Lessons From The Porch

Introduction

Why I Wrote This Book

For years, I chased Zion all over the map.

I looked for it in books.

I looked for it in prophecies.

I looked for it in churches.

I looked for it in movements.

I looked for it in people who seemed to know more than I did.

If someone had told me twenty years ago that Zion might begin in an ordinary home, around an ordinary kitchen table, with ordinary people trying to follow Christ, I probably would have laughed.

I was looking for something much bigger.

Much grander.

Much farther away.

I remember sitting in meetings, attending conferences, reading books, and studying prophecy, always feeling like Zion was somewhere out there.

Some future gathering.

Some hidden place.

Some great event that would suddenly change everything.

I thought if I could just learn enough, study enough, or find the right people, I would finally understand what Zion was supposed to be.

But years have a way of teaching lessons that books alone cannot teach.

As I raised a family, worked through life's struggles, experienced successes and failures, and tried to follow the Savior the best I knew how, something unexpected began to happen.

The moments that felt most like Zion were rarely dramatic.

They happened around dinner tables.

During quiet conversations.

While helping a neighbor.

While forgiving someone.

While sitting with family.

While trying to hear the Savior's voice in ordinary life.

That realization slowly changed the way I looked at Zion.

But life has a way of teaching lessons we do not expect.

As the years passed, I noticed something.

The scriptures talked surprisingly little about buildings.

They talked a great deal about people.

People who listened to God.

People who cared for one another.

People who forgave.

People who served.

People who learned how to walk with Christ.

Slowly, almost without realizing it, my understanding of Zion began to change.

I no longer saw it merely as a destination.

I began to see it as a pattern.

A way of living.

A way of treating people.

A way of listening for God's voice.

A way of building families, friendships, and communities.

This book grew out of that discovery.

The ideas found here come from many places—scripture, ancient traditions, personal experiences, conversations with friends, lessons learned through failure, and moments of unexpected grace.

Some of the lessons came through joy.

Some came through disappointment.

Some came through mistakes I would gladly avoid if I had the chance to live them again.

But nearly all of them taught me something about the Savior and the kind of people He is trying to help us become.

Most importantly, these pages come from trying—often imperfectly—to walk with Jesus Christ.

This is not a book about joining a church.

It is not a book about winning arguments.

It is not a book about proving who is right.

It is an invitation.

An invitation to explore a simple question:

What if Zion is closer than we think?

What if it begins with the choices we make today?

What if it begins in our homes, our relationships, our communities, and our hearts?

You do not need to agree with everything in this book.

In fact, I hope you will test every idea for yourself.

Keep what helps you draw closer to Christ.

Leave behind what does not.

My hope is simple.

That somewhere in these pages, you will discover a few principles that help you walk more closely with the Savior and build a little more peace in your corner of the world.

If this book does nothing more than help one person hear Him a little more clearly, love a little more deeply, forgive a little more freely, or serve a little more willingly, then the effort of writing it will have been worth it.

So come walk with me for a while.

Let's explore together what the Blueprint of Zion might look like—not someday, but today.

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Chapter 1 What Is Zion?

For most of my life, I thought Zion was a place.

A city.

A gathering.

A destination somewhere out on the horizon.

Like many people, I searched for it in prophecies.

I searched for it in books.

I searched for it in conferences.

I searched for it in maps.

I searched for it in people who seemed to know more than I did.

If someone had asked me years ago where Zion was, I probably would have pointed somewhere.

Some future gathering.

Some holy place.

Some city yet to be built.

I imagined Zion as something waiting for us out there.

Somewhere beyond the next horizon.

But life has a way of teaching lessons we never expected.

The older I get, the more I realize that God often teaches through ordinary experiences.

Not always through visions.

Not always through dramatic revelations.

Sometimes through family.

Sometimes through disappointment.

Sometimes through mistakes.

Sometimes through a quiet lesson standing on a piece of land in the middle of nowhere.

The Ranch Lesson

A few years ago, I purchased some property.

The moment I stood there, my imagination took off.

I could already see the house.

I could picture family gathering there.

I could imagine grandchildren running through the yard.

Gardens growing.

Friends visiting.

A porch where people could sit together and watch the sun disappear behind the mountains.

In my mind, it was already finished.

Reality had other ideas.

Before there could be a house, there had to be roads.

Before roads, there had to be planning.

Before planning, there had to be surveys.

Before water could flow, there had to be a well.

Before electricity could arrive, there had to be infrastructure.

Before anything could be built, there had to be a blueprint.

One day while standing there, looking across that property, a simple thought came into my mind.

You don't start with the building.

You start with the blueprint.

The blueprint comes first.

The building comes later.

Almost immediately another thought followed.

Maybe Zion works the same way.

Maybe we spend so much time dreaming about the city that we forget about the blueprint.

Maybe God is less concerned about where Zion will be built and more concerned about the kind of people who will build it.

That thought never left me.

In many ways, this entire book grew out of that moment.

The Pattern Remains

As the years passed, I noticed something.

Many people believe that if they could just change their circumstances, everything would finally be different.

"If I could move there."

"If I could find the right group."

"If I could find the right church."

"If I could find the perfect community."

"Then life would finally work."

I've thought those thoughts myself.

Most of us have.

But life keeps teaching the same lesson.

We take ourselves with us.

A person carrying anger into a new city still carries anger.

A family that refuses to communicate in one home often struggles in the next.

A community filled with selfishness does not suddenly become Zion because it changed locations.

The location changes.

The pattern remains.

The older I get, the more obvious that truth becomes.

The real battle is not geography.

The real battle is transformation.

At some point I began to realize that Zion could not simply be a place.

It had to be something deeper.

Something that could exist long before the city ever existed.

What the Scriptures Actually Describe

When I began paying closer attention, I noticed something interesting.

The scriptures spend surprisingly little time describing buildings.

Very little time describing streets.

Very little time describing property lines.

Instead, they describe people.

People who are honest.

People who are humble.

People who care for one another.

People who forgive.

People who serve.

People who listen to God.

People who place the needs of others ahead of themselves.

The more I studied, the more I realized that Zion was being described as a way of life.

A pattern.

A way of treating people.

A way of listening.

A way of serving.

A way of walking with Christ.

The city was never the miracle.

The people were.

Healing Taught Me Something Too

Recently, life slowed me down.

Much more than I expected.

Health challenges have a way of doing that.

There are seasons when you can push hard and hardly think about tomorrow.

Then there are seasons when life teaches you patience whether you want the lesson or not.

As I dealt with pain, recovery, uncertainty, and the realities of getting older, I noticed something.

Healing rarely happens all at once.

It happens one day at a time.

One step at a time.

One decision at a time.

Sometimes progress is so small you almost miss it.

Yet over time those small steps begin to change everything.

The same may be true of Zion.

Perhaps we are waiting for some dramatic event.

A great gathering.

A great sign.

A great announcement.

When all along God may be inviting us into a daily process.

A process of becoming.

A process of learning.

A process of surrendering.

A process of transformation.

Not all at once.

But little by little.

A Different Question

For years I asked:

"Where is Zion?"

Today I find myself asking a different question.

"What kind of people create Zion?"

That question changes everything.

Because suddenly Zion is no longer far away.

It is no longer dependent upon governments.

Organizations.

Leaders.

Institutions.

Or circumstances.

It becomes personal.

It becomes practical.

It becomes possible.

The responsibility moves from somebody else to me.

And that can be both exciting and uncomfortable.

Zion Begins Closer Than We Think

Today I believe Zion begins whenever someone chooses the way of Christ.

When we choose kindness over contention.

When we listen before speaking.

When we forgive instead of retaliating.

When we serve instead of demanding to be served.

When we seek peace instead of victory.

When we care more about relationships than being right.

Small choices.

Ordinary choices.

Daily choices.

Those are the building blocks of Zion.

Long before Zion becomes a city, it becomes a people.

Long before it becomes a gathering, it becomes a pattern.

Long before it changes the world, it changes a heart.

Every time I have felt closest to Zion in my own life, it has usually happened in ordinary moments.

A family gathering.

A conversation.

A quiet prayer.

An act of service.

A moment when Christ felt near.

Those moments taught me more about Zion than any map ever could.

The Blueprint

This book is not primarily about building a city.

It is about learning the pattern that makes such a city possible.

A blueprint always comes before the building.

In the chapters ahead we will explore that blueprint together.

Learning to hear God's voice.

Strengthening families.

Serving others.

Healing relationships.

Living as wise stewards.

Walking with Christ.

Building communities of peace.

None of these ideas stand alone.

Together they form the pattern.

The blueprint.

The way of Zion.

Every house begins with a blueprint.

Every harvest begins with a seed.

Every journey begins with a single step.

Perhaps Zion does too.

Perhaps it begins much closer than we think.

Perhaps it begins today.

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Chapter 2

Learning to Hear the Voice

If Zion is a pattern, then how do we find it?

How do we know which path to take?

How do we make decisions when life becomes complicated?

I have asked those questions for most of my life.

In fact, if I am being honest, there were many times when I wished God would simply hand me a map.

A detailed map.

Turn left here.

Turn right there.

Don't buy that.

Talk to this person.

Avoid that mistake.

Life would be much easier if guidance worked that way.

There have been moments in my life when I desperately wanted clear answers.

Times when I wanted heaven to send instructions written in large letters across the sky.

What should I do?

Where should I go?

How do I fix this?

How do I help the people I love?

How do I know I am on the right path?

The older I get, the more I realize that God is usually more interested in teaching us how to hear His voice than He is in handing us a map.

The map might solve today's problem.

Learning His voice can guide us for a lifetime.

A Young Missionary Learns to Listen

Many years ago, I found myself far from home as a young missionary in Korea.

I was young.

Eager.

Sincere.

Like many missionaries, I thought I was there to teach.

What I eventually discovered was that I was also there to learn.

Looking back now, I can still remember what it felt like to be so far from everything familiar.

Different language.

Different culture.

Different customs.

There were moments of excitement.

Moments of confusion.

Moments when I wondered if I was capable of doing what the Lord had asked me to do.

Then came one of the most important experiences of my life.

I received what I can only describe as a sure witness that God was real and that He speaks to His children.

Not just prophets.

Not just spiritual giants.

Ordinary people.

People like me.

That witness became an anchor for the rest of my life.

Not because it answered every question.

It didn't.

Not because it removed every trial.

It didn't do that either.

But it gave me something deeper.

It taught me that God knows how to communicate with His children.

And if He could speak to a young missionary thousands of miles from home, He could speak to anyone willing to listen.

That lesson has never left me.

The World Is Loud

The older I get, the louder the world seems to become.

Not just noise.

Opinions.

Predictions.

Arguments.

Politics.

Fear.

Outrage.

Everybody has a microphone.

Everybody has an opinion.

Everybody claims to know the answer.

Sometimes it feels like the entire world is shouting at once.

I have noticed something.

Most people are not starving for information.

We are drowning in it.

Every day brings more headlines.

Learning to Slow Down

This lesson became especially real during a season of health challenges.

For most of my life, I was used to solving problems.

Fix it.

Work harder.

Push forward.

Figure it out.

That's how I approached most things.

If something broke, I wanted to repair it.

If there was a challenge, I wanted to overcome it.

If there was a mountain, I wanted to climb it.

Then life slowed me down.

Much more than I wanted.

Pain has a way of changing your priorities.

Physical limitations have a way of teaching humility.

Recovery has a way of teaching patience.

Some days the lesson seemed to be:

Slow down.

Listen.

Wait.

Trust.

Not lessons I naturally enjoy.

There were days when I wanted answers.

The Lord seemed more interested in teaching patience.

There were days when I wanted certainty.

The Lord seemed more interested in teaching trust.

Yet many of the most important impressions of my life came during those quieter seasons.

Not while rushing.

Not while striving.

Not while trying to force answers.

But while learning to be still.

The Voice Is Often Gentle

When I was younger, I expected God's voice to be dramatic.

Sometimes it is.

But more often it arrives quietly.

A thought.

An impression.

A feeling of peace.

A gentle nudge.

A warning.

A reminder.

A moment of clarity.

A feeling that says:

"Not this way."

Or:

"Keep going."

The voice of God rarely feels like force.

It feels more like invitation.

The Lord is capable of shouting.

Most of the time He seems to prefer teaching.

The challenge is that gentle impressions are easy to miss when life is moving too fast.

Looking Back

When I look back across the years, I can see His hand much more clearly than I could at the time.

There were moments when I followed impressions that made little sense initially.

Later they proved important.

There were moments when I ignored promptings and later wished I had listened.

I suspect most of us have stories like that.

Moments when heaven quietly nudged us one direction and we chose another.

Moments when we later realized God had been trying to help us all along.

There were also moments when the Lord seemed to be guiding me long before I realized it.

The surprising thing is that His voice was usually there.

The problem was rarely His willingness to speak.

The problem was my ability to listen.

Be the Patient

One of the most meaningful impressions I have ever received came during a difficult season.

I was seeking answers.

Seeking healing.

Seeking direction.

Seeking what came next.

Like many people facing challenges, I wanted solutions.

I wanted understanding.

I wanted progress.

I wanted the road map.

As I prayed and sought guidance, the impression came quietly but clearly.

"Be the patient."

At first I did not fully understand it.

In fact, part of me resisted it.

I wanted solutions.

The Lord offered surrender.

I wanted a plan.

The Lord offered trust.

I wanted to know how everything would work out.

The Lord invited me to walk forward one day at a time.

Over time I began to understand.

Some lessons cannot be learned through effort alone.

Some lessons require us to stop striving and allow God to do His work.

Some lessons can only be learned while sitting in the waiting room of life.

Listening often begins where striving ends.

The Blueprint and the Voice

A blueprint is valuable.

But a blueprint alone is not enough.

Imagine trying to build a house without ever speaking to the architect.

Questions would arise.

Adjustments would be needed.

Situations would change.

Life works much the same way.

The principles matter.

The blueprint matters.

But the relationship matters even more.

The blueprint shows the direction.

The Voice helps us walk the path.

Without the relationship, the blueprint eventually becomes a set of rules.

With the relationship, it becomes a living journey.

Learning Through Practice

Learning to hear God is not a single event.

It is a lifelong practice.

A relationship.

A conversation that deepens over time.

The more we listen, the more familiar His voice becomes.

The more we trust Him, the easier it becomes to recognize His guidance.

The more we walk with Him, the more we notice His fingerprints in ordinary life.

I certainly have not mastered this.

Far from it.

But I have learned something about the Lord.

He is patient.

Much more patient than I am.

He teaches one lesson at a time.

One day at a time.

One step at a time.

And somehow, despite our mistakes, He keeps inviting us forward.

The Invitation

What if God is closer than we think?

What if He is already speaking more often than we realize?

What if the next step does not require a dramatic sign, but simply a willingness to listen?

What if the answer we are seeking is already trying to find us?

The path to Zion is not found by running faster than everyone else.

It is not found by collecting more information than everyone else.

It is found by walking closely enough with Christ to hear His voice.

And that begins with a simple decision.

Slow down.

Listen.

Trust.

And follow where He leads.

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Chapter 3

Becoming the Kind of Person Zion Requires

After learning that Zion is a pattern, and after learning to listen for the Lord's voice, another question naturally follows:

Who must I become?

For a long time, I focused more on finding the right place than becoming the right person.

I studied.

I searched.

I read.

