and if the people I loved stayed in safe places, then bad things would not happen to me or those I love. Mistakenly, I must have believed that I could control God’s blessings and ensure God’s protection with my behavior. When this idea shattered, I was left with a God who felt undeserving of my trust and love—a God who left. False ideas about God clung, like a heavy throat unwilling to clear. …

My silent, walking prayers became an act of courage—a belief that we aren’t alone, that a power exists beyond us, that this power witnesses our struggle. When I let go of God protecting everyone, God became a confidant, an inner knowing that I could trust with my worst moments. Rather than someone who didn’t help, God became someone who never leaves. Rather than someone who will prevent tragedies if we are good, God became someone walking beside every person, bearing the weight. Soon, God became the steadfast presence prompting urgent action for my neighbors—one by one (3 Nephi 11:15; 17:21). Though I used to believe God protected the righteous, now I see that God stays with the broken. As must I.

—Katie Lewis, “The Silent Vigil”

I can trust that God will guide and help me regardless of my situation.

Thus, when Jehovah brings the people to Mount Sinai and offers them a covenant relationship with him, he elaborates on his purpose behind giving Israel a covenant: “Ye have seen what I did unto the Egyptians, and how I bare you on eagles’ wings, and brought you unto myself. Now therefore, if ye will obey my voice indeed, and keep my covenant, then ye shall be a peculiar treasure unto me above all people: for all the earth is mine: And ye shall be unto me a kingdom of priests, and an holy nation” (Exodus 19:4–6). This, then, is the vision of the law of Moses and the Sinai Covenant: “a kingdom of priests, and an holy nation.” The law of Moses should not be understood as a bad law, given to bad people, but was instead a way for the Lord to help Israel, then and now, to become the kind of people that he wants them to be.

Even before Jehovah gives Israel a single commandment, the Israelites affirm, “All that the Lord has spoken we will do” (Exodus 19:8). Rather than describing a people who are wicked and rebellious, Exodus begins with the depiction of a people who are willing to do anything God asks them, even before they know what that is going to be. This is an act of tremendous faith on the part of the Israelites, as they choose to put their trust in a covenant relationship with Jehovah even before they know what the parameters of that bond are going to look like. A covenant with the Lord is not intended to be transactional, where we keep God’s commandments in order to get what we want. It is instead based on our trust in a divine Heavenly Father who wants us to be like him and has prepared a plan to that end. The covenants we make today are part of the plan, and so were the covenants in ancient Israel.

—Avram R. Shannon, “God’s Trustworthiness and Becoming a Kingdom of Priests”

To receive the Lord’s help, I need to trust Him and obey His commandments.

The ego certainly prefers a spirituality focused on certitude and transactional agreements with God over a spirituality that asks us to love one another in our shared uncertainty and suffering. Why wouldn’t we want control in a fallen world? Obeying the rules in exchange for security is a desire that certainly makes sense. Our impulse to find order and predictability in the midst of disorder and pain is both understandable and deeply human.

But as we endure life’s inevitable losses, our spirituality tends to become one of recognition—a spirituality that perceives the beauty and wonder in life amid the necessary sorrows and hardships. And though our souls can feel a deep order within reality—divine truths we are all subject to—we understand that faith doesn’t grant us certainty or obviate suffering. Rather, it offers us solace, evidence of God’s love in sublime moments, and glimpses of the eternal that anchor us in a world full of loss.  

—Jennifer Finlayson-Fife, “Our Bodies Are Holy Things”

Sanctuary: Discovering the Temple

An Evolving Relationship with Obedience: A conversation with Jennifer Finlayson-Fife

I was so grateful to have the pleasure to speak with Dr. Jennifer Finlayson-Fife for this episode.. This conversation is another exploration of covenants, but from the framework of the stages of development. This episode begins with Jennifer introducing the three stages of development she describes in her work, and from there she helps us get a feel for…

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4 months ago · 8 likes · Cecelia Proffit

I can hear and obey the voice of the Lord.

