The gentle chill of a Rexburg, Idaho morning often invites contemplation, but this particular day, as I embarked on my run, my heart was heavier than usual. The rhythmic thud of my feet against the pavement was a stark counterpoint to the turmoil within. Each breath was a conscious effort, a steady intake of the crisp mountain air, yet it did little to lighten the unseen burden I carried. As I pushed myself up the final incline, my knees began to ache and my legs burned with a familiar intensity, a testament to the physical exertion. Yet, the physical discomfort was merely a shadow compared to the profound emotional weight that pressed down on me.
I rounded the corner near the majestic Rexburg temple, its spires reaching towards a sky that felt both distant and intimately near. In that moment of physical exhaustion and deep emotional vulnerability, my mind turned inward, initiating a silent, fervent dialogue with a higher power. It was a plea, a desperate whisper for the faith and unwavering strength needed to navigate the dark, uncertain times that had descended upon my life. My desire was not for the trials to vanish, but for them to serve a purpose, to refine me, to catalyze a change for the better, even amidst the profound difficulty.
Feeling utterly spent, my gaze drifted downwards, contemplating whether I had any more strength to continue. It was then, amidst the ordinary dust and gravel of the path, that something subtle yet profound caught my eye. Barely visible were the faint, almost ethereal imprints of soles—a silent, undeniable testament that someone, perhaps many, had walked this very path before me. This simple observation ignited a spark of connection, a sudden awareness that I was not treading this difficult journey alone.
Conversations with the Divine: Seeking Strength in Solitude
Running has always been more than just physical exercise for me; it’s a moving meditation, a time when the external world fades, and the internal landscape becomes vivid. On this particular run, my mind was a sanctuary for earnest conversations with Heavenly Father. As I struggled up that final hill, passing the serene beauty of the temple grounds, I wasn’t just huffing and puffing; I was pouring out my soul. The darkness I spoke of was palpable, a pervasive sense of challenge that touched every aspect of my being. My plea was specific: grant me the unwavering faith and the formidable strength required to endure these trials. It was a desperate yearning not just for survival, but for transformation, for the assurance that if these hardships were my destined path, they would, at the very least, sculpt me into a more compassionate, more resilient, and ultimately, a better person. It was in this moment of deep introspection, feeling utterly spent and questioning my ability to continue, that my gaze fell upon those barely visible imprints, a subtle yet powerful interruption to my internal monologue, hinting at a shared journey.
Echoes of Resilience: Tracing Footprints of Faith
What began as a fleeting observation of barely visible indentations quickly became a focal point. I watched more closely, tracing the contours of the path with my eyes, and soon realized there were not just one, but multiple imprints, layered and overlapping. Each mark in the earth spoke of a journey, a step taken, a challenge met. These weren’t merely “soles” of shoes; they were the indelible marks left by valiant “souls”—individuals who had walked this path of life, endured their own trials, and had come before me. In that profound moment, a sensation washed over me, a feeling akin to a folding of heaven and earth, a collapsing of time itself. It was as if the veil between past and present thinned, allowing me to perceive the countless generations who had preceded me, facing adversities and triumphs that I could scarcely begin to imagine.
My mind immediately gravitated to my own ancestors, those who embodied unimaginable resilience. I thought of those who narrowly escaped the horrific Haun’s Mill massacre, a brutal chapter in history where men, women, and children were murdered simply for being members of a burgeoning church—the “Mormons,” as they were often called. I pictured my great-great-grandmother, her heart pounding, gathering her terrified children, fleeing for their lives, her courage a blazing beacon against the darkness of persecution. And then there were the ancestors who undertook the arduous trek to Salt Lake City, their journey defined by unimaginable suffering. They buried their precious babies along the trail, their own feet often bloody and shoeless as they pushed forward, driven by faith and necessity, following an extermination order that sought to eradicate their people. Their stories of endurance, sacrifice, and unwavering faith in the face of such profound injustice are not just historical footnotes; they are the very bedrock upon which my own life is built, a testament to the human spirit’s capacity to persevere.
Unseen Guardians: Angels Among Us and Ancestral Bonds
For many, the history of the church I belong to remains largely unknown, but for us, it is a deeply personal family history, steeped in a suffering that often feels unreal, almost mythic in its intensity. Yet, those people, my ancestors, are not truly gone. Their struggles, their sacrifices, their incredible endurance—it was all for something. It was so that we, their posterity, could be here today. We hold a fervent belief that even though they have passed beyond this mortal veil, our family remains profoundly invested in the posterity here on earth. This belief empowers us to draw deeply from their extraordinary stories and their unyielding faith, finding in them a wellspring of strength during our own challenging times. We even pray, believing that they, from their exalted state in heaven, can influence, strengthen, and provide help to us, their descendants, as we navigate our earthly journeys.
In moments of profound trial, I often find myself questioning my capacity, feeling inadequate as a mother, as a woman, or simply as a human being. It is in these vulnerable moments that the thought of those who have passed before me becomes a profound comfort. Perhaps they are, in a very real sense, walking with me, lending their strength and wisdom to my faltering steps. The notion that angels, whether they be departed loved ones or divine messengers, have not abandoned us brings immense solace. We believe they are actively pulling for us, championing our cause, even now, especially when we feel utterly lost and adrift. Their unseen presence is a constant reminder that we are part of a grander, eternal family, perpetually supported by a legacy of faith and an army of unseen guardians.