I explored ideas.

I looked for answers.

Like many people, I thought that if I could just gather enough knowledge, eventually everything would make sense.

If I could find the right information.

The right teacher.

The right understanding.

The right path.

Then everything else would fall into place.

Over time, the Lord began teaching me something deeper.

The greatest work He wanted to do was not around me.

It was within me.

That realization was not always comfortable.

In fact, it rarely was.

Because it is much easier to examine the world than to examine ourselves.

It is easier to see the weaknesses of governments, churches, leaders, neighbors, and family members.

It is harder to look honestly into our own hearts.

Yet nearly every spiritual journey eventually arrives at the same place.

The mirror.

Not the mirror that shows our appearance.

The mirror that reveals our character.

We Take Ourselves With Us

Over the years, I have watched people move to new cities looking for a fresh start.

I have watched families change houses.

Jobs.

Communities.

Churches.

And sometimes those changes help.

Sometimes a new environment truly is part of the answer.

But I have also noticed something.

We take ourselves with us.

A person carrying resentment into a new town usually carries resentment there too.

A family that struggles to communicate in one home often struggles in the next.

A community filled with selfishness does not suddenly become Zion because it changed locations.

The location changes.

The person remains.

At some point I realized the same principle applied to me.

The question was not simply:

"Where should I be?"

The deeper question was:

"Who am I becoming?"

That question is harder.

But it is also more powerful.

Because it puts the focus where real change can happen.

The Lord's Slow Work

I have never been particularly fond of waiting.

If there is a problem, I want to solve it.

If there is a project, I want to finish it.

If there is a lesson, I want to learn it quickly.

If there is a mountain, I want to climb it and move on to the next one.

The Lord seems far less rushed than I am.

One lesson that became especially clear during my health challenges was that growth often happens slowly.

Very slowly.

Healing happens slowly.

Strength returns slowly.

Patience develops slowly.

Character develops slowly.

There were days when I wanted immediate improvement.

Immediate answers.

Immediate progress.

Instead, the Lord seemed content teaching one lesson at a time.

One day at a time.

One season at a time.

As frustrating as that sometimes felt, I began to see something.

The Lord was not merely trying to get me somewhere.

He was trying to shape me along the way.

Sometimes I think He is more interested in who we become during the journey than in how quickly we arrive at the destination.

The Patient

One of the most important impressions I have ever received came during a difficult season.

I was asking the Lord what I should do next.

What project should I work on?

What direction should I take?

How could I move forward?

How could I fix what seemed broken?

The answer surprised me.

The impression came:

"Be the patient."

Not fix.

Not strive.

Not push.

Be the patient.

At first I struggled with that answer.

Everything in me wanted action.

Movement.

Progress.

Solutions.

But the Lord was teaching something deeper.

Over time I began to understand.

He was not asking me to accomplish something.

He was inviting me to become something.

More trusting.

More patient.

More willing to let Him work.

More willing to surrender outcomes I could not control.

That lesson changed me more than many of the answers I thought I was seeking.

Humility

Humility has often arrived through experiences I never would have chosen.

Health challenges.

Mistakes.

Disappointments.

Unexpected turns in the road.

Misunderstandings.

Setbacks.

At the time, these experiences rarely felt like blessings.

Most of them felt like interruptions.

Yet many became some of my greatest teachers.

Humility does not mean thinking poorly of ourselves.

It means remaining teachable.

Remaining willing to learn.

Remaining willing to admit that we do not know everything.

The older I get, the less impressed I am with people who claim to have all the answers.

And the more impressed I am with people who remain willing to learn.

I have learned some of my most important lessons after discovering I was wrong.

The Lord has a remarkable way of using those moments to help us grow.

Kindness

The older I become, the more I appreciate simple kindness.

Not dramatic kindness.

Ordinary kindness.

A patient conversation.

A listening ear.

An encouraging word.

A small act of service.

A phone call.

A visit.

A quiet expression of love.

For many years I thought changing the world required something large.

Now I am not so sure.

Sometimes a single act of kindness changes the course of someone's day.

Sometimes it changes much more.

As I look back on my own life, I remember people whose kindness came at exactly the right moment.

Many probably never realized how much their small acts mattered.

The Savior seemed to understand that.

He often worked one person at a time.

One conversation.

One healing.

One life.

Forgiveness

Like most people, I have experienced misunderstandings and disappointments.

Family situations.

Friendships.

Relationships that did not unfold the way I hoped.

Unanswered questions.

Wounds that took time to heal.

For a long time I assumed forgiveness was something we did for other people.

Now I think forgiveness may be one of God's gifts to us.

Bitterness is heavy.

Resentment is heavy.

Carrying old wounds year after year becomes exhausting.

Eventually I realized that continually replaying old hurts was giving them power over my present.

Forgiveness does not erase the past.

It does not pretend something never happened.

It simply allows us to stop living there.

Every step toward forgiveness is a step toward freedom.

And freedom is one of the foundations of Zion.

Becoming Rather Than Appearing

One thing I have noticed over the years is that it is possible to look spiritual without becoming spiritual.

It is possible to impress people without changing.

It is possible to appear successful while remaining unhappy.

It is possible to know many truths while failing to live them.

The Lord seems far more interested in what is happening inside us than what others think about us.

He sees the motives.

The struggles.

The growth.

The quiet victories nobody else notices.

Zion is not built through appearances.

It is built through transformation.

The work is quiet.

Often invisible.

Sometimes slow.

But it is real.

The Daily Choice

Most transformation does not happen during dramatic moments.

It happens through daily choices.

Choosing patience.

Choosing honesty.

Choosing kindness.

Choosing forgiveness.

Choosing humility.

Choosing faith.

One choice may seem insignificant.

Thousands of such choices shape a life.

A life shapes a family.

A family shapes a community.

A community shapes a culture.

The path to Zion often begins with choices so small that nobody notices them.

Except God.

And perhaps those are the choices He notices most.

The Invitation

Before God builds Zion around us, He often begins by building Zion within us.

That work is rarely dramatic.

It is usually quiet.

Patient.

Steady.

One lesson at a time.

One act of kindness at a time.

One choice at a time.

The good news is that none of us must begin as finished people.

I certainly didn't.

In many ways, I am still learning these lessons.

Still growing.

Still listening.

Still becoming.

We simply begin where we are.

And if we are willing to listen, learn, and follow Christ, He can help us become the kind of people Zion requires.

One day.

One lesson.

One step at a time.

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Chapter 4

The Family Council

If Zion begins in the heart, the next place it must take root is the home.

That sounds simple.

In practice, it may be one of the hardest things we ever do.

Families are wonderful.

Families are messy.

Families can bring some of life's greatest joys and some of its deepest heartaches.

Some of my happiest memories involve family.

Some of my hardest lessons came from family too.

Over the years, I have learned that strong families are not built because people always agree.

They are built because people learn how to stay connected when they don't.

And that usually begins with learning how to listen.

Not merely hearing words.

Listening.

Truly listening.

Listening with patience.

Listening with respect.

Listening with a desire to understand.

The older I get, the more convinced I become that many family problems are not caused by a lack of love.

They are caused by a lack of understanding.

People often love each other deeply.

They simply stop listening to each other.

The Kitchen Table

When I hear the phrase "family council," I don't picture a boardroom.

I picture a kitchen table.

A family gathering.

A conversation after dinner.

People talking about life.

Dreams.

Challenges.

Concerns.

Plans.

When I think back on my life, many of the most meaningful conversations happened in ordinary places.

A kitchen.

A living room.

A front porch.

A family gathering.

Nothing dramatic.

Nothing official.

Just people talking honestly.

The location was never the important part.

The spirit was.

A family council is simply a place where people feel safe enough to speak and loved enough to be heard.

In many ways, Zion begins when people stop defending themselves long enough to truly hear one another.

What Marriage Taught Me

My wife and I come from very different backgrounds.

Different cultures.

Different experiences.

Different ways of seeing the world.

At times we have looked at the exact same situation and seen it completely differently.

When I was younger, I sometimes assumed that if someone disagreed with me, one of us must be wrong.

Age has taught me something better.

Sometimes people see different pieces of the same picture.

Sometimes two people are both seeing something important.

Sometimes understanding grows when both people stop trying to win and start trying to listen.

Some of the best lessons I have learned came from perspectives I did not initially understand.

There were moments when I was absolutely convinced I saw the situation clearly.

Then my wife helped me see something I had completely missed.

Listening strengthened our marriage far more than arguing ever did.

And looking back, I am grateful for the many times she helped me see beyond my own viewpoint.

Every Voice Matters

One lesson that keeps showing up in life is that wisdom often comes from unexpected places.

Sometimes a child notices something adults completely miss.

Sometimes a spouse sees a problem before anyone else.

Sometimes the quiet person in the room understands more than the loudest person.

I have learned not to underestimate anyone.

Healthy families learn to value every voice.

Not because every opinion is automatically correct.

But because every person has value.

Every person sees part of the picture.

Every person deserves to be heard.

Some of the most important conversations happen when someone finally feels safe enough to speak honestly.

Family Doesn't Mean Easy

One thing life has taught me is that families do not automatically become peaceful simply because they love each other.

Good people can still misunderstand each other.

Good people can still get hurt.

Good people can still disagree.

Good people can still see the same situation very differently.

I have seen this in my own life.

I have watched situations where emotions became involved and understanding became difficult.

I have watched people who genuinely cared about one another struggle to communicate.

Over time I learned something important.

Relationships are often more valuable than winning arguments.

Sometimes preserving love matters more than proving a point.

That lesson took me longer to learn than I wish it had.

But it may be one of the most important lessons family can teach us.

Slowing Down

Many family conflicts become larger than they need to be because people react too quickly.

A comment is misunderstood.

An assumption is made.

Feelings get hurt.

Before long, everyone is defending themselves.

I know how easy that can happen.

Most of us do.

One thing life has taught me is that some decisions improve when they are given time.

Sleep on it.

Pray about it.

Think about it.

Come back tomorrow.

Not every disagreement needs an immediate solution.

Wisdom often arrives more slowly than emotion.

The older I get, the more I appreciate the value of slowing down.

Many problems that seemed urgent yesterday look very different after a good night's sleep and a sincere prayer.

Leadership Through Service

When I was younger, I sometimes thought leadership meant having answers.

Now I think leadership has much more to do with service.

The strongest people in a family are often not the ones giving the most instructions.

They are the ones carrying the most burdens.

Helping.

Serving.

Encouraging.

Supporting.

Showing up when needed.

The Savior taught leadership through service.

He washed feet.

He comforted the hurting.

He lifted burdens.

He listened.

Families become stronger when people stop asking:

"How can I get my way?"

And begin asking:

"How can I help?"

That simple question changes the atmosphere of an entire home.

Shared Stewardship

Every family faces important decisions.

Health.

Finances.

Children.

Careers.

Relationships.

Aging parents.

Unexpected challenges.

The temptation is often for one person to carry the entire burden.

Healthy families work differently.

They invite participation.

They invite discussion.

They invite contribution.

People are more committed to decisions when they feel they helped create them.

The family becomes a shared stewardship rather than a one-person project.

No one sees everything.

No one carries all wisdom.

When people work together, the family becomes stronger than any individual within it.

Zion Around the Table

Perhaps one of the simplest ways to recognize Zion is to watch how people treat one another when they disagree.

Anyone can be kind when everyone agrees.

The real test comes when they don't.

Do they listen?

Do they respect?

Do they seek understanding?

Do they value the relationship more than being right?

The seeds of Zion are often planted in ordinary moments.

A family dinner.

A conversation.

A disagreement handled with grace.

A decision made together.

A sincere apology.

A willingness to forgive.

Long before Zion becomes a community, it becomes a habit.

A way of listening.

A way of serving.

A way of loving.

The Invitation

You do not need a perfect family to begin.

I certainly don't have one.

No family is perfect.

No marriage is perfect.

No parent is perfect.

No child is perfect.

No grandparent is perfect.

The goal is not perfection.

The goal is connection.

The goal is learning how to hear one another's hearts.

One conversation at a time.

One act of patience at a time.

One act of love at a time.

The beautiful thing about Zion is that it does not begin when everything is finally fixed.

It begins when people decide to keep loving one another while they are still learning.

And many of the greatest changes in the world begin around an ordinary table with ordinary people learning how to listen.

That is where Zion often starts.

____________________________________________________________________________________

Chapter 5

Raising Children in Zion

If there is one thing life has taught me, it is this:

Children are both a blessing and a humbling experience.

You can read books.

Attend classes.

Listen to experts.

And then a child arrives and reminds you that real life is much different than theory.

Every child is different.

Every family is different.

Every season of life is different.

Yet beneath all those differences, most parents and grandparents hope for the same thing.

We want our children to become good people.

Not merely successful.

Not merely accomplished.

Good.

Kind.

Honest.

People who know how to love.

People who know how to serve.

People who know how to walk with God.

Looking back now, I realize that many of the things I once thought were most important have faded with time.

What remains are relationships.

Character.

Faith.

Love.

Those are the things that last.

Those are the things Zion is built upon.

Watching Children Become Adults

One of the strangest things about getting older is looking around and realizing the children are no longer children.

The little people you once worried about are now raising families of their own.

Making decisions.

Facing challenges.

Paying bills.

Building lives.

Living their own stories.

Sometimes I still catch myself thinking of them as young.

Then I look around and realize they are carrying responsibilities I once carried myself.

Life moves quickly.

Far more quickly than we expect.

As I look back, I realize how much of parenting involves faith.

You teach.

You guide.

You pray.

You encourage.

You worry.

And then eventually you trust.

There comes a point when every parent realizes that children belong to God even more than they belong to us.

That realization is both comforting and humbling.

What Children Really Remember

When I was younger, I assumed children would remember the important lessons I carefully explained.

Years later, I discovered something funny.

They rarely remember the lectures.

They remember the moments.

The road trips.

The conversations.

The laughter.

The struggles.

The traditions.

The family stories.

The examples.

The way they saw us treat other people.

The way we handled disappointment.

The way we responded when life became difficult.

Children learn far more from what they observe than from what they are told.

In many ways, our lives become their first lesson book.

I have often thought about that.

Children are watching long before they are listening.

They notice how we speak.

How we serve.

How we forgive.

How we treat strangers.

How we treat family.

Whether we realize it or not, we are teaching every day.

Hiroko Taught Me Something

My wife raised four children through circumstances that would have discouraged many people.

It was not easy.

There were challenges.

Responsibilities.

Sacrifices.

Long days.

Difficult decisions.

Moments when simply moving forward required courage.

Yet one thing I have always admired is her devotion.

Not only to her children.

But to serving others.

Missionaries.

Friends.

Church members.

Neighbors.

People in need.

Service was never merely something she talked about.

It was something she lived.

Children notice things like that.

They notice sacrifice.

They notice consistency.

They notice whether our actions match our words.

Whether they realize it or not, those examples become part of who they are.

Sometimes the greatest lessons are taught without words.

Some of the most powerful teaching happens simply because children watch someone quietly doing good.

The Gift of Presence

As grandparents, we often wish we had more time.

As parents, we often wish we had done some things differently.

The older I become, the more I believe one of the greatest gifts we can offer a child is simply our presence.

Being there.

Listening.

Showing interest.

Asking questions.

Watching their game.

Looking at their artwork.

Listening to stories we may have already heard three times.

Giving them our attention.