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I don’t know about you, but some of my biggest regrets in life involve acting outside of integrity by betraying my own understanding of right and wrong. This includes discounting my own inspiration from the Spirit of God, often in deference to others. Regrettably, there have been times in my life where I have acted as though I did not take myself or my personal revelation seriously—or at least as seriously as I should have. My experiences are at least in part a result of gendered messaging around the idea that people who are embodied differently than I am can be privy to a spiritual knowledge about me, and my life, that can trump even my own self-knowing…

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2 months ago · 24 likes · 3 comments · Deidre Nicole Green

Heavenly Father hears and answers my prayers.

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We are to add est and eth to every verb, a tradition leftover from a time when the words meant dearest, love of my life. Now, they are meant to make the language holy (sacred, not secret), set apart like a sabbath. Thou art. Apparently, I shouldn’t love you the same way I love gelato or the call of a chickadee on a lonely afternoon, as if they we…

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3 years ago · 17 likes · 1 comment · Darlene Young

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The quality of attention that we bring to the world changes what we find. In our time of mass distraction, artifice, and vice, we need to develop our capacities for spiritual discernment more than ever.

Deepen your depth perception at Wayfare’s third annual summer festival on Saturday, July 11th in beautiful Heber Valley.

Featuring music, presentations, conversation, food, contemplation, and natural beauty, the Wayfare Festival provides space for imagination, intentionality, and transformation.

This year, some of the themes we’ll explore include:

• Attentional resilience in the age of AI

• Mormon utopias and Latter-day renaissances

• Authentic identity amid conformity and coercion

• The wisdom of the heart and the knowing of the body

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The Wayfare Festival is a place for joyful explorations, new friendships, imagination expansion, and deep spiritual nourishment.

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SATURDAY JULY 11TH

• 8:15am Doors Open

• 9:00am Welcome: Rachel Jardine

• 9:10am Musical Performance

• 9:15am Invocation

• 9:20am Poetry Reading: Kathryn Knight Sonntag

• 9:25am Keynote Address: Luke Burgis

• 9:50am Conversation: Luke Burgis and Zachary Davis

• 10:10am Story: Mallory Everton

• 10:25am Break

• 11:15am Presentation: Thomas McConkie

• 12:00pm Lunch Break (Catered)

• 1:15pm Breakout Session 1 (choose one)

  • George Handley

  • Kathryn Knight Sonntag

  • Jeff Strong

  • Jesika Harmon

  • Haymitch St. Stephen

  • Darlene Young

  • Rebbie Brassfield & Conor Hilton

• 2:15 Break

• 2:20 Breakout Session 2 (choose one)

  • James Goldberg

  • JB Shaw & Tyler Johnson

  • Brian Kershisnik

  • Meghan Farner

  • Michael & Erin Allen

  • Jon Ogden

• 3:20 Break

• 3:35 Musical Performance

• 3:40 Session: Mormon Utopias

  • 3:40pm Elle Griffin

  • 3:50pm Kristine Haglund

  • 4:00pm Conversation and Q&A

• 4:30pm Poetry Reading

• 4:35pm Closing Address: Zachary Davis

• 4:50pm Prayer

• 4:55pm Musical Performance

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WHEN: SATURDAY, JULY 11TH, 2026 (9AM-5PM)

WHERE: UVU Wasatch Campus, 3111 N College Way, Heber City, Utah

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ELLE GRIFFIN

Elle Griffin is a writer and essayist whose work explores utopian futures and the reimagining of economic and social systems. She is the author of the gothic novel Obscurity, serialized on Substack, and is at work on a second novel, Oblivion, as well as a forthcoming book titled We Should Own the Economy. A former editor at Utah Business, Forbes, and The Muse, she has bylines at Esquire, Insider, Fast Company, and others. She has been named a Roots of Progress Fellow, a Substack Fellow, and a Center for Land Economics Fellow.

Kristine Haglund

Kristine Haglund is a Senior Editor at Wayfare, the author of Eugene England: A Mormon Liberal and a past editor of Dialogue: A Journal of Mormon Thought. She should have been a music major, but holds degrees in German Studies from Harvard and the University of Michigan.