A Mother’s Heart: Lessons from Being Lost and Found
I don’t recall ever feeling truly lost as a child, but the memory of my own little one’s fleeting experience of being lost at Smith’s grocery store is etched vividly in my mind. She was standing in an aisle, momentarily engrossed in her own world of childish wonder, and when she finally looked up, she couldn’t immediately see me. I, however, was standing just at the end of the aisle, watching her with a mixture of tenderness and a purposeful resolve. I had asked her to follow me a few times, but her young mind, lost in its innocent thoughts, hadn’t registered my gentle prompts, and she hadn’t seen me quietly move a few steps away.
The realization dawned on her suddenly, a tidal wave of panic and tears transforming her sweet face into a contorted mess of fear. My heart, in that instant, absolutely broke. Every maternal instinct screamed at me to rush to her, to scoop her into my arms and banish her fear immediately. Yet, I waited. It was perhaps one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do, to resist that powerful urge to rescue. But I knew, deep down, that there were crucial lessons I wanted her to learn—lessons about the importance of staying close, of calling out for me when she felt uncertain, and, most importantly, the unwavering truth that I would never truly leave her, even when she couldn’t see me right away. My own heart was palpitating with her fear, feeling every ripple of her distress, and the battle within me to remain still was immense. “Mom?” she finally cried out, her voice small and trembling. And in that moment, I gently whispered her name in response. This sweet girl, only four years old, absolutely darted towards me, a blur of relief and urgency. That’s all it took—her reaching out, and my soft, guiding response, calibrated so she would still have to exert herself, to use everything she had been given to look for me and come to me. And then, we embraced, a tight, soul-affirming hug, the kind where you drop to your knees and just hold them close, anchoring them back to your presence, to safety, and to love.
The Universal Call: Learning to “Come Follow Me”
Reflecting on that profound moment with my daughter, I often ponder how frequently we, as adults, miss the subtle, or sometimes not-so-subtle, beckonings in our lives to “come follow me.” Life, in its complex tapestry, often pulls us in myriad directions. We “dilly dally” (a curious phrase indeed!) here and there, allowing ourselves to become engrossed in countless distractions and busyness. We fill our days with tasks and commitments, both important and trivial, often to the point where we become disconnected from our core selves, from our spiritual anchors, and from the quiet whispers of guidance. Then, suddenly, the silence hits us. The frenetic pace slows, the distractions recede, and in their wake, a profound sense of isolation descends. We look around, often with a painful awareness, and realize that yes, indeed, we truly feel alone, adrift in a sea of our own making.
My daughter, Claire, in her moment of panic, didn’t doubt my existence as her mother. She remembered me, she knew I was real. But in that moment of separation, she felt lost, she felt scared, and perhaps, even a fleeting sense of abandonment. This feeling, this experience, resonates deeply with the human condition. We may believe in a divine presence, in a guiding hand, but when the “clouds” cover our day—when trials obscure our vision, when fear grips our hearts, or when the world simply feels overwhelming and different—we can easily feel disoriented and isolated. We forget that the “sun,” the source of light, hope, and unwavering love, absolutely never leaves. It is a constant, enduring presence. Our challenge, and indeed our journey, is to discover how we can still feel its warmth and perceive its light on those days when the world around us looks and even sounds different, when the path ahead seems shrouded in uncertainty. Have you ever experienced such a profound feeling of being lost, either personally or through the painful experience of briefly losing a child? These moments, though terrifying, often contain the most potent lessons about connection, trust, and the eternal presence of guiding love.
Navigating Life’s Shadows: The Unyielding Presence of Light
The metaphor of the sun, ever-present despite the intervening clouds, is a powerful one for navigating life’s inevitable shadows. It reminds us that hope, divine love, truth, and guidance are constant forces in our universe, even when our immediate circumstances obscure them. Just as my daughter Claire, despite her momentary panic, knew her mother was near, we too are often reminded that a greater presence, a benevolent guide, is always within reach, always watching, always waiting for our call. The challenge lies not in finding the light, for it never truly departs, but in learning to perceive it through the dense layers of our struggles, our fears, and the distractions of the modern world. It is about cultivating an inner sensibility, a spiritual attunement, that allows us to feel the warmth of that enduring sun even when the sky above appears completely overcast.
This journey of discovery—learning to feel and see the light on days when the world looks and sounds different—is a continuous process of faith, resilience, and personal reflection. It involves drawing strength from the imprints of those who came before us, from the unwavering support of unseen guardians, and from the simple, profound lessons learned in moments of vulnerability. Whether we are facing the daunting trials of historical persecution, the personal struggles of parenting, or the quiet anxieties of daily life, the universal call to “come follow me” remains. It is an invitation to stay close, to trust in an enduring presence, and to remember that even when we feel utterly lost, the guiding light of hope and love is always there, beckoning us home. May we all find the strength to answer that call and discover the unwavering presence of the sun, even when shrouded by the deepest clouds.