Children have an amazing ability to tell whether we are truly present.

Presence communicates something powerful:

"You matter."

"I see you."

"I care."

Many children remember that feeling long after they forget specific words.

The gift of being fully present may be one of the most underrated gifts in the world.

Let Them Learn

One of the hardest lessons for parents and grandparents is learning not to rescue people from every mistake.

We want to protect.

We want to help.

We want to prevent pain.

We want to fix problems before they become problems.

I know that feeling well.

Yet growth often comes through experience.

Some lessons can only be learned by living them.

Some wisdom can only be gained through struggle.

I have watched children become wiser through experiences I would have preferred they avoid.

At the time it was difficult to watch.

Later I realized those experiences helped shape them.

The Lord seems remarkably patient with His children.

Perhaps we can learn something from His example.

Sometimes growth requires room.

Room to learn.

Room to struggle.

Room to become.

Teaching Them to Hear God

If I could pass one gift to the next generation, it might be this:

Learn how to hear God for yourself.

Not because parents are unimportant.

Not because teachers are unimportant.

Not because mentors are unimportant.

But because life eventually presents questions no other person can answer.

Every child eventually reaches a place where they need their own relationship with God.

Their own experiences.

Their own witness.

Their own confidence that heaven knows their name.

The greatest guide they can carry through life is not merely advice from others.

It is learning to recognize the Lord's voice for themselves.

That gift will bless them long after parents and grandparents are gone.

My Grandchildren

One of the joys of getting older is grandchildren.

They have a way of bringing life into a room.

Energy.

Questions.

Curiosity.

Wonder.

Laughter.

They remind us that the future is not something far away.

The future is already running around the living room.

Laughing.

Learning.

Growing.

Every time I watch grandchildren explore the world, I am reminded how much potential God places in every child.

Watching them has reminded me that every generation receives the opportunity to pass something forward.

Faith.

Stories.

Values.

Love.

Not through force.

Not through control.

Through example.

Through patience.

Through relationship.

The legacy we leave is often far less about possessions and far more about who we become.

The Long View

Parents worry.

Grandparents worry.

We all wonder whether we are doing enough.

Whether we said the right thing.

Whether we missed something important.

Whether we should have handled a situation differently.

Life has taught me that raising children is a long journey.

Much longer than most of us expect.

Some seeds grow quickly.

Others take years.

Some take decades.

Sometimes the lessons we teach today do not bear fruit until much later.

But kindness matters.

Love matters.

Presence matters.

Example matters.

Never underestimate the influence of a life consistently lived in faith and love.

The Lord works patiently across years.

Often across generations.

Zion Across Generations

One of the beautiful things about Zion is that it stretches across generations.

Parents bless children.

Children bless grandchildren.

Grandchildren bless generations yet unborn.

Values are passed forward.

Stories are passed forward.

Faith is passed forward.

Love is passed forward.

Every act of patience becomes part of that legacy.

Every act of kindness becomes part of that legacy.

Every act of service becomes part of that legacy.

The work may feel small in the moment.

But generations are shaped by small things done consistently.

One loving conversation.

One act of forgiveness.

One example of faithfulness.

One choice to keep showing up.

These things matter more than we realize.

The Invitation

No parent is perfect.

No grandparent is perfect.

I certainly haven't been.

The goal is not perfection.

The goal is love.

The goal is presence.

The goal is helping children become the kind of people who can walk with Christ throughout their lives.

Every conversation matters.

Every example matters.

Every act of patience matters.

Every act of kindness matters.

And every effort to teach faith, service, responsibility, and love becomes another stone in the foundation of Zion.

One child.

One family.

One generation at a time.

That is how Zion grows.

____________________________________________________________________________________

Chapter 6

Marriage as Partnership

When I was younger, I thought marriage was mostly about finding the right person.

The older I get, the more I think marriage is about becoming the right person.

That may not be as romantic.

But I think it is closer to the truth.

Marriage has taught me things I probably could not have learned any other way.

Patience.

Humility.

Forgiveness.

Service.

Understanding.

And perhaps most importantly, how to love someone who sees the world differently than I do.

Looking back, some of the greatest lessons of my life did not come from books.

They came from sharing life with another person.

Day after day.

Year after year.

Season after season.

Marriage has a way of revealing who we really are.

It exposes weaknesses.

Refines strengths.

And teaches lessons that are difficult to learn any other way.

Two Different Worlds

My wife and I come from very different backgrounds.

I grew up in rural Idaho.

She grew up in Japan.

Different cultures.

Different traditions.

Different foods.

Different customs.

Different experiences.

Different ways of approaching life.

When we first married, some of those differences seemed small.

Later I discovered they weren't small at all.

Sometimes we looked at the same situation and saw completely different things.

At first, I assumed one of us had to be wrong.

That seemed logical.

If two people disagree, surely one of them is mistaken.

Age has taught me something better.

Sometimes two people simply see different parts of the same picture.

Sometimes both perspectives contain truth.

Sometimes understanding grows when neither person is trying to win.

Marriage taught me that understanding is often more valuable than winning.

I have learned things about life, family, faith, and people simply because I was willing to see through someone else's eyes.

For that, I am grateful.

Learning to Listen

One of the greatest gifts marriage has given me is the opportunity to learn how to listen.

Not merely hear.

Listen.

Those are not always the same thing.

Like many husbands, I occasionally thought I already understood what was being said.

Sometimes I was wrong.

Actually, more than sometimes.

Marriage has a way of exposing those weaknesses.

People want to be heard.

They want to know they matter.

Their thoughts matter.

Their concerns matter.

Their feelings matter.

Listening communicates love in ways that advice often cannot.

The older I become, the more I realize that some of the most important conversations begin when we stop preparing our response and start seeking understanding.

Many disagreements become smaller when people feel heard.

Many wounds begin healing when people feel understood.

Listening is one of the simplest forms of love.

Yet it may be one of the most powerful.

The Missionary and the Interpreter

One thing I have always admired about my wife is her devotion.

As a young woman, she joined the Church in Japan.

She served a mission.

She helped missionaries.

She interpreted for leaders.

She raised four children through difficult circumstances.

Many times I have watched her quietly serve others without expecting recognition.

Missionaries.

Friends.

Church members.

Neighbors.

People who simply needed help.

Most of those acts of service would never make headlines.

But they mattered.

Watching someone serve teaches lessons that words alone cannot teach.

Marriage allows us to witness another person's strengths up close.

And often those strengths help us become better ourselves.

One of the reasons I admire my wife is not because she is perfect.

It is because she keeps serving.

Keeps helping.

Keeps giving.

Even when nobody is watching.

Those examples have taught me more than many sermons.

Seasons We Never Planned

When two people marry, they usually imagine the joyful seasons.

The celebrations.

The successes.

The adventures.

The dreams.

Few people spend much time imagining health challenges.

Difficult years.

Unexpected trials.

Physical limitations.

The seasons that arrive without invitation.

Yet those seasons arrive for almost everyone eventually.

Recently, health challenges have slowed me down more than I ever expected.

For most of my life, I was used to moving forward.

Working.

Building.

Solving.

Doing.

Then suddenly life required something different.

Patience.

Recovery.

Trust.

Humility.

That experience taught me something about marriage.

Love often becomes most visible during difficult seasons.

Not when everything is easy.

Not when everything is going according to plan.

But when life becomes harder.

When burdens increase.

When one person temporarily carries more than the other.

Those moments reveal the strength of a partnership.

They reveal what love really looks like.

Grace for One Another

One thing age has taught me is that every person is still learning.

Every person.

No exceptions.

Marriage gives us a front-row seat to another person's strengths and weaknesses.

And they get a front-row seat to ours.

That requires grace.

Patience.

Mercy.

Understanding.

The longer I live, the less interested I become in perfection.

The more interested I become in kindness.

People grow best where grace exists.

Marriage is no exception.

I am grateful that the Lord does not demand perfection from us.

He invites growth.

Perhaps we should offer one another the same gift.

Walking Together

One of my favorite images of marriage is not two people standing still.

It is two people walking together.

Sometimes one person walks faster.

Sometimes slower.

Sometimes one is stronger.

Sometimes one needs help.

Sometimes one sees the path more clearly.

Sometimes the other does.

The important thing is continuing to walk together.

Life rarely unfolds exactly as either person imagined.

I know mine certainly hasn't.

Yet some of the greatest blessings have arrived through roads I never planned to travel.

Marriage works best when both people keep choosing the journey.

Again and again.

Year after year.

Building Something Larger

One thing that becomes clear over time is that marriage is not only about the couple.

It influences children.

Grandchildren.

Friends.

Neighbors.

Entire communities.

A healthy marriage creates stability that extends far beyond two people.

The lessons learned in marriage often become lessons that bless generations.

Patience.

Forgiveness.

Service.

Commitment.

Love.

These things have a way of traveling farther than we realize.

The example parents set becomes part of a family's story.

The example grandparents set becomes part of a family's legacy.

Long after specific words are forgotten, people remember how they were loved.

Zion at Home

If Zion is a pattern, then marriage may be one of the first places we learn it.

Listening.

Serving.

Forgiving.

Encouraging.

Growing.

Choosing love again and again.

Not because everything is perfect.

Because people matter.

Because relationships matter.

Because learning to love another imperfect human being may be one of God's greatest classrooms.

In many ways, marriage teaches the very same principles Zion requires.

Patience.

Humility.

Kindness.

Service.

Mercy.

Understanding.

The lessons learned at home often become the lessons we carry into the world.

The Invitation

No marriage is perfect.

Mine certainly isn't.

No couple agrees on everything.

No couple gets everything right.

No couple walks through life without challenges.

The goal is not perfection.

The goal is partnership.

The goal is learning how to walk together through whatever seasons life brings.

One conversation at a time.

One act of kindness at a time.

One act of service at a time.

One act of forgiveness at a time.

One act of patience at a time.

When two people commit to that journey, they create something beautiful.

Not because life becomes easy.

But because they choose to face life together.

And every marriage that grows in love, patience, understanding, and service adds another stone to the foundation of Zion.

___________________________________________________________________________________

Chapter 7

No Poor Among Them

Of all the descriptions of Zion found in scripture, one has always captured my heart.

There were no poor among them.

For years, I thought that phrase was mostly about money.

Food.

Clothing.

Shelter.

And certainly those things matter.

A hungry person needs food.

A cold person needs warmth.

A struggling family needs help.

Those needs are real.

The older I get, however, the more I think there are many kinds of poverty.

I have met people who had money but no peace.

People surrounded by others yet terribly lonely.

People successful on the outside but hurting on the inside.

People starving for encouragement.

Starving for friendship.

Starving for hope.

Starving for someone to simply notice them.

And I have begun to wonder if Zion is as much about healing those kinds of poverty as any other.

Perhaps some of the deepest poverty in the world cannot be measured with numbers.

The People We Walk Past

Many years ago, I started paying attention to something.

Everywhere I went, there were people carrying invisible burdens.

The cashier who forced a smile.

The older man sitting alone.

The widow nobody seemed to notice.

The neighbor quietly struggling.

The friend who said, "I'm fine," when they clearly weren't.

The person sitting alone at church.

The person who seemed cheerful while carrying a private burden.

Most suffering does not announce itself.

It hides.

It sits quietly in church pews.

At family gatherings.

In neighborhoods.

In grocery stores.

In waiting rooms.

Sometimes the people hurting most are the people who appear strongest.

I learned that lesson more than once.

Many people become experts at hiding pain.

They continue showing up.

Continue smiling.

Continue serving.

While carrying burdens few people ever see.

Learning to see people may be one of the first steps toward Zion.

My Wife Taught Me Something

One of the things I have always admired about my wife is her willingness to serve.

Over the years, I have watched her feed missionaries, help friends, encourage struggling people, and quietly take care of needs that many others never even noticed.

Rarely for recognition.

Rarely for praise.

Simply because she cared.

She has prepared meals.

Opened her home.

Spent time listening.

Helped people feel welcome.

Helped people feel loved.

Watching her taught me something.

Love is usually not dramatic.

It is often a meal.

A visit.

A phone call.

A ride.

A conversation.

A listening ear.

The world notices grand gestures.

Heaven seems to notice small ones too.

The longer I live, the more convinced I become that many of the greatest acts of service happen quietly.

Without applause.

Without attention.

Without anyone keeping score.

The Illusion of Someone Else

There is a trap many of us fall into.

I've fallen into it myself.

We see a need and think:

Someone should do something.

Someone should help.

Someone should call.

Someone should visit.

Someone should notice.

Someone should care.

Then one day it occurred to me.

What if I am the someone?

What if Zion is built when ordinary people stop waiting for somebody else and simply respond?

Not because they are wealthy.

Not because they are important.

Not because they have extra time.

Because they care.

Most acts of service begin with that simple realization.

Someone notices.

Someone responds.

Someone chooses to help.

And often that someone is us.

The Richest People I Know

Some of the most generous people I have known were not wealthy.

In fact, a few had very little.

Yet somehow they always had room for one more person at the table.

One more conversation.

One more act of kindness.

One more meal.

One more prayer.

One more visit.

One more opportunity to help.

They understood something many people never learn.

Generosity is not measured primarily by what leaves your wallet.

It is measured by what leaves your heart.

I have known people with modest means who created remarkable abundance around them.

People left their homes feeling encouraged.

Strengthened.

Seen.

Loved.

That kind of wealth never appears on a financial statement.

Yet it may be the most valuable wealth of all.

Learning to Receive

This lesson became very personal during my health challenges.

For most of my life, I preferred helping others.

Receiving help felt uncomfortable.

I wanted to be independent.

Strong.

Capable.

Useful.

I was much more comfortable giving than receiving.

Then life slowed me down.

Suddenly people were helping me.

Praying for me.

Checking on me.

Encouraging me.

Offering support.

Lifting burdens.

And I learned something humbling.

Community requires both giving and receiving.

Sometimes allowing others to help is itself an act of love.

It allows them to express their kindness.

It allows relationships to deepen.

It reminds us that none of us were meant to carry every burden alone.

I discovered that receiving graciously can be just as important as giving generously.

Both are part of Zion.

A Different Kind of Wealth

The older I get, the less impressed I am by certain kinds of wealth.

I have seen wealthy people who were lonely.

I have seen successful people who were miserable.

I have seen impressive accomplishments that brought very little peace.

I have also seen people with modest means who seemed rich in all the ways that mattered most.

Rich in friendship.

Rich in purpose.

Rich in gratitude.

Rich in faith.

Rich in relationships.

The richest communities I have ever seen were not necessarily the wealthiest.

They were the communities where people knew one another.

Where children were loved.

Where older people were respected.

Where neighbors checked on neighbors.

Where people knew they belonged.

Money can build buildings.

Only love builds community.

What Zion Looks Like

I don't think Zion begins with grand announcements.

I don't think it begins with impressive programs.

I think it begins when people refuse to ignore one another.

When they notice.

When they care.

When they help.

When they treat strangers like neighbors.

When they treat neighbors like family.

When they see another person's burden and decide not to walk past it.

The Savior seemed to notice people everyone else overlooked.

The lonely.

The struggling.

The forgotten.

The hurting.

Perhaps that is one reason His presence brought so much healing.

People knew they were seen.

That is what "no poor among them" means to me.

Not merely a society with fewer financial problems.

A people who refuse to let others suffer alone.

The Invitation

Look around.