Luke Burgis

Luke Burgis is the director of The Cluny Institute and a professor at The Catholic University of America, where he studies the invisible forces that shape human behavior. He is the author of The One and the Ninety-Nine: Forging Identity in the Age of Social Contagion and Wanting: The Power of Mimetic Desire in Everyday Life. He lives in Washington, D.C., and Michigan with his wife, Claire, and their children.

Mallory Everton

Mallory is a Portland, OR native who has been writing and performing comedy for over ten years. She is best known for her roles in the popular sketch comedy show Studio C, which has over 1 billion views on YouTube, and as the face of the viral Purple Mattress “Raw Egg Test” ad. She is also in love with Jackie Chan. But don’t tell him, she’d be so embarrassed.

Rachel Jardine

Rachel Jardine is Deputy Editor at Wayfare magazine, where her writing explores the hidden abundance within everyday life. Her essays have appeared across issues of Wayfare, drawing on themes of motherhood, spiritual perception, and the luminous within the ordinary.

THOMAS MCCONKIE

Thomas Wirthlin McConkie is an author, meditation teacher and researcher in adult stages of development. He has been in meditative practice for nearly 30 years within the traditions of Sufism, Buddhism and Christian contemplation. He is the founder of Lower Lights School of Wisdom, a non-profit dedicated to sharing teachings from the world’s wisdom traditions, and holds a master’s degree from Harvard Divinity School, specializing in transformative spiritual practice. He lives with his wife, two children, and a rescue dog in Salt Lake City.

ZACHARY DAVIS

Zachary Davis is the Executive Director of Faith Matters, the Editor of Wayfare Magazine, and a co-founder and director at Organized Intelligence. He is also the host of the podcasts Article 13, Writ Large, and Ministry of Ideas. He is the recipient of two John Templeton Foundation grants. He is a graduate of Harvard Divinity School and Brigham Young University.

KATHRYN KNIGHT SONNTAG

Kathryn Knight Sonntag is the Poetry Editor of Wayfare and author of The Mother Tree: Discovering the Love and Wisdom of Our Divine Mother (Faith Matters Publishing, 2022), winner of the 2022 BIBA Literary Award in Non-Fiction: Religion, and The Tree at the Center (BCC Press, 2019), a 2019 Association for Mormon Letters Awards finalist in Poetry and Criticism. Her poetry has appeared in Sugar House Review, Image Journal, Colorado Review, Four Way Review, Psaltery & Lyre, Rock & Sling, Blossom as the Cliffrose: Mormon Legacies and the Beckoning Wild (Torrey House Press, 2021), and others.

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1 Samuel 9:16 About this time tomorrow I will send you a man from the land of Benjamin. Anoint him to be the leader of my people, Israel. He will rescue them from the Philistines, for I have looked down on my people in mercy and have heard their cry. (NLT)

More than 300 years had come and gone, and still the family of Jacob had not been able to build God’s perfect city. They had tried a lot of times and failed just as many. So after 300 years of this, nobody could agree on what would actually work. And so the family of Jacob decided to just let everyone try their very best to do what they thought was right. And they hoped that by trusting each other to do and be good, they’d create more and more goodness. And the goodness they fostered in each of their hearts would spread like a beautiful disease. And eventually, there would be no poverty or crime or hatred. And then the perfect city would just pop into existence.

It seemed like a good idea, but it didn’t work. Instead of getting better…

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Ruth 1:16 And Ruth said, Intreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee: for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God. (KJV)

By now, I’ve told you a lot about heroes, leaders, prophets, patriarchs, matriarchs, and people with big, important jobs doing big, important things. But this story is different. This story is about a little, unimportant family too poor to buy food. They were part of the family of Jacob living in a place called Bethlehem. But because of their poverty, they made the hard decision to move to a foreign land called Moab, hoping to find work, food, and a chance to start again.

But things were about to go from bad to worse. Just months after arriving in a new city, the father became ill and died, leaving his wife to raise the two boys alone in a country she hardly knew with people who didn’t know her. But she was resilient. And she struggled and fought and worked for years and years and years to provide for her two precious boys.

And her boys grew into men, and she rejoiced when they fell in love with girls from the city and got married. And for a moment, she thought she’d done it. Her family’s future was secure. They’d have friends, money, and everything they needed.