Who in your life needs encouragement?

Who needs a phone call?

Who needs a visit?

Who needs a friend?

Who needs to know they have not been forgotten?

The answers are usually closer than we think.

You do not need great wealth.

You do not need a title.

You do not need special training.

You simply need a willing heart.

One act of kindness.

One conversation.

One meal.

One prayer.

One visit.

One person at a time.

That is how communities change.

That is how Zion grows.

And little by little, one caring heart at a time, there become fewer and fewer poor among us.

Not simply because people have more.

But because people are loved.

____________________________________________________________________________________

Chapter 8

The Power of Service

When I was younger, I thought successful people were the people who had the most.

The most money.

The most influence.

The most recognition.

The most accomplishments.

The most impressive resumes.

The biggest houses.

The nicest cars.

The older I get, the less convinced I am.

Some of the happiest people I have ever known were not wealthy.

They were not famous.

They were not powerful.

Most people outside their families would never have recognized their names.

What they had was something else.

They had learned how to serve.

And there is something about service that changes a person.

Not just the person receiving it.

The person giving it.

Service enlarges the heart.

It helps us see beyond ourselves.

It reminds us that life is bigger than our own concerns.

The longer I live, the more I believe that a meaningful life is not measured by what we accumulate.

It is measured by what we contribute.

Korea Taught Me Something

Many years ago, as a young missionary in Korea, I thought I was going there to help other people.

And hopefully I did.

But looking back now, I think the Lord had another purpose too.

He wanted to change me.

Service has a way of doing that.

As a young missionary, I met people whose lives were very different from my own.

Different language.

Different culture.

Different customs.

Different life experiences.

Yet the more time I spent with people, the more I realized how much we all have in common.

You knock on doors.

You sit in small homes.

You listen to people.

You hear their stories.

You pray with them.

Sometimes you cry with them.

Sometimes you simply sit and listen.

And you begin to discover that people everywhere carry burdens.

Different cultures.

Different languages.

Different circumstances.

Yet many of the same hopes.

Many of the same fears.

Many of the same needs.

Service taught me that people are more alike than we often realize.

The labels we place on one another tend to disappear when we sit down and truly listen.

The People We Remember

As the years pass, I have noticed something interesting.

People rarely talk about the most expensive thing they ever bought.

They rarely talk about the biggest television they owned.

Or the fanciest car.

Or the nicest piece of furniture.

What they remember are people.

The teacher who believed in them.

The coach who encouraged them.

The friend who stood by them.

The neighbor who helped them.

The person who showed up when life became difficult.

The person who cared.

The person who listened.

The person who stayed.

The older I get, the more convinced I am that a meaningful life is measured less by what we gather and more by what we give.

Years from now, most of our possessions will be forgotten.

But people rarely forget kindness.

Watching Service Up Close

One of the reasons I believe this is because I have watched it in my own home.

For years, I have watched my wife quietly serve people.

Missionaries.

Friends.

Church members.

Neighbors.

Family members.

Meals prepared.

Phone calls made.

People encouraged.

People welcomed.

People helped.

Many of those acts were small.

Most of them went unnoticed.

Yet over time I realized something.

The world is held together by people like that.

People who quietly care.

People who quietly help.

People who do not need recognition.

People who simply see a need and respond.

The older I get, the more convinced I become that some of the greatest work being done in the world never makes the news.

It happens quietly.

One person helping another.

One act of kindness at a time.

Service Is Usually Small

When we hear stories about service, we often think of dramatic events.

Heroic acts.

Great sacrifices.

Life-changing moments.

Sometimes service looks like that.

Most of the time it doesn't.

Most service looks ordinary.

A visit.

A conversation.

A meal.

A ride.

A text message.

A prayer.

A listening ear.

A few minutes of attention.

A kind word at exactly the right moment.

The world often overlooks these things.

Heaven probably doesn't.

Some of the most important moments in a person's life come through simple acts of kindness.

The kind that seem small to the giver but mean everything to the receiver.

Learning to Notice

One thing Christ seemed to do better than anyone was notice people.

Not crowds.

People.

The lonely person.

The hurting person.

The overlooked person.

The struggling person.

The person everyone else walked past.

The person sitting alone.

The person carrying a burden nobody else could see.

The older I get, the more I think service begins with noticing.

Most opportunities to help are already around us.

We simply move too fast to see them.

A smile.

An encouraging word.

A few minutes of attention.

A sincere question.

A willingness to listen.

Sometimes those small things matter more than we realize.

The world changes when people begin paying attention to one another.

Receiving Service

One lesson I wasn't expecting came during my health challenges.

For most of my life, I preferred being the helper.

Not the one needing help.

I was much more comfortable serving than being served.

Then life changed.

People prayed for me.

Checked on me.

Encouraged me.

Helped me.

Offered support.

Lifted burdens.

And I learned something humbling.

Receiving service can be just as important as giving it.

It reminds us that we are not alone.

It allows others to express love.

It strengthens relationships.

It teaches us that community works both ways.

I discovered that pride sometimes hides behind independence.

Sometimes allowing others to help is an act of humility.

And sometimes it is an act of love.

Sometimes the Lord teaches us through helping others.

Sometimes He teaches us through allowing others to help us.

Both lessons matter.

There Is Always Something We Can Give

One thing I have learned is that service is not limited to people with money.

Not everyone can write a large check.

Not everyone can lift heavy boxes.

Not everyone has endless energy.

Not everyone has perfect health.

But everyone has something.

A smile.

A prayer.

An encouraging word.

A story.

A friendship.

A phone call.

A listening ear.

A note.

A visit.

A few minutes of attention.

The opportunities may change as we grow older.

The ability to love never disappears.

As long as we have a heart willing to care, we still have something to give.

What Remains

As I look back on life, many things that once seemed important no longer seem quite so important.

Titles fade.

Possessions fade.

Achievements fade.

Careers eventually end.

Trophies gather dust.

Accomplishments become memories.

What remains are people.

Relationships.

Memories.

Moments of kindness.

Moments of love.

Moments when someone helped carry another person's burden.

Moments when someone simply showed up.

Those things endure.

Those things matter.

Those things are remembered.

Zion Through Service

I don't think Zion is built primarily through programs.

I think it is built through people.

People who care.

People who notice.

People who serve.

People who help.

People who ask:

"What can I do?"

instead of:

"What can I get?"

Every act of service strengthens a family.

Strengthens a neighborhood.

Strengthens a community.

Strengthens a life.

Long before Zion becomes a city, it becomes a people who care for one another.

The Invitation

You do not need to wait for a grand opportunity.

The opportunity is probably already nearby.

A family member.

A neighbor.

A friend.

A stranger.

Someone who needs encouragement.

Someone who needs help.

Someone who simply needs to know they matter.

Service rarely begins with a grand plan.

It begins with a willing heart.

One act of kindness.

One conversation.

One prayer.

One visit.

One person at a time.

That is how Zion grows.

Not through speeches.

Not through programs.

But through ordinary people choosing to love one another.

And when enough ordinary people do that, extraordinary things begin to happen.

____________________________________________________________________________________

Chapter 9

Healing Broken Relationships

Some of the deepest pain in life does not come from strangers.

It comes from people we love.

Family.

Friends.

People we trusted.

People we expected would always be there.

One of the hardest lessons I have learned is that even good people can hurt one another.

Not because they are evil.

Not because they intended to.

Because they are human.

They misunderstand.

They assume.

They react.

They carry wounds of their own.

And sooner or later, every one of us discovers that relationships can break.

Sometimes suddenly.

Sometimes slowly.

Sometimes through a single event.

Sometimes through years of accumulated disappointment.

If Zion is ever going to become more than an idea, we must learn how to deal with those wounds.

Because no family can thrive where bitterness becomes permanent.

And no community can thrive where everyone is keeping score.

The Pain of Family

A few years ago, after my mother passed away, I found myself in the middle of a family situation that left me hurting.

There was no villain.

No evil person.

No dramatic betrayal.

Just good people seeing things differently.

People carrying different expectations.

Different fears.

Different perspectives.

Different hurts.

Emotions became involved.

Misunderstandings followed.

And before long, relationships felt strained.

I suspect many readers have experienced something similar.

The details are different.

The feelings are not.

What surprised me was how quickly people who loved one another could find themselves standing on opposite sides of an issue.

Not because love disappeared.

But because pain arrived.

And pain has a way of clouding understanding.

One thing I learned is that our own side of the story always feels very clear.

Understanding someone else's side often requires much more effort.

The Stories We Tell Ourselves

One of the dangers of hurt is that we begin writing stories in our minds.

"They don't care."

"They should know better."

"They meant to hurt me."

"They don't understand."

Sometimes those stories are accurate.

Often they are incomplete.

The older I get, the more I realize how little I know about another person's internal struggles.

Their fears.

Their worries.

Their disappointments.

The burdens they carry silently.

One question has helped me many times:

"What might I not understand?"

That question has saved me from many wrong conclusions.

Because once we begin assuming motives, we often stop listening.

And when listening stops, healing becomes much harder.

Bitterness Is Heavy

There was a time in my life when I thought holding on to hurt somehow protected me.

It didn't.

It only made me heavier.

Bitterness is strange that way.

The person who hurt us may sleep just fine.

Meanwhile, we carry the burden everywhere.

Into our conversations.

Into our prayers.

Into our families.

Into our future.

I discovered that resentment demands constant energy.

It asks us to relive the same wound again and again.

To replay old conversations.

To revisit old disappointments.

To keep old arguments alive.

Eventually I realized something.

Bitterness was hurting me far more than it was hurting anyone else.

That realization was the beginning of healing.

The Lord Taught Me Through Recovery

During my health challenges and recovery, I spent a lot of time thinking.

Probably more than I wanted to.

When life slows down, old hurts sometimes rise to the surface.

Disappointments.

Misunderstandings.

Conversations that never happened.

Relationships that feel unfinished.

Things we thought we had already moved beyond.

As I sat with those thoughts, the Lord began teaching me something unexpected.

He seemed less interested in helping me win old arguments.

And more interested in helping me find peace.

That surprised me.

Perhaps because peace is harder than winning.

Winning feeds pride.

Peace heals hearts.

I slowly began to understand that the Lord cared more about what was happening inside me than He did about proving who was right.

That lesson changed the way I looked at many things.

Forgiveness Doesn't Change the Past

One of the things I misunderstood for years was forgiveness.

I thought forgiveness meant pretending nothing happened.

It doesn't.

Forgiveness doesn't erase history.

It doesn't excuse harmful behavior.

It doesn't require us to deny reality.

Forgiveness simply means we stop allowing the wound to control our future.

We release the burden.

Not because the past changed.

Because we want freedom.

Sometimes forgiveness happens quickly.

More often it happens gradually.

One prayer at a time.

One decision at a time.

One act of surrender at a time.

Some wounds heal slowly.

That doesn't mean healing isn't happening.

What We Can Control

One lesson life keeps teaching me is this:

There are some things we control.

And some things we don't.

We can choose kindness.

We can choose honesty.

We can choose humility.

We can choose forgiveness.

We can choose love.

But we cannot force another person to understand.

We cannot force reconciliation.

We cannot force healing.

For years that frustrated me.

I wanted solutions.

I wanted closure.

I wanted everyone to see things clearly.

Eventually I realized that peace often begins when we stop trying to control what belongs to someone else.

There is tremendous freedom in doing our part and placing the rest in the Lord's hands.

A Better Question

As I have grown older, I find myself asking a different question.

Instead of:

"How can I prove I am right?"

I ask:

"How can I preserve the relationship?"

That question changed everything.

It changed how I viewed family conflicts.

It changed how I viewed disagreements.

It changed how I viewed people.

Not every relationship can be restored immediately.

Some take time.

Some require patience.

Some require distance for a season.

Some require many small steps.

But asking that question softens the heart.

It shifts us away from winning and toward healing.

And healing is almost always where Zion begins.

The Example of Christ

When I think about broken relationships, I often think about the Savior.

He understood misunderstanding.

He understood rejection.

He understood unfair criticism.

He understood disappointment.

Yet again and again, He chose compassion.

Again and again, He chose mercy.

Again and again, He chose love.

Not because people deserved it.

Because that was who He was.

The more I study His life, the more I realize that love is not merely something Christ taught.

It is something He lived.

And perhaps that is why His influence continues to heal people two thousand years later.

Zion and Reconciliation

Zion cannot be built on resentment.

It cannot be built on revenge.

It cannot be built on keeping score.

It must be built upon people willing to keep reaching.

People willing to listen.

People willing to forgive.

People willing to extend grace.

Not because they are weak.

Because they understand that relationships matter more than pride.

The strongest people I know are not the ones who never get hurt.

They are the ones who continue choosing love after they do.

The Invitation

Is there someone you need to call?

Someone you need to forgive?

Someone you need to understand a little better?

Someone whose story you may not fully know?

Perhaps the relationship cannot be repaired overnight.

Most meaningful healing rarely happens that way.

But maybe the next step is possible.

A prayer.

A conversation.

A letter.

An apology.

A willingness to listen.

A willingness to see another person's humanity.

The path to Zion is not paved with perfect relationships.

It is built by imperfect people who keep choosing love anyway.

One act of grace at a time.

One act of forgiveness at a time.

One relationship at a time.

And sometimes the healing begins the moment we decide that being at peace is more important than being right.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Chapter 10

Produce More Than You Consume

A few years ago, I found myself standing on a piece of land out in the country.

There wasn't much there.

No house.

No trees providing shade.

No garden.

No family gatherings.

Just open ground.

A few plans.

A lot of possibilities.

As I stood there looking across that property, I found myself imagining what it might become someday.

A home.

A gathering place.

A garden.

A place where family could visit.

A place where grandchildren might someday run and play.

A place where people could sit on a porch and watch the sunset.

The vision came easily.

Reality took a little more work.

What struck me later was this:

None of those things would happen by accident.

If I wanted a road, someone had to build it.

If I wanted water, someone had to provide it.

If I wanted a garden, someone had to plant it.

If I wanted a home, someone had to create it.

Dreams are wonderful.

But dreams alone don't build anything.

Nothing grows because we wish for it.

Someone has to contribute.

Someone has to build.

Someone has to produce.

That simple realization taught me a principle that has stayed with me ever since:

Produce more than you consume.

The Difference Between Builders and Spectators

The older I get, the more I notice there are two ways to move through life.

Some people build.

Others mostly observe.

Builders improve things.

They encourage.

They create.

They help.

They contribute.

They leave things better than they found them.

Spectators often criticize.

They point out flaws.

They explain why something won't work.

They consume what others create.

One group leaves something behind.

The other mostly comments on what already exists.

I have spent enough years around both groups to know which one brings more happiness.

Builders almost always seem happier.

Maybe because they are focused on creating rather than criticizing.

Maybe because contributing gives life meaning.

Whatever the reason, I have noticed the pattern over and over again.

Gardens Teach the Truth

One thing I love about gardens is their honesty.

A garden doesn't care about our intentions.

It responds to our effort.

Seeds must be planted.

Water must be provided.

Weeds must be removed.

Time must pass.

Only then comes the harvest.

I have never seen a garden grow because someone talked about gardening.

It grows because someone actually gardens.

Life works much the same way.

Strong marriages are planted and tended.

Strong families are planted and tended.

Strong friendships are planted and tended.

Strong communities are planted and tended.

Faith is planted and tended.

Character is planted and tended.

The harvest usually arrives long after the work begins.

That can be frustrating.

But it is also one of God's great lessons.

The harvest comes to those who keep planting.

What Recovery Taught Me

During my health challenges, I found myself spending more time sitting and thinking than I ever expected.

At first that frustrated me.

I was used to doing.

Fixing.

Building.

Solving.

Moving.

I had projects.

Plans.

Things I wanted to accomplish.

Then life slowed me down.

Much more than I wanted.

At first it felt like everything had stopped.

Then something interesting happened.

I realized that even when I couldn't do everything I once did physically, I could still contribute.

I could encourage.

I could listen.

I could write.

I could pray.

I could help someone who was struggling.

I could share something I had learned.

That lesson changed the way I think about contribution.

Producing is not limited to physical labor.

Some of the most valuable things we create are invisible.

Hope.

Peace.

Encouragement.

Faith.

Understanding.

Wisdom.

Love.

The older I get, the more valuable those things seem.

The Blogs Were Never About Me

Over the years, I have written hundreds of blog posts.

Sometimes people ask me why.

The honest answer is that I rarely started writing because I wanted attention.

Most of the time I wrote because I hoped something I had learned might help someone else.

A struggling person.

A searching person.

Someone who felt alone.

Someone trying to find Christ.

Someone looking for hope.

Someone asking the same questions I had asked.

Many times I have sat down and written something with no idea whether anyone would ever read it.

But occasionally a reader writes and says:

"I needed that today."

Or:

"That helped me."

Or:

"I thought I was the only one."

And suddenly all the effort feels worthwhile.

One small contribution can travel farther than we realize.

A single seed can produce a harvest we never get to see.

The Richest People I Know

Some of the most productive people I know are not wealthy.

In fact, some have very little.

Yet they somehow leave every room better than they found it.

They encourage.

They help.

They uplift.

They bring peace.

They bring hope.

People enjoy being around them because they add something wherever they go.

That is a form of wealth too.

Perhaps one of the most valuable forms.

The older I get, the more I admire people who make life better for everyone around them.

That kind of richness never appears on a bank statement.

Yet it blesses everyone it touches.

Producing Peace

The world produces plenty of anger on its own.

Plenty of division.

Plenty of criticism.

Plenty of fear.

Peace does not appear automatically.

Someone has to create it.

Someone has to choose it.

Someone has to invest in it.

Families become stronger when people intentionally produce peace.

Communities become stronger when people intentionally produce peace.

Relationships become stronger when people intentionally produce peace.

One kind word.

One apology.

One act of patience.

One act of understanding.

Peace is one of the most valuable things we can contribute.

And perhaps one of the most needed.

One Person Matters

Many people underestimate their influence.

They think:

"I'm only one person."

History tells a different story.

One parent shapes generations.

One teacher changes lives.

One friend alters another person's future.

One mentor changes a direction.

One act of kindness changes someone's day.

One encouraging word arrives at exactly the right moment.

Never underestimate what one caring person can do.

The ripple often travels farther than we ever see.

Most of the good we do will never fully be known in this life.

That doesn't make it less valuable.

What Will Remain?

As I grow older, I find myself asking different questions than I did when I was young.

I no longer wonder as much about what I own.

I wonder more about what I leave behind.

Did I help?

Did I encourage?

Did I strengthen?

Did I make life a little better for somebody else?

Did I leave people with more hope than they had before?

Those questions seem increasingly important.

Because in the end, what we leave behind is not primarily possessions.

It is influence.

The way we treated people.

The way we served.

The way we loved.

Zion Builders

A Zion people are builders.

Not necessarily builders of buildings.

Builders of people.

Builders of families.

Builders of communities.

Builders of hope.

Builders of peace.

Builders of faith.

Builders of relationships.

Rather than asking:

"What can I take?"

They ask:

"What can I contribute?"

That simple question changes everything.

Because the moment we begin contributing, we become part of the solution.

The Invitation

Look around your life today.

Who needs encouragement?

Who needs help?

Who needs a listening ear?

Who needs hope?

Who needs a friend?

The opportunity to contribute is usually closer than we think.

You do not need to change the whole world.

Simply leave your corner of it better than you found it.

Plant a seed.

Encourage a friend.

Strengthen a relationship.

Lift a burden.

Offer a prayer.

Build something good.

And little by little, you will discover one of life's deepest joys:

The joy that comes from producing more than you consume.

The joy of becoming a builder.

The joy of helping Zion grow.

____________________________________________________________________________________

Chapter 11

Consecration in Everyday Life

For many years, the word consecration sounded larger than life.

It sounded like something reserved for saints, pioneers, or people far more spiritual than I felt.

It sounded complicated.

Serious.

Almost intimidating.

When I was younger, I imagined consecration as some great sacrifice that only extraordinary people could live.

The older I get, the simpler it seems.

Consecration is taking what God has given us and using it to bless others.

That's it.

Not perfection.

Not heroics.

Not grand gestures.

Simply taking what has been placed in our hands and asking:

"Lord, what would You have me do with this?"

The answer is often much simpler than we expect.

Standing on the Ranch

A few years ago, I stood on a piece of property and looked across the land.

There wasn't much there yet.

No house.

No garden.

No family gathering around a table.

Just possibilities.

As I looked across that land, a thought came to me.

None of this really belongs to me.

I may care for it.

I may improve it.

I may enjoy it.

But ultimately it is a stewardship.

One day somebody else will stand where I stood.

One day somebody else will benefit from whatever I leave behind.

One day somebody else will enjoy the trees, the improvements, the work, or whatever eventually grows there.

That realization changed how I looked at ownership.

Maybe very little actually belongs to us.

Maybe we are caretakers for a season.

Stewards.

Not owners.

That simple thought changed the way I looked at many things.

Not just land.

Time.

Relationships.

Opportunities.

Resources.

Even life itself.

What My Wife Taught Me

One of the greatest lessons about consecration came not from a book but from watching my wife.

For years I watched her quietly serve.

Feeding missionaries.

Helping friends.

Encouraging people.

Opening our home.

Giving time.

Giving energy.

Giving love.

Most of those acts never appeared in a newspaper.

Most went unnoticed.

Yet they mattered.

They changed lives.

They strengthened relationships.

They brought people closer together.

Watching her taught me that consecration rarely announces itself.

It usually looks like ordinary love repeated day after day.

Most of the people who have blessed my life the most were not famous.

They simply cared.

They gave what they had.

And somehow that became enough.

What Recovery Changed

Health challenges have a way of changing priorities.

There comes a moment when you realize that time may be more valuable than money.

Attention may be more valuable than possessions.

Relationships may be more valuable than accomplishments.

During recovery, I spent many hours sitting quietly.

Thinking.

Praying.

Reflecting.

Sometimes wondering what the Lord was trying to teach me.

One question kept returning:

"What matters most now?"

The answers surprised me.

Not achievements.

Not recognition.

Not accumulation.

People.

Family.

Faith.

Relationships.

Helping others.

The things that endure.

Many things I once worried about seemed much smaller.

Many things I once overlooked seemed much larger.

The Lord has a way of teaching perspective when life slows down.

The Gift Hidden Inside Hardship

One thing age has taught me is that God wastes very little.

Experiences we would never choose often become some of our greatest gifts.

Pain teaches compassion.

Failure teaches humility.

Loss teaches gratitude.

Struggles teach understanding.

Heartbreak teaches empathy.

The lessons learned through hardship often become exactly what someone else needs.

I have found myself encouraging people facing challenges simply because I have walked through a few of my own.

Years ago I might not have understood.

Now I do.

What once felt like a burden became a blessing.

Not immediately.

But eventually.

The Lord often turns our wounds into tools for helping others heal.

Time Is Holy

The older I become, the more aware I am that time is precious.

Every day is a gift.

Every conversation is a gift.

Every opportunity is a gift.

When we are young, it feels as though time stretches forever.

Eventually we realize otherwise.

That realization changes things.

It makes us ask different questions.

Instead of:

"What do I want today?"

We begin asking:

"What matters today?"

Who needs encouragement today?

Who needs my attention today?

What would the Lord have me do with the hours I have been given today?

Consecration often begins there.

In how we spend the time we have been given.

Why I Keep Writing

People occasionally ask why I spend so much time writing.

The answer is simple.

I hope something I have learned might help somebody else.

Maybe a person struggling with faith.

Maybe someone feeling alone.

Maybe someone searching for Christ.

Maybe someone looking for peace.

Maybe someone facing a challenge similar to one I have faced.

Will every article matter?

Probably not.

Will every post change a life?

Probably not.

But occasionally someone writes and says:

"I needed that today."

Or:

"That helped me."

Or:

"I thought I was the only one."

And suddenly all the effort feels worthwhile.

A small offering can travel farther than we imagine.

A single seed can produce a harvest we never see.

Perhaps that is one reason the Lord asks us to share what we have been given.

Open Hands

One thing I have noticed is that blessings seem to flow best through open hands.

Closed hands cling.

Open hands share.

Closed hands fear loss.

Open hands trust.

Closed hands try to possess.

Open hands try to bless.

The Lord seems remarkably willing to place blessings into the lives of people who are willing to pass blessings forward.

Not because He wants us to become poor.

Because He wants us to become generous.

There is a difference.

Generosity creates abundance wherever it goes.

Small Things Change Lives

Many people imagine that changing the world requires extraordinary acts.

Most of the changes I have witnessed came through ordinary people.

A meal.

A visit.

A phone call.

A prayer.

A listening ear.

A kind word.

A small act of service.

Repeated over time.

Those small things have enormous power.

The world often overlooks them.

Heaven probably doesn't.

Some of the most important moments in our lives happen because somebody cared enough to do something small.

The Heart of Consecration

At its heart, consecration is not about possessions.

It is about gratitude.

Recognizing that life itself is a gift.

The people we love are gifts.

The experiences we have are gifts.

The opportunities before us are gifts.

Even many of our struggles become gifts eventually.

And gifts are meant to bless.

The question is never:

"How much do I have?"

The question is:

"What can I do with what I have been given?"

That question changes everything.

The Invitation

Take a moment and look around your life.

Your family.

Your experiences.

Your talents.

Your relationships.

Your opportunities.

Your story.

What if these things are not merely for you?

What if they are gifts entrusted to you for a season?

What if they are meant to bless others?

You do not need extraordinary resources.

You simply need a willing heart.

One conversation.

One act of kindness.

One prayer.

One encouraging word.

One day at a time.

That is how consecration begins.

And that is how Zion grows.

Not through people trying to own everything.

But through people learning to share everything God has placed in their hands.

One gift at a time.

One person at a time.

One act of love at a time.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Chapter 12

The Joy of Simplicity

A few years ago, if you had asked me what I needed most, I probably would have given you a long list.

More time.

More energy.

The Porch Lesson

One of my favorite places is a quiet porch.

Not because anything exciting happens there.

Usually nothing happens there.

That's the point.

You sit.

You watch the sunrise.

You watch the clouds.

You listen to the wind.

You watch the light change across the landscape.

You think.

You pray.

You notice.

Some of the most meaningful moments of my life have happened while sitting quietly and doing almost nothing.

At least that's what it looked like from the outside.

Inside, something important was happening.

The older I get, the more I appreciate places where nothing urgent is happening.

Those places often become the places where God speaks.

Not loudly.

Quietly.

The world is full of noise.

The soul often grows in stillness.

The Day the Lord Slowed Me Down

For most of my life, I was used to solving problems.

If something needed fixing, fix it.

If something needed building, build it.

If there was work to do, get moving.

I liked projects.

I liked progress.

I liked seeing things move forward.

Then came seasons when I simply couldn't move as fast as before.

Recovery teaches lessons that productivity never can.

One of those lessons was this:

Life is not a race.

There is no prize for exhaustion.

No trophy for stress.

No medal for being constantly busy.

Yet many of us live as if there were.

For years I thought being productive and being valuable were nearly the same thing.

The Lord seemed to be teaching me something entirely different.

Slow down.

Listen.

Pay attention.

Be present.

Learn.

Trust.

Some lessons only arrive when life gets quiet enough for us to hear them.

Watching Grandchildren

One of the blessings of getting older is grandchildren.

Children know things adults forget.

They know how to wonder.

How to laugh.

How to be fascinated by simple things.

A butterfly.

A rock.

A funny story.

A puddle.

A sunset.

A stick can become a sword.

A cardboard box can become an adventure.

A few minutes can become a memory.

I have watched grandchildren become completely absorbed in moments adults barely notice.

Sometimes I think children are better at simplicity than the rest of us.

Perhaps that is why Christ spoke so highly of them.

They haven't yet learned to complicate everything.

They simply enjoy the moment they are in.

There is wisdom in that.

Enough

One word has become increasingly important to me as the years pass.

Enough.

The world constantly whispers:

More.

More money.

More success.

More possessions.

More recognition.

More accomplishments.

More influence.

More everything.

Yet eventually a person begins asking a different question.

How much is enough?

The older I get, the more I realize contentment is not laziness.

It is gratitude.

It is appreciating what God has already placed in front of us.

Not because we stop growing.

Not because we stop improving.

Because we stop chasing endlessly.

There is a difference.

One produces peace.

The other produces exhaustion.

The Ranch Taught Me Something

Standing on my property one day, I found myself imagining all the things that could be added.

A larger building.

More improvements.

More projects.

More plans.

More things to accomplish.

My mind was busy creating a future.

Then another thought came.

What if I simply enjoyed what was already there?

The open sky.

The quiet.

The beauty.

The peace.

The stillness.

The sunrise.

The stars.

The feeling of being away from the noise of the world.

Sometimes we become so focused on improving life that we forget to live it.

That lesson has stayed with me.

The Lord created beauty long before I arrived there.

Sometimes my job is simply to notice it.

Presence Is a Gift

The older I become, the more convinced I am that presence is one of the greatest gifts we can give another person.

People want to be seen.

Heard.

Valued.

Loved.

Those things cannot be purchased.

They require attention.

They require time.

They require us to put down distractions and truly be with another human being.

I have learned that some of the people I remember most are not the ones who gave me things.

They are the ones who gave me themselves.

Their attention.

Their time.

Their friendship.

Their presence.

Many of life's greatest gifts are completely free.

Yet they are often the most valuable.

Learning to Notice

One thing I have discovered is that God rarely stopped speaking.

I was simply too distracted to hear Him.

The sunrise was there.

The quiet impressions were there.

The opportunities to help were there.

The blessings were there.

The answers were often there.

The problem was not their absence.

The problem was my attention.

Simplicity creates room to notice.

And noticing changes everything.

A person who notices blessings lives differently than a person who overlooks them.

A person who notices people treats them differently too.

Comparison Is a Thief

Modern life makes comparison almost unavoidable.

Someone always has more.

A bigger house.

A larger bank account.

A better story.

More success.

More recognition.

Comparison is exhausting.

And it never ends.

There will always be someone with more.

Gratitude ends it.

The moment we begin appreciating what we already have, comparison starts losing its power.

I have found far more peace in gratitude than I ever found in comparison.

The Things That Last

As I look back across my life, many things I once thought were important seem less important now.

Possessions.

Titles.

Achievements.

Recognition.

The things that once seemed urgent often seem surprisingly small.

What remains are people.

Family.

Faith.

Friendships.

Experiences.

Moments.

Conversations.