But that is not what happened. Because a disease swept through the land and killed both of her newly married boys. And the mother had to bury her sons in a land that was not their homeland, and she was left trying to survive, all by herself, all over again. And that’s really where this story begins.

Because this is a story about a mother. She was a widow named Naomi. She’d lost her money, her home, her husband, and both of her beautiful children. And so there she stands over the graves of her family, with a suitcase in one hand and a handkerchief in the other. She falls to her knees to say one final goodbye before returning to Bethlehem, hoping to find someone there who might take pity on her. Maybe an aunt or uncle, maybe a niece or nephew. Someone to give her food and a place to sleep for the last few years of her life.

She was just starting her journey back home when she heard a voice. “Wait!” It was her daughter-in-law, the widow of Naomi’s oldest son, a woman named Ruth. “Wait for me. I will go with you,” Ruth said.

“No,” said Naomi, “I must return to my people, and you must go back to yours. No one will take care of you in my homeland. I don’t know if they will even take care of me. And if they do, I don’t know if they will have food to give me anyway. But they won’t have food to give you. Because you are a Moabite.”

And Ruth understood exactly what Naomi was saying. But you might not, because I have not told you that story. There once was a time when the family of Jacob was in the wilderness, and they were weak with hunger and thirst. But instead of coming out and helping, the Moabites shut their gates and shouted at the family of Jacob to go away. And the family of Jacob never forgot how they’d been treated. And they told their children stories about how cruel, and mean, and bad the Moabites were.

But Moabite or not, generational feuds aside, Ruth was not going to let her aging mother-in-law travel alone. And so she looked steadily at Naomi and said, “I’m coming with you.” And when Naomi raised her hand to protest, Ruth continued, “Wherever you go, I want to go. Wherever you live, I want to live. Whoever are your people, I want them to be my people. Whoever your God is will also be my God.”

And this made Naomi cry because deep down, she didn’t want to go alone. As impractical as it seemed, she wanted Ruth to stay with her. It was hard to admit this and even harder to accept Ruth’s offer. But it was more than an offer. Ruth insisted. And so Naomi let down her hand and the two women embraced and cried and fell to the earth laughing for joy. Joy, because after all they had lost, after all they had given up, at least they had each other. And they kept laughing until Ruth finally stood up and said, “Hand me that bag, mother,” and they started walking.

The two women walked across rivers and through the wilderness until they arrived back at Bethlehem. And when they arrived, there was no one to welcome them. Naomi was a penniless widow, and Ruth was a Moabite stranger, so the people drew back from them in the streets, diverted their eyes, and tried to avoid contact.

But Naomi walked proudly. She had endured much worse than this. And she was never going to be embarrassed to have Ruth beside her. She was too grateful. And together the women found an affordable room next to a goat pen. There, Naomi lay down to rest while Ruth went to the plowed fields to gather some barley that had been left behind after the harvest. Day after day, she gathered stalks and tied them in bundles, then carried them home to Naomi, who was too old and frail to gather the food herself. It was hard work, but Ruth knew how to work hard.

And there was something about how she worked so desperately, so intently, that caught the eye of the owner of the field, a man named Boaz. He could tell she was someone with a purpose. She didn’t stop to snack or drink water like the rest. She didn’t take breaks in the shade. He’d seen this before. Someone on a mission. They weren’t gathering food for themselves, but for someone else. Children, maybe? An injured husband? Boaz wondered.

“Who is that woman?” he asked his workers.

“That’s Ruth,” they told him, and then they added in a whisper, “She’s a Moabite.”

“How’d she end up here?” Boaz asked.

“She is Naomi’s daughter-in-law. Do you remember Naomi? She was your brother’s wife’s cousin. Ruth is taking care of her.”

Boaz was a little surprised. “A Moabite, really?” he thought. “Taking care of an elderly member of my own family.” That didn’t sound like the Moabites he’d heard of.

“Do you want us to send her away?” his worker asked.

Boaz raised his eyebrows but shook his head. “No, she can stay for as long as she likes. In fact, leave extra barley for her. And give her some water and some extra food when you take a break. I owe her that much. She is taking care of my relative.”