Acts of kindness.

The things that last are surprisingly simple.

And they are almost always connected to relationships.

Zion and Simplicity

A Zion people understand something the world often forgets.

The best things in life are rarely complicated.

Love God.

Love people.

Serve others.

Listen for His voice.

Walk with Christ.

Those truths have remained true in every season of my life.

Young or old.

Healthy or struggling.

Busy or quiet.

Whether standing on a ranch property.

Sitting on a porch.

Holding a grandchild.

Or kneeling in prayer.

They remain true.

The older I get, the more beautiful their simplicity becomes.

The Invitation

Perhaps life is inviting you to slow down a little.

To breathe.

To notice.

To listen.

To appreciate what is already around you.

A sunrise.

A spouse.

A grandchild.

A friend.

A prayer.

A quiet moment with God.

The path to Zion is not always found by doing more.

Sometimes it is found by finally noticing what has been there all along.

And discovering that joy was never waiting somewhere in the future.

It was sitting quietly beside you the entire time.

Waiting to be noticed.

Waiting on a porch.

Waiting in a prayer.

Waiting in a relationship.

Waiting in the simple gifts God had already placed in your life.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Chapter 13

The Way of the Peacemaker

When I was younger, I thought strong people were the people who won.

The people with the answers.

The people who could persuade others.

The people who could prove their point.

The people who could walk away victorious.

The older I get, the more my definition of strength has changed.

Now I think some of the strongest people I have ever met are peacemakers.

Not weak people.

Not passive people.

Strong people.

People who carry peace into difficult situations.

People who help others feel safe.

People who make a room calmer simply by entering it.

When I study the life of Christ, that is what I see.

A peacemaker.

Again and again.

Not because He lacked power.

Because He understood how true power works.

The older I get, the more convinced I become that peace is one of the highest forms of strength.

Learning the Hard Way

For many years, I thought if people could just see things the way I saw them, problems would disappear.

Maybe you've felt that way too.

The difficulty is that everybody thinks that.

Family members.

Friends.

Neighbors.

Church members.

People on opposite sides of every issue imaginable.

I certainly had strong opinions.

Still do.

There are things I care deeply about.

Things I believe.

Things I feel strongly about.

Yet life has taught me something important.

Winning an argument and helping a person are not always the same thing.

Sometimes they are completely different things.

The older I get, the more I realize that understanding another person is usually more helpful than trying to defeat them.

That lesson did not come naturally.

It came through experience.

And usually through mistakes.

Family Taught Me This Lesson

Over the years, I have experienced situations where people I love saw things very differently than I did.

Sometimes the differences were small.

Sometimes they were significant.

At first I often focused on solving the disagreement.

Finding the answer.

Proving the point.

Explaining my position.

Eventually I began focusing on preserving the relationship.

That shift changed everything.

The question became less:

"How do I win this discussion?"

And more:

"How do I protect this relationship?"

One question produces conflict.

The other creates peace.

As I have grown older, I have discovered that many relationships are worth more than the satisfaction of being right.

That doesn't mean truth stops mattering.

It means people matter too.

The Talking Feather

One of the most meaningful symbols in my life has become the Talking Feather.

Different traditions understand it differently.

For me, it represents something simple.

Respect.

Listening.

Patience.

Humility.

A willingness to hear another person's heart.

The feather does not force.

It does not dominate.

It does not demand.

It does not overpower.

It speaks when invited.

It listens.

It honors.

It helps.

It brings clarity without creating unnecessary conflict.

When I write, teach, or share thoughts with others, I try to remember that.

I am not trying to force anyone.

I am not trying to win.

I am simply offering what I have learned and inviting others to seek truth for themselves.

The older I become, the more I think Christ taught that way.

And the more I think I want to live that way.

Strength Under Control

One thing life has taught me is that reacting is easy.

Anybody can react.

Anybody can criticize.

Anybody can become angry.

Anybody can strike back.

Anybody can raise their voice.

Remaining peaceful is harder.

Remaining kind is harder.

Remaining patient is harder.

Yet those things require far more strength.

The strongest person in the room is often not the loudest.

It is the person who remains calm when everyone else is losing theirs.

The person who chooses understanding over escalation.

The person who can disagree without becoming disagreeable.

The person who refuses to let anger take control.

That kind of strength is rare.

And powerful.

What Recovery Revealed

Health challenges have a way of simplifying life.

When your world becomes smaller for a season, you begin noticing different things.

During recovery, I spent a lot of time thinking.

Praying.

Reflecting.

Looking back.

Looking forward.

Trying to understand what the Lord was teaching me.

One realization kept returning.

Peace matters more than I once realized.

Not superficial peace.

Not avoiding reality.

Not pretending everything is fine.

Real peace.

The kind that allows you to sleep.

The kind that allows you to forgive.

The kind that allows you to love people even when they disagree with you.

The kind that allows you to trust God with things you cannot fix.

The Lord seemed far more interested in teaching me peace than proving me right.

That lesson has stayed with me.

Seeing People Differently

One thing Christ seemed to do remarkably well was see people differently.

Where others saw problems, He saw people.

Where others saw labels, He saw individuals.

Where others saw enemies, He saw souls.

The older I get, the more I realize how much suffering people carry.

Invisible suffering.

Private suffering.

Family struggles.

Health struggles.

Financial struggles.

Spiritual struggles.

Wounds nobody else sees.

When we remember that, compassion comes easier.

And judgment becomes harder.

Most people are fighting battles we know nothing about.

Remembering that changes the way we treat them.

Love Before Correction

There are times when truth matters.

There are times when difficult conversations are necessary.

There are times when correction is appropriate.

I have spent years studying, searching, writing, and sharing ideas I care deeply about.

Yet I have noticed something.

People hear truth more clearly when they know they are loved.

Love opens doors that force never will.

Kindness reaches places that arguments cannot.

Respect creates opportunities that pressure destroys.

The goal is not merely to be right.

The goal is to help.

To heal.

To bless.

Christ understood that.

I am still learning it.

A Room Full of Peacemakers

Sometimes I imagine what would happen if every family had just one peacemaker.

One person who listened.

One person who forgave.

One person who chose patience.

One person who helped people feel safe.

One person who refused to escalate conflict.

The atmosphere would change.

Families would change.

Communities would change.

Churches would change.

The world would change.

Peacemakers are more powerful than they realize.

Often they influence a room without saying very much at all.

Zion and the Peacemaker

I no longer believe Zion will be built primarily by powerful people.

I think it will be built by peacemakers.

People who listen.

People who forgive.

People who encourage.

People who build bridges.

People who carry Christ's spirit into ordinary conversations.

People who care more about healing than winning.

That is how communities become stronger.

That is how families become stronger.

That is how hearts become stronger.

That is how Zion grows.

The Invitation

The world offers countless opportunities to react.

To criticize.

To argue.

To divide.

The peacemaker chooses another way.

A quieter way.

A stronger way.

The way of patience.

The way of understanding.

The way of kindness.

The way of Christ.

As you move through your life, perhaps ask yourself one simple question:

"What would a peacemaker do here?"

That question has changed many things in my life.

It continues to change me still.

Because every act of peacemaking becomes another stone in the foundation of Zion.

A people who heal rather than harm.

A people who unite rather than divide.

A people who choose love over victory.

A people who listen before they speak.

A people who walk the way of the Peacemaker.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Chapter 14

Walking With Christ

If someone were to ask me what I have learned after all these years, I think my answer would surprise them.

I have spent years studying.

Years reading.

Years searching.

Years asking questions.

I have studied scripture.

Church history.

Ancient records.

Prophecy.

Patterns.

Stories.

Teachings.

I've read things most people have never heard of.

I've chased ideas down trails that sometimes led somewhere useful and sometimes didn't.

I've spent countless hours trying to understand how all the pieces fit together.

And while I am grateful for everything I have learned, the most important discovery was not a doctrine.

It was not a theory.

It was not a record.

It was not a church.

It was not an idea.

It was a Person.

Jesus Christ.

The Search

Looking back, I can see that much of my life was a search.

I didn't always realize that was what I was doing.

I thought I was searching for truth.

Searching for understanding.

Searching for Zion.

Searching for answers.

Searching for hidden things.

Searching for the Lord's pattern.

And perhaps I was.

But eventually I discovered something.

The purpose of truth is not merely to make us informed.

The purpose of truth is to bring us to Christ.

The purpose of Zion is to bring us to Christ.

The purpose of scripture is to bring us to Christ.

The purpose of every genuine spiritual experience is to bring us to Christ.

Everything points to Him.

Everything.

Once I understood that, many things became simpler.

A Young Missionary in Korea

Many years ago, I found myself far from home.

A young missionary in Korea.

Everything was different.

The language.

The culture.

The food.

The customs.

At times it felt like I had been dropped onto another planet.

I was young.

Excited.

Sometimes uncertain.

Trying to learn a language.

Trying to serve people.

Trying to understand what the Lord wanted me to become.

Yet it was there, far away from familiar surroundings, that some of the most important things in my life began to take root.

I received a witness that God was real.

That Christ was real.

That He knew me.

Not as part of a crowd.

Not as another missionary.

Not as a name on a church record.

Me.

Personally.

That witness became an anchor.

I did not understand everything then.

Truthfully, I still don't understand everything now.

But I learned enough to keep walking.

And that has made all the difference.

The Savior Was Closer Than I Thought

For much of my life, I imagined Christ somewhere in the distance.

Present.

Watching.

Aware.

But far away.

The older I get, the more I realize how wrong I was.

The Lord was never far away.

He was there during victories.

He was there during failures.

He was there during family joys.

He was there during family heartaches.

He was there during moments of faith.

He was there during moments of confusion.

He was there when prayers seemed answered.

He was there when prayers seemed unanswered.

He was there when I felt strong.

He was there when I felt weak.

The distance was rarely His.

It was mine.

And even then, He never left.

Looking back now, I can see His fingerprints everywhere.

Many times I simply didn't recognize them at the time.

The Long Road of Learning

Over the years I have explored many ideas.

Some readers know that.

I've studied things most people have never heard of.

I've gone down rabbit trails.

I've read books that probably should have come with warning labels.

I've spent countless hours asking questions.

Sometimes people ask if I regret all that searching.

Not at all.

Because every road eventually taught me something.

Some taught me what was true.

Others taught me what wasn't.

Some expanded my understanding.

Others humbled me.

Some opened doors.

Others closed them.

But nearly all of them led to the same conclusion.

The closer something brought me to Christ, the more valuable it became.

The farther it pulled me from Him, the less valuable it became.

That simple test has helped me more than almost anything else.

If something increases my love for Christ, my trust in Christ, and my desire to follow Christ, it is worth paying attention to.

If it doesn't, eventually it loses its appeal.

The Lord Slowed Me Down

A few years ago, life changed.

Health challenges arrived that I never expected.

Plans changed.

Schedules changed.

Abilities changed.

For someone used to building, doing, fixing, and moving forward, it was frustrating.

I wanted answers.

I wanted progress.

I wanted a plan.

Instead, the Lord seemed to offer me something else.

Rest.

At one point, during prayer, an impression came that has stayed with me ever since.

"Be the patient."

Not fix everything.

Not solve everything.

Not carry everything.

Be the patient.

At first, I didn't understand.

I wanted solutions.

The Lord offered trust.

I wanted movement.

The Lord offered stillness.

I wanted answers.

The Lord offered Himself.

Over time I began to realize what He was teaching me.

He was inviting me to trust Him.

To stop striving quite so hard.

To allow Him to do His work.

That lesson may have changed me more than many of the answers I had spent years searching for.

The Porch

These days I spend more time sitting than I used to.

The younger version of me would have called that unproductive.

The older version knows better.

Some of the sweetest moments of my life now happen in quiet places.

A porch.

A sunrise.

A conversation.

A prayer.

A grandchild asking a question.

A moment of stillness.

I've discovered that Christ often speaks in those places.

Not through thunder.

Not through spectacle.

Through peace.

Through impressions.

Through quiet understanding.

Through a feeling that everything will be alright.

The world is noisy.

The Savior often isn't.

He seems perfectly comfortable speaking softly.

The challenge is learning to become quiet enough to hear Him.

Watching My Wife

One of the great blessings of my life has been watching my wife.

For years I have watched her quietly serve.

Feed missionaries.

Help friends.

Encourage people.

Care for others.

Most of it unnoticed.

Most of it uncelebrated.

Yet watching her taught me something about Christ.

The Savior's influence is often found in ordinary acts of love.

Not dramatic moments.

Daily moments.

A meal.

A visit.

A kind word.

A helping hand.

A quiet sacrifice.

The world notices grand accomplishments.

Heaven notices love.

The longer I live, the more convinced I become that Christ is often revealed through ordinary people quietly serving one another.

What Matters Now

The older I get, the shorter my list becomes.

Not because life matters less.

Because I finally understand what matters most.

Faith matters.

Family matters.

Kindness matters.

Service matters.

Relationships matter.

Forgiveness matters.

Walking with Christ matters.

Many things that once seemed important no longer seem quite so important.

The arguments.

The trophies.

The accomplishments.

The need to be right.

The need to impress.

Those things fade.

But Christ remains.

And the closer I draw to Him, the more everything else seems to find its proper place.

The Heart of Zion

For years I searched for Zion.

I studied it.

Read about it.

Wondered about it.

Prayed about it.

Today I think I understand something I missed when I was younger.

Zion is not primarily a place.

It is a people.

A people who walk with Christ.

A people who hear His voice.

A people who love as He loved.

Serve as He served.

Forgive as He forgave.

Trust as He trusted.

Follow as He followed the Father.

The closer I draw to Him, the more Zion makes sense.

Because Zion has always been His pattern.

And He has always been the center of it.

The Invitation

You do not need to know everything.

I certainly don't.

You do not need perfect faith.

You do not need all the answers.

You do not need to solve every mystery.

You simply need a willingness to walk.

One prayer at a time.

One act of kindness at a time.

One lesson at a time.

One day at a time.

If there is one thing I hope this book leaves with you, it is this:

The Savior is closer than you think.

Closer than your fears.

Closer than your doubts.

Closer than your struggles.

Closer than your mistakes.

Closer than your disappointments.

Closer than your questions.

And if you keep walking with Him long enough, you may discover what I have slowly discovered over a lifetime.

The greatest blessing was never finding every answer.

The greatest blessing was finding Him.

And realizing He had been walking beside me the whole time.

🌿🪶

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Chapter 15

Building Zion Where You Are

For many years, I thought Zion was somewhere else.

Some future gathering.

Some future city.

Some future place where everything would finally come together.

I imagined people gathering from far and wide.

Building communities.

Living in peace.

Creating something beautiful.

And perhaps some of that will happen someday.

I still believe great things lie ahead.

But over time, the Lord began teaching me something I had overlooked.

Zion does not begin when people arrive somewhere.

It begins when people become something.

And that can happen right where they are.

Today.

Not someday.

Today.

That realization changed the way I see almost everything.

Standing on Empty Ground

A few years ago, I stood on a piece of land and looked across what most people would have seen as empty space.

Dirt.

Brush.

Open sky.

Not much else.

But I wasn't seeing what was there.

I was seeing what could be there.

I imagined family gatherings.

Grandchildren running across the property.

Friends visiting.

Meals shared.

Conversations on a porch.

A place of peace.

A place where people could breathe.

A place where people could feel closer to God.

What struck me later was that none of those things existed yet.

The vision came before the reality.

The blueprint came before the building.

The possibility came before the fulfillment.

And I realized that Zion works the same way.

Before there is ever a community, there must first be a vision.

Before there is ever a harvest, there must be seeds.

Before there is ever a gathering, there must be people willing to live the pattern.

Everything begins long before it becomes visible.

Waiting for Someday

Many people spend years waiting.

Waiting for better conditions.

Waiting for more money.

Waiting for retirement.

Waiting for better health.

Waiting for the perfect opportunity.

Waiting for someday.

I've done it myself.

More than once.

Yet most of the good things in my life began long before conditions were perfect.

Friendships.

Family relationships.

Projects.

Dreams.

Faith.

Even this book.

The truth is that very little in life begins under perfect circumstances.

Zion won't either.

The people who build meaningful lives usually start before they feel completely ready.

They begin with what they have.

Where they are.

Trusting God to help with the rest.

What My Zoom Meetings Taught Me

One of the unexpected blessings of recent years has been meeting with people from many different backgrounds.

Different churches.

Different experiences.

Different beliefs.

Different stories.

People scattered across the country and sometimes around the world.

And yet I keep noticing something.

Beneath all the differences, people are remarkably similar.

People want to be heard.

People want to belong.

People want hope.

People want peace.

People want to know that God has not forgotten them.

Many people are carrying burdens they rarely talk about.

Questions.

Heartaches.

Family struggles.

Health concerns.

Spiritual concerns.

Sometimes the greatest blessing is simply having a conversation where someone feels understood.

That has taught me something important.

Community begins when people stop trying to impress each other and start caring about each other.

That is where Zion begins too.

Small Communities of Light

When I was younger, I imagined Zion as one giant event.

A dramatic gathering.

A great movement.

Something everyone would immediately recognize.

Now I often picture something different.

I picture small communities of light.

A family learning to love one another.

A neighborhood helping one another.

Friends supporting one another.

People choosing kindness.

People choosing service.

People choosing Christ.

Small lights scattered throughout the world.

Each one making its corner a little brighter.

Perhaps that is how Zion grows.

One light joining another.

Then another.

Until darkness has fewer places to hide.

The Lord has always worked through individuals.

Perhaps Zion grows the same way.

The Lesson From Family

Some of the greatest lessons in my life have come through family relationships.

Families have a way of teaching patience.

Humility.

Forgiveness.

Understanding.

Sometimes family members see things differently.

Sometimes misunderstandings happen.

Sometimes feelings get hurt.

Sometimes healing takes time.

What I have learned is that preserving love is often more important than winning.

The older I get, the less interested I become in proving a point.

The more interested I become in preserving relationships.

That lesson matters in families.

It matters in communities.

And it matters in Zion.

A people who cannot forgive one another will never build Zion.

A people who learn to extend grace already have.

One Person Matters

Many people underestimate their influence.

They assume they are too small to make much difference.

History says otherwise.

One parent influences generations.

One teacher changes lives.

One friend alters someone's future.

One neighbor lifts an entire street.

One encouraging word arrives at exactly the right moment.

One conversation changes a life.

One act of kindness becomes a memory somebody never forgets.

Never underestimate what one caring person can do.

The ripple often travels farther than we ever see.

Most of the good we do will remain invisible to us.

That doesn't make it less important.

Watching the Next Generation

One of the joys of growing older is watching children become adults.

Then watching grandchildren arrive.

Life begins moving in circles.

The things you once taught are now being taught by others.

The values you tried to live begin appearing in the next generation.

At least occasionally.

And when they do, it feels like watching seeds finally grow.

You realize something beautiful.

Zion was never meant to be built in a single generation.

It grows through generations.

One family at a time.

One lesson at a time.

One act of kindness at a time.

The work we do today often blesses people we may never meet.

Building Before the Storm

One thing life has taught me is that relationships are easiest to build before they are desperately needed.

The best time to plant a tree is before you need shade.

The best time to build friendships is before loneliness arrives.

The best time to strengthen community is before crisis comes.

When difficult seasons arrive—and they always do—strong relationships become priceless.

Health challenges taught me that.

Family challenges taught me that.

Life taught me that.

People who know one another help one another.

People who trust one another support one another.

People who care for one another carry burdens together.

That is part of the strength of Zion.

Not independence.

Interdependence.

Not isolation.

Connection.

What Zion Really Is

For years I thought Zion was primarily a place.

Now I think it is something deeper.

Zion is people living in right relationship with God.

And because of that, living in right relationship with one another.

Everything else grows from there.

The homes.

The communities.

The friendships.

The service.

The peace.

Those things are the fruit.

The relationship comes first.

Christ comes first.

The rest follows.

The closer I have drawn to Him, the more clearly I have seen that pattern.

The Invitation

Look around where you live.

Not someday.

Today.

Who could use encouragement?

Who needs friendship?

Who needs a listening ear?

Who needs a helping hand?

Who needs to know they matter?

You do not need to build Zion everywhere.

You simply need to begin where you are.

In your family.

In your neighborhood.

In your friendships.

In your daily life.

That is where Zion begins.

Not with grand announcements.

Not with perfect people.

Not with ideal circumstances.

With ordinary people choosing to love.

Choosing to serve.

Choosing to forgive.

Choosing to walk with Christ.

One heart at a time.

One home at a time.

One community at a time.

And before long, what once looked like empty ground begins to look a lot like Zion.

Just as I once stood on a piece of land and imagined what could be there, perhaps the Lord is looking at our lives and seeing what could be there too.

A family filled with love.

A community filled with peace.

A people learning to walk with Him.

A little piece of Zion.

Right where we are.

🌿🪶

____________________________________________________________________________________

Chapter 16

The Things That Pull Us Away

One of the things age has taught me is that very few important things in life are lost all at once.

Most are lost gradually.

A friendship.

A marriage.

A sense of purpose.

A relationship with God.

They usually do not disappear overnight.

They drift.

A little at a time.

So slowly that we often don't notice until we look up one day and realize we are farther from where we wanted to be.

The same is true of Zion.

The same is true of our walk with Christ.

The same is true of the heart.

Most spiritual problems begin as small things.

A neglected prayer.

An unresolved hurt.

A distraction.

A compromise.

A little drifting.

Then another.

And another.

Until one day we wonder how we got so far from where we intended to be.

The Garden Never Lies

I've always liked the honesty of a garden.

A garden never argues.

Never makes excuses.

Never blames.

It simply reflects what has been planted and cared for.

If you water it, it grows.

If you neglect it, something else grows.

Usually weeds.

Standing on my property over the years, I've often thought about how simple that principle is.

And how universal.

Life works the same way.

Marriages need attention.

Families need attention.

Faith needs attention.

Friendships need attention.

Communities need attention.

The older I get, the more I realize that good things rarely survive on good intentions alone.

They require care.

What we nourish grows.

What we neglect slowly fades.

The Drift

One thing that surprises me is how easy it is to drift.

Nobody wakes up one morning and says:

"Today I think I'll become less kind."

"Today I think I'll stop listening."

"Today I'll slowly move away from what matters most."

It doesn't happen that way.

Life gets busy.

Distractions appear.

Responsibilities pile up.

Projects multiply.

Concerns grow.

And before long, the important things begin receiving whatever time is left over.

The drift is usually subtle.

A little less prayer.

A little less gratitude.

A little less patience.

A little less time together.

A little less listening.

A little less awareness of God.

Then one day we wonder how we arrived where we are.

I've experienced that in my own life.

Probably more than once.

The frightening thing about drifting is that it often feels normal while it's happening.

The Lesson of Recovery

When health challenges slowed me down, I suddenly had more time than I wanted.

Time to think.

Time to pray.

Time to reflect.

At first I didn't enjoy it.

I wanted to be moving.

Doing.

Fixing.

Accomplishing.

Instead, I found myself sitting.

Waiting.

Healing.

Learning patience.

And in those quiet moments, I began noticing things.

I noticed how much of life I had spent rushing.

I noticed how often I thought the next accomplishment would bring peace.

I noticed how easy it is to become distracted from what matters most.

I noticed how much energy I had spent carrying things the Lord never asked me to carry.

The Lord seemed to be simplifying my life.

Not punishing me.

Teaching me.

Showing me what deserved my attention.

And perhaps just as importantly, showing me what didn't.

Noise

The world has become incredibly noisy.

Everybody has an opinion.

Everybody has a platform.

Everybody wants our attention.

Everybody claims certainty.

The strange thing is that we now have more information than any generation in history.

Yet many people seem more confused than ever.

I know what that feels like.

I've spent years studying.

Reading.

Researching.

Following questions down one rabbit trail after another.

I've studied church history.

Ancient records.

Prophecy.

Patterns.

Ideas most people never encounter.

Some of those journeys were valuable.

Some weren't.

Eventually I discovered something.

Information and wisdom are not the same thing.

Truth and noise are not the same thing.

Knowledge and peace are not the same thing.

The Lord usually speaks much more quietly than the world does.

Which means sometimes the greatest spiritual discipline is simply turning the volume down.

Not because learning is bad.

But because Christ is easier to hear when everything else gets quieter.

Comparison Is a Trap

There was a time when I thought happiness lived just over the next hill.

The next achievement.

The next project.

The next accomplishment.

The next answer.

The next discovery.

The problem with that way of thinking is that there is always another hill.

Always another goal.

Always another comparison.

Somebody always appears to have more.

More money.

More success.

More recognition.

More influence.

Comparison is a thief.

It steals gratitude.

It steals joy.

It steals contentment.

The older I get, the more I appreciate simple blessings.

A good conversation.

A sunrise.

A grandchild's laugh.

A prayer.

Health improving.

A quiet day.

Those things are worth more than I once realized.

Being Right

This lesson may have taken me longer to learn than any other.

For much of my life, I thought being right was extremely important.

And truth does matter.

Very much.

I still care deeply about truth.

Probably always will.

But somewhere along the way I discovered that winning an argument and helping a person are not always the same thing.

Sometimes I became so focused on explaining truth that I forgot to preserve peace.

Sometimes I became more concerned about proving a point than protecting a relationship.

The Lord has been patient with me.

Very patient.

These days I find myself asking a different question.

Not:

"Can I prove my point?"

But:

"Will this help?"

That question has changed many conversations.

And honestly, it has changed me.

Pride Wears Many Disguises

One thing I've learned is that pride rarely announces itself.

It doesn't walk into the room wearing a name tag.

Sometimes it appears as superiority.

Sometimes as stubbornness.

Sometimes as offense.

Sometimes as self-righteousness.

Sometimes as the need to be recognized.

Sometimes as the need to always be correct.

Sometimes as the inability to listen.

Pride keeps our attention focused on ourselves.

Humility turns our attention toward God and others.

The more years pass, the more valuable humility becomes.

And the more suspicious I become of anything that constantly points my attention back to myself.

Remembering What Matters

The beautiful thing about getting older is that life begins simplifying itself.

Many things that once seemed urgent no longer seem very important.

Possessions.

Recognition.

Status.

Arguments.

Achievements.

The need to impress.

They fade.

What remains?

Faith.

Family.

Friendship.

Service.

Kindness.

Christ.

Those things endure.

Those things matter.

Those things always matter.

Every season of life keeps teaching the same lesson.

The things that matter most are usually the things money cannot buy.

Zion Requires Attention

One thing I know for certain is that Zion will never happen accidentally.

Healthy families don't happen accidentally.

Healthy marriages don't happen accidentally.

Strong communities don't happen accidentally.

Neither does a strong relationship with Christ.

They are built.

Protected.

Nurtured.

Strengthened.

One choice at a time.

One act of kindness at a time.

One act of forgiveness at a time.

One act of service at a time.

One prayer at a time.

One day at a time.

The Invitation

Take a quiet moment and ask yourself:

What is pulling me closer to Christ?

And what is pulling me away?

The answers are usually not difficult to find.

Most of us already know.

The challenge is having the courage to act on what we know.

The good news is that every day offers another opportunity.

Another chance to plant better seeds.

Another chance to return.

Another chance to simplify.

Another chance to listen.

Another chance to forgive.

Another chance to walk a little closer with the Savior.

Because the path to Zion is rarely lost in a single moment.

And thankfully, it is often found the same way.

One step at a time.

One day at a time.

One choice at a time.

Walking quietly beside Christ.

🌿🪶

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Chapter 17

Passing the Light Forward

The older I get, the more I think about what remains.

Not what I own.

Not what I accomplished.

Not what people remember my name for.

What remains.

What continues after I am gone.

What light keeps traveling after I have finished my part of the journey.

When I was younger, I spent a lot of time trying to build a life.

These days I find myself thinking more about what kind of legacy that life leaves behind.

Not a legacy of wealth.

Not a legacy of recognition.

A legacy of faith.

A legacy of kindness.

A legacy of love.

A legacy that points people toward Christ.

The older I get, the more I realize that the things we leave behind are often far more important than the things we accumulate.

Watching Time Move

One of the strangest things about growing older is realizing how quickly time moves.

It seems like yesterday I was a young missionary in Korea trying to learn a language.

Yesterday I was beginning a career.

Yesterday I was raising a family.

Yesterday I was wondering what life would look like someday.

Yesterday I was carrying children in my arms.

Today some of those same children have children of their own.

The years pass faster than we imagine when we are young.

Then one day you look around and realize your children are adults.

Your grandchildren are growing up.

The calendar has moved much faster than you expected.

And you begin asking different questions.

Questions that never seemed very important when you were young.

What am I leaving behind?

What will matter after I'm gone?

What part of me will continue?

Age has a way of changing the questions.

And sometimes the questions matter more than the answers.

The Ranch Dream

A few years ago, I stood on a piece of land and looked across open ground.

Most people would have seen dirt.

Brush.

Empty space.

I saw something else.

I saw possibility.

I imagined family gatherings.

Grandchildren laughing.

Friends visiting.

Meals shared around a table.

Quiet conversations on a porch.

I imagined a place where people could feel peace.

A place where people could slow down.

A place where people could hear themselves think.

A place where people could feel a little closer to God.

What struck me later was that the most important thing was not the land itself.

The most important thing was the vision.

The desire to create something that would bless people long after I was gone.

That realization taught me something.

The greatest things we leave behind are rarely things.

They are blessings.

Influence.

Love.

Faith.

Examples.

The ranch was never really about land.

It was about people.

Most worthwhile things are.

My Children Taught Me This

One of the great joys of my life has been watching children become adults.

There is something sacred about seeing someone you love grow into who they were meant to become.

As a parent, you spend years teaching.

Helping.

Praying.

Worrying.

Encouraging.

Trying to do your best while often wondering if you're getting any of it right.

Then one day you realize they are teaching you.

You see strength in them.

Wisdom in them.

Faith in them.

Compassion in them.

And you realize that some of the seeds you planted years ago actually grew.

Not because you were a perfect parent.

Because love has a way of growing when it is planted consistently.

That realization is one of life's sweetest rewards.

The Grandchildren

Then come grandchildren.

And suddenly life starts making circles.

The things you once taught are being taught again.

The stories are being told again.

The values are being passed again.

The lessons are being repeated again.

I have watched grandchildren ask questions that stop me in my tracks.

Questions adults often forget to ask.

Questions about God.

Life.

People.

Wonder.

Hope.

Children see things differently.

And sometimes more clearly.