So the workers brought Ruth food and water, and Ruth looked up to see Boaz, who quickly looked away. But for a moment, she saw them — transparent and undeniably beautiful eyes. They were brown eyes. Brown just like hers. They were kind, too.

And so Ruth decided to try and marry Boaz. Then she’d have more than enough food and money to take care of Naomi. But Ruth was not cunning, or sneaky, or particularly clever. She didn’t know how to be mysterious or subtle. She didn’t know how to play hard-to-get or how to flirt or seduce. Instead, she went straight to his home and asked to marry him.

“We need someone to save us,” she said. “We need someone to claim us. We need someone like you. And so here I am, and there you are. Will you marry me?”

It was pitiable, and surprising, and perplexing, and unromantic, and inconvenient. And at that moment, Boaz had two clear options. He could say no, and Ruth and Naomi would continue living off the extra crops on his field. He could say yes, and he would have to marry a Moabite woman, which was a very, very unpopular thing to do. It could cause problems for him. It could cause problems for his children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren.

But Ruth was not at all like what Boaz had thought the Moabites were like. She was not cruel or self-interested. She was not manipulative or shallow. She was generous, honest, and bold. She had helped her mother-in-law across the wilderness, made a home with her, and worked tirelessly to find food to keep her alive. She prayed with her, cried with her, and loved her. Wasn’t this exactly the sort of person Boaz wanted in his family? Wasn’t this exactly the sort of person he wanted to marry?

And so Boaz looked straight into Ruth’s tired, hungry, desperate eyes and said, “Yes.”

And Boaz married Ruth in front of the whole city of Bethlehem. And they had a baby boy named Obed. And the city had to decide what to do with Obed. Would they accept him as one of their own, or reject him like the Moabites had rejected the family of Jacob? And the city decided to welcome Obed. And Obed had a son named Jesse, and Jesse’s son David would become their king. And someday, David’s great-great-great-great-great-great-great grandson would be born in a stable in the city of Bethlehem under a new star. And the family of Ruth, Boaz, and Naomi would grow even larger. Everyone in the whole world would be welcomed in — Jew and Gentile, Israelite and Moabite, Russian and American, Chinese and Korean, new friends and old enemies.

Remember that this Christmas when you talk about Bethlehem. Remember Ruth, who took a mother there, and Boaz, who took a wife. And try to be like Boaz, who was not ashamed of goodness. Be like Naomi, who wasn’t too embarrassed to accept help. And be like Ruth. And if you are blessed to be able to help another person like she was, don’t walk away. Say, “I will go with you.” And do whatever it takes.

To purchase a hard copy of The Bible Storybook: The Old Testament, visit ForLittleSaints.com

To access the complete audiobook of The Bible Storybook: The Old Testament, become a Friend of Faith Matters by subscribing at FaithMatters.org/subscribe.

From the very first pages of this book, Tish gives us language for something so familiar. She writes about aridity—those seasons of spiritual drought, exhaustion, or distance from God, when prayer feels flat, faith feels heavy, and the life we once found nourishing suddenly feels barren.

Then she introduces us to the ancient idea of acedia—what the Desert Fathers and Mothers sometimes called “the noonday demon.” It’s that restless belief that life with God would be easier somewhere else, sometime else, with different work, different people, a different church, or a new set of circumstances. It’s a restlessness that wants to escape the ordinary demands of love in search of some imagined future where spiritual highs are constant and faith feels effortless.

But Tish says these experiences of aridity and acedia aren’t signs that something has gone wrong. In fact, they are experiences that Christians throughout time have understood to be normal—even necessary—parts of spiritual maturity.

In this conversation, she helps us see that the invitation in these weary seasons is not to force our way back into those spiritual highs, but to stay with prayer, to stay with the ordinary practices that have formed disciples for centuries, often staying with imperfect communities and relationships even after the shine has worn off and the brokenness becomes visible.

She makes the case that that maturity often looks less like finding the perfect place, and more like learning how God meets us in imperfect places through patience, repair, and the slow work of love.

Tish is an Anglican priest and author known for her award winning books Liturgy of the Ordinary and Prayer in the Night. Her new book, What Grows in Weary Lands, was released this week and is available wherever books are sold. We are so grateful to Tish for coming on the podcast and we hope that you enjoy this conversation.

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The Lord forgives as often as I repent.

In his essay Deep Unmet Needs, Lindon Robison explores the way we respond to our needs, and how sin can be seen as “springing from unmet needs.” He uses the people in Judges to showcase that springing from our need to belong:

There are two ways we satisfy our need to belong: by fitting in or by finding our community.

Fitting in

To fit into a community, we adopt the values, customs, traditions, and objects of worship of the group we wish to join. To fit in, the children of Israel abandoned the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and worshiped other gods including Baal, Ashtaroth (Judges 2:12-13), the gods worshiped in Syria, Sidon and Moab, and the gods of the Ammonites and Philistines (Judges 10:6).

Belonging

Paul taught us not to “conform to the world” (Romans 12:2). Instead, we need to find a community where our ideal self feels at home, where we feel accepted for who we are. In the early church, some Jewish sects insisted that Gentile converts fit in by following the Mosaic law that required them to be circumcised. In contrast, Paul taught that belonging to Christ’s church, converts needed an inward circumcision of the heart, something they had already experienced (Romans 2:27-29).

You can also listen to “Repentance as Transformation,” a conversation between Thomas McConkie and Adam Miller on the Faith Matters podcast:

And listen to “Stories and Sin: A Conversation with Adam Miller,” which includes a question about how to help our kids develop a healthy relationship with these concepts:

God stands evermore at the door and knocks, even to “battering our heart,” in John Donne’s words.⁴ Yet until our heart softens, we can never expose that stony heart to that which “gives life to all things.” Spiritual death is self-imposed. In light of this litany emphasizing ourselves rather than God as the source of alienation and pain, the hardening of our own hearts—through self-loathing, disappointment, shame or guilt or stubbornness—the word repent carries new valence. It is not about “doing penance,” as the term was translated in the Latin Bible that had the monopoly on Christian understanding for 1500 years. The point is, “change your heart,” “melt those walls of iron,” “open the doors to forgiveness,” “let my love in.”

—Terryl Givens, “The Shock of Love”

I can inspire others to have faith in the Lord.

Consider the prophet’s teaching that God does not condemn someone simply because of their religious affiliation and that all will be judged according to the light and knowledge available to them. Rather than feel relief that this can serve as a “Get-Out-of-Missionary-Conversation-Free Card,” what if we offered this knowledge to the world? …

Though the gospel teaches there is one way to eternal life, the restoration expands access to that way. Every other road can eventually intersect with the strait and narrow path that leads to life, giving every child of God the opportunity to reach salvation. This knowledge means we do not need to condemn others with our warning voice, but it also does not need to pacify us into silence. Instead, it can motivate us to shout for joy as we share this mercy with everyone.

—Bryan Gentry, “Do All Roads Lead to Winnemucca?”

How can women specifically inspire others? Learn from these podcast conversations:

The Lord can work miracles when I trust in His ways. The Lord can use small things to do great work.

In his essay Tuned to the Covenant, Ryan A Davis explores the story of Gideon and his men at the well of Harod:

As a literature professor, I can’t help but notice in the story a narrative urge to induce a sense of wonder at the miraculous power of God, to remind Gideon that “with God all things are possible” (Matt. 19:26, NIV). I mean, what sane person would look at an opposing army described as “thick as locusts” (Judg. 6:5, NRSV) and think a force of 300 soldiers sufficient to engage? As scriptural passages go, Judges 7 is an impressive hold-my-root-beer moment precisely because God’s ways are not ours, nor are ours his (see Isaiah 55:8). So the arithmetic logic of the story is by design; the culling of the soldiers is part of the plot. We read in anticipation of the outcome of their story, just as they must have waited—perhaps with anxious faith—for the Lord to reveal the wisdom of his strategy. When they vanquish the Midianites, their faith confirmed, the narrative tension resolves. Their success no doubt brought them relief; it also provides us the psychological closure so central to the structure of stories. Thus through the magic of narrative, we are made (or at least invited) to jointly, if not coincidentally, marvel with Gideon and his soldiers at the wisdom of the Lord’s curious and counterintuitive ways.

And yet, there is a detail in the story that remains cryptic despite playing an important narrative function. If Gideon was meant to understand that without God there was no hope, and if we as readers are meant to marvel at God’s ability to work mighty miracles with a less-than-mighty force, then why did God instruct Gideon to select those soldiers who “drank from cupped hands, lapping like dogs” instead of those who “got down on their knees to drink” (Judg. 7:5, NIV)? What is it about the knee-drinkers that disqualifies them, and what makes those who lap like dogs fit for Gideon’s force?

It wasn’t until I learned about the bi-hemispheric brain of birds that my confusion began to dissipate, replaced by greater light and knowledge…

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God strengthens me as I am faithful to my covenants. Keeping covenants gives me strength.

Find everything we’ve published in Wayfare about covenants here

Could it be that this was the essence of covenant? Fundamentally, it’s not about reciprocal duties, but rather, reciprocal relationship?

And could it be that at the heart of every covenant we make is this one same truth? It’s not just separate and distinct agreements made at baptism, during the sacrament, and in the temple. It’s not a legal contract with pages of clauses. It’s one promise. It’s one choice. It’s saying yes to gracing. Fundamentally, it’s not making covenants (plural), it’s living in covenant (singular). It’s living in Christ.

—Hannah Crowther, “Dancing With Christ” (an excerpt from Gracing)

The final segment was a 2.5-kilometer run. Beginning the run, I felt like I had no reserves left. I jogged slowly but began to notice people around me who were walking. That sounded great to me. I didn’t want to do this in the first place, and I’ve had to deal with a bunch of dumb stuff up to this point, I reasoned. So, I think I’ve earned the right to walk for the final kilometers of this stupid triathlon.

Just as these thoughts entered my head, I noticed someone jogging beside me, matching my speed instead of passing me by. It was my bishop, who encouraged me to come in the first place.

Panting, he said, “Don’t give up just yet. I know you’re better than that. To be honest, I’m pretty tired too. But I told myself I would run the whole race. So how about you help keep me accountable? You don’t let me stop running, and I won’t let you stop running until we’ve both crossed that finish line. Deal?”

As I reflect on that triathlon all these years later, I think the power we receive from honoring our covenants is a lot like the strength and invigoration I felt while my bishop ran beside me, saying, “You can do this. I’m right here.” The role my bishop was playing is what I feel most accurately represents God’s role within a covenant relationship. Not an employer or a cheerleader but rather a collaborator. Honoring our covenants isn’t like being hired to do grunt work, but rather invited to join in the work of divinity.

—Travis Hicks, “My Side-by-side God”

Jesus Christ is my Deliverer.

I’ve never experienced anything that felt like pulling down divine power, suddenly being filled with strength, or having a burden evaporate. However, when I’m in step with the Savior, my burdens feel lighter. I have experienced peace that surpasses understanding (Philippians 4:7). I have experienced enough inspiration to take one more step. I have always had enough strength to get through all my days (Deuteronomy 33:25). I hope he is near me. And although the veil is thick, I do believe that Christ is on the other side of my covenants with him, walking me home.

—Brooklyn Miller, “Burdens and Yolks”

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Judges 16:28 And Samson called unto the Lord, and said, O Lord God, remember me, I pray thee, and strengthen me, I pray thee, only this once. (KJV)

The family of Jacob had arrived at the Promised Land, but there was a problem. People were already living here, and not just giants. Normal people like you and me. And so the family of Jacob set out on a conquest. They were going to capture all the land God had promised them. With the first city, they walked around it, blew some trumpets, and the walls just fell down. “This is going to be even easier than we thought,” they said.

And so they went to the next town. It was smaller and looked even easier to conquer. But the city came out to fight and absolutely whooped the family of Jacob. That was confusing. They thought God was going to keep knocking walls down and simply defeat all of their opponents. But that isn’t what happened.

Sometimes the family of Jacob won battles without fighting, and other times they lost even when they sent their be…

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