They remind us that life is not nearly as complicated as adults often make it.

Sometimes I think grandchildren are God's reminder that the future is already here.

Running through the living room.

Laughing.

Growing.

Watching.

Learning.

And paying far more attention than we realize.

The Stories We Leave

One thing I have learned is that people rarely remember our accomplishments as much as we think they will.

They remember stories.

The story about how Grandpa handled difficulty.

The story about how Mom treated people.

The story about how Dad kept going when things became hard.

The story about the friend who showed up when nobody else did.

The story about kindness.

The story about faith.

The story about courage.

Stories carry values.

Stories carry faith.

Stories carry light.

That is one reason I love telling stories.

A good story can travel where lectures never can.

Long after facts are forgotten, stories continue teaching.

Christ understood that.

Perhaps that is one reason He taught through parables.

Why I Keep Writing

People occasionally ask why I continue writing blogs, recording videos, and spending time helping others.

The answer is simple.

I have been blessed.

I have learned things.

I have made mistakes.

I have found peace.

I have found Christ in ways I did not fully understand when I was younger.

And if something I have learned can help another person, then perhaps the journey was worth it.

I don't expect to change the whole world.

I don't need to.

Helping one person draw a little closer to Christ is enough.

Helping one person find hope is enough.

Helping one person feel less alone is enough.

Sometimes that is how light travels.

One person at a time.

One conversation at a time.

One story at a time.

The Talking Feather

One lesson that has become increasingly important to me is that influence does not require volume.

The world often rewards loud voices.

Big personalities.

Strong opinions.

The Lord often works differently.

A feather does not force anyone.

It does not demand attention.

It does not overpower.

It simply carries a message when the time is right.

The older I get, the less interested I become in convincing people.

The more interested I become in helping them hear Christ for themselves.

That has become one of the deepest desires of my heart.

Not that people follow me.

Not that people agree with me.

Not that people remember me.

But that they learn to follow Him.

If there is any legacy I hope to leave behind, perhaps it is that.

The Light We Never See

One of the beautiful things about life is that we rarely see the full impact of what we do.

A conversation.

A prayer.

A kind word.

An encouraging note.

A lesson taught years ago.

A child watching.

A grandchild listening.

Most of those moments seem small at the time.

Yet they often continue blessing people long after we have forgotten them.

The ripple keeps moving.

The light keeps traveling.

The seed keeps growing.

And often we never fully know what became of it.

That is alright.

God knows.

And that is enough.

What Matters Most

As I look back across my life, many things that once seemed important have faded.

Possessions.

Titles.

Recognition.

Achievements.

Arguments.

Opinions.

What remains are people.

Faith.

Family.

Friendships.

Acts of kindness.

Moments of love.

And Christ.

The closer I draw to Him, the more clearly I see that these are the things worth passing forward.

These are the things that endure.

These are the things that survive the passage of time.

The Invitation

Someday every one of us will leave something behind.

The question is not whether we will leave a legacy.

The question is what kind.

Will we leave fear?

Or faith?

Will we leave criticism?

Or kindness?

Will we leave division?

Or peace?

Will we leave people feeling smaller?

Or closer to Christ?

You do not need great wealth to leave a great legacy.

You do not need fame.

You do not need influence.

You simply need to leave light behind.

A story.

A kindness.

A lesson.

A friendship.

A testimony.

A life that quietly points toward Jesus.

Because every act of faith.

Every act of love.

Every act of service.

Every act of kindness.

Becomes part of a light that continues long after we are gone.

And that is how Zion grows.

One generation blessing the next.

One heart lighting another.

One life passing the light forward.

🌿🪶

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Chapter 18

A People Prepared

If there is one thing life has taught me, it is this:

The storms always come.

Not because God is angry.

Not because we have failed.

Not because we did something wrong.

Because that is part of mortality.

No family escapes every trial.

No marriage escapes every challenge.

No community escapes every difficulty.

No person escapes every storm.

The question is not whether storms will come.

The question is who we become when they do.

That question matters more than I once realized.

The Storm I Never Expected

For most of my life, I assumed my body would cooperate with my plans.

I had things to do.

Places to go.

Projects to build.

People to help.

Dreams to pursue.

I wasn't planning for my body to become one of the biggest challenges of my life.

Then came the day when my body began telling a different story.

Pain.

Limitations.

Weakness.

Uncertainty.

Doctors.

Tests.

MRIs.

Questions.

Waiting.

Suddenly things that once seemed simple were no longer simple.

Walking.

Sleeping.

Standing.

Making plans.

At first, I fought it.

Like most people would.

I wanted answers.

I wanted solutions.

I wanted my old life back.

I wanted the problem fixed.

Instead, the Lord began teaching me something deeper.

He wasn't just trying to heal my body.

He was teaching my heart.

Looking back now, I can see that.

At the time, all I could see was the storm.

Be the Patient

During one difficult season, I found myself asking the Lord what I should do next.

I expected instructions.

A project.

A plan.

A direction.

Something to accomplish.

Instead, the impression came:

"Be the patient."

At first, I didn't like that answer.

Not at all.

I wanted to fix things.

The Lord wanted me to trust Him.

I wanted progress.

The Lord wanted surrender.

I wanted movement.

The Lord wanted stillness.

I wanted certainty.

The Lord wanted faith.

Over time, I began to understand.

Some lessons can only be learned when we stop running.

Some lessons can only be learned when we stop trying to control everything.

Some lessons can only be learned when we finally sit down long enough to listen.

That lesson changed me.

And honestly, it may have prepared me more than any supply, plan, or project ever could.

Because preparedness begins in the heart.

The Ranch Dream

Several years ago, I stood on a piece of property and looked across open ground.

Most people would have seen dirt.

Brush.

Empty space.

I saw possibility.

I imagined grandchildren running across the land.

Family gathered together.

Gardens.

Friendships.

Conversations on a porch.

A place of peace.

A place where people could help one another.

A place where life could slow down.

The interesting thing is that none of it existed yet.

Only the vision.

Only the blueprint.

Only the possibility.

And that's when I realized something.

Preparedness begins long before the need arrives.

A well is dug before the drought.

Seeds are planted before the harvest.

Friendships are built before the crisis.

Communities are strengthened before difficult days come.

The blueprint always comes before the building.

The Lord has always worked that way.

The Strength of Relationships

One thing age has taught me is that people matter more than I once realized.

Not just important people.

All people.

Family.

Friends.

Neighbors.

Community.

The older I get, the less impressed I am by what people own.

The more impressed I am by who they can call when life falls apart.

Strong relationships are one of the greatest forms of preparedness.

A friend who cares.

A family member who listens.

A neighbor who shows up.

A community that helps carry burdens.

Those things become priceless when storms arrive.

During my own health challenges, I learned that lesson firsthand.

People prayed.

People checked on me.

People encouraged me.

People carried burdens I could not carry alone.

That is a form of wealth no bank account can measure.

What My Zoom Meetings Taught Me

Over the years, I've spent many hours talking with people from different backgrounds.

Different beliefs.

Different experiences.

Different journeys.

And I've noticed something.

Most people are carrying more than they let others see.

They may smile.

They may appear fine.

Yet beneath the surface they are carrying worries.

Questions.

Heartaches.

Uncertainty.

Family concerns.

Health concerns.

Spiritual concerns.

Sometimes the greatest gift we can offer is simply listening.

Helping someone feel less alone.

Helping someone know they matter.

Prepared communities are built by people who care enough to listen.

That is one reason I have come to value those conversations so much.

People need each other more than they realize.

Fear Is a Poor Foundation

One thing I've noticed is that fear sells.

Fear gets attention.

Fear fills books.

Fear fills websites.

Fear fills videos.

Fear fills headlines.

Yet fear rarely produces peace.

It rarely produces wisdom.

And it almost never produces Zion.

Faith does.

Trust does.

Love does.

When I think about preparation today, I no longer think first about stockpiles or storage rooms.

Those things have their place.

But they are not the foundation.

I think about faith.

Relationships.

Skills.

Character.

Service.

Trust in God.

Those things remain valuable in every circumstance.

Those things cannot be taken away.

What Grandchildren Teach

One of the blessings of growing older is grandchildren.

They have a way of simplifying life.

They remind us what matters.

They remind us that the future isn't an abstract idea.

The future is sitting on your lap asking questions.

Running through the house.

Laughing in the yard.

Watching everything you do.

That realization changes how you think about preparedness.

Because suddenly it isn't just about you.

It becomes about what you are passing forward.

Faith.

Kindness.

Wisdom.

Character.

Hope.

Love.

Those are the things that sustain generations.

Long after other things have disappeared.

What Prepared People Look Like

The world often imagines preparedness in terms of possessions.

I understand that.

Practical preparation matters.

But after more than seventy years of life, I think prepared people look different than I once imagined.

Prepared people know how to work.

How to adapt.

How to help.

How to forgive.

How to cooperate.

How to remain calm.

How to serve.

How to trust God.

Those qualities become priceless when difficulties arrive.

And unlike possessions, nobody can take them from you.

A prepared heart is often more valuable than a prepared storage room.

Zion During the Storm

One of the beautiful things about Zion is that it becomes most visible when times become difficult.

When people share.

When people help.

When people encourage.

When people pray.

When people carry burdens together.

That is when Zion shines.

Not because the storm disappeared.

Because love became stronger than fear.

Because faith became stronger than uncertainty.

Because people chose one another.

I have seen glimpses of that throughout my life.

In families.

In communities.

In friends.

In strangers.

And every glimpse gives me hope.

Because it reminds me that Zion is not merely a future dream.

It is a pattern that can be lived right now.

The Invitation

None of us know exactly what tomorrow holds.

The future belongs to God.

But we do know what we can do today.

Strengthen relationships.

Serve others.

Build faith.

Learn useful skills.

Love your family.

Help your neighbors.

Walk with Christ.

The older I get, the more convinced I become that the people best prepared for the future are not necessarily the people who know the most about what is coming.

They are the people who know the Savior best.

Because storms will come.

They always do.

But so will His grace.

So will His guidance.

So will His peace.

And those who learn to trust Him will discover something beautiful.

They are far more prepared than they ever realized.

A people prepared.

A people at peace.

A people who have learned to trust God during both sunshine and storms.

A people walking with Christ through every season of life.

That is the beginning of Zion.

🌿🪶

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Chapter 19

Hope for the Future

If you spend enough time watching the news, you can convince yourself that the world is falling apart.

Wars.

Politics.

Economic uncertainty.

Division.

Fear.

Every day seems to bring another reason to worry.

I understand why people feel discouraged.

There are moments when I feel it too.

I've lived long enough to watch a lot of things change.

I've watched leaders come and go.

Predictions come and go.

Movements come and go.

Crises come and go.

The headlines change.

The fears change.

The names change.

But one thing has remained remarkably constant.

Christ.

And after all the years I have lived, all the things I have studied, all the people I have met, and all the roads I have traveled, I find myself surprisingly hopeful.

Not because I think everything is fine.

Not because I think difficult days will never come.

I have hope because I believe Christ is still leading His people.

And I have seen too much evidence of that to believe otherwise.

The Young Missionary

Many years ago, I was a young missionary in Korea.

Far from home.

Far from everything familiar.

The language was different.

The culture was different.

The food was different.

Some days I felt completely out of place.

At times I felt small.

Uncertain.

Inexperienced.

There were days when I had more questions than answers.

Yet during that season, something happened that changed my life forever.

I received a witness that God was real.

Not an idea.

Not a theory.

Not something borrowed from someone else's testimony.

Real.

And Christ was real.

That witness became an anchor.

And over the decades that followed, many things changed.

My understanding changed.

My circumstances changed.

My questions changed.

But that anchor remained.

Whenever life became uncertain, I returned to what I knew.

Christ was real then.

And if He was real then, He is still real now.

That gives me hope.

The Search

For much of my life, I have been a seeker.

My family would probably laugh and say that is an understatement.

I've studied scripture.

History.

Ancient writings.

Prophecy.

Churches.

Restoration movements.

Questions that most people would never spend five minutes thinking about.

I've spent countless hours chasing questions.

Sometimes I joke that I have gone down enough rabbit holes to qualify as a professional rabbit hunter.

Some of those journeys were valuable.

Some led to dead ends.

Some expanded my understanding.

Some humbled me.

But after all the books, all the questions, and all the searching, I have arrived at a surprisingly simple conclusion.

The things that matter most bring us closer to Jesus.

The things that don't eventually fall away.

That realization simplified my life enormously.

The older I get, the less interested I become in collecting information.

The more interested I become in walking with Christ.

Watching My Wife

One of the greatest sources of hope in my life has been watching my wife.

For years I have watched her quietly serve.

Feed missionaries.

Help friends.

Care for family.

Encourage people who needed encouragement.

Open her heart.

Open her home.

Most of those acts never received recognition.

Most happened quietly.

Yet they changed lives.

Watching her taught me something important.

The Kingdom of God often grows quietly.

The world celebrates headlines.

Heaven celebrates faithfulness.

A meal delivered.

A person encouraged.

A prayer offered.

A burden shared.

Every time I watch someone choose love, I gain a little more hope for the future.

Because love is still alive.

And wherever love lives, Christ is not far away.

The Grandchildren

Nothing has increased my hope for the future more than grandchildren.

When you hold a grandchild, something changes.

The future suddenly has a face.

A smile.

A laugh.

A voice.

The future is no longer an abstract idea.

It is sitting beside you asking questions.

Running through the house.

Growing right before your eyes.

I have watched grandchildren discover the world with wonder.

And every time I do, I find myself believing that God still has beautiful things ahead.

Children have a way of reminding us that heaven has not given up on the future.

And neither should we.

The Ranch

A few years ago, I stood on twenty acres of ground and looked across what appeared to be mostly empty space.

Dirt.

Brush.

Open sky.

Most people would have seen what was there.

I found myself seeing what could be there.

Family gatherings.

Gardens.

Friendships.

Conversations on a porch.

Grandchildren running across the property.

A place of peace.

A place where people help one another.

That experience taught me something.

Hope sees possibilities before they become realities.

A blueprint always comes before the building.

Faith often sees things that do not yet exist.

The Lord has always worked that way.

He sees what can become long before anyone else does.

And perhaps He sees us that way too.

The Lesson of Recovery

Perhaps one of the greatest lessons came through health challenges.

If someone had told me years ago that some of my most important spiritual lessons would come while sitting still, I would not have believed them.

Yet that is exactly what happened.

Recovery slowed me down.

Forced me to reflect.

Forced me to listen.

Forced me to trust.

One day, while praying about what came next, an impression came that changed everything.

"Be the patient."

At first I resisted.

I wanted action.

The Lord wanted trust.

I wanted solutions.

The Lord wanted surrender.

I wanted certainty.

The Lord wanted faith.

Looking back now, I realize He was teaching me hope.

Not hope in circumstances.

Hope in Him.

There is a difference.

Circumstances change.

Christ does not.

And that realization has carried me through some difficult days.

The People I Have Met

One thing my Zoom meetings, blogs, and conversations have taught me is that there are good people everywhere.

Different churches.

Different backgrounds.

Different beliefs.

Different journeys.

Yet so many of them are trying to do the same thing.

Love God.

Love their families.

Help other people.

Walk honestly through life.

The news rarely talks about such people.

Yet they are everywhere.

Quietly making the world better.

Quietly serving.

Quietly forgiving.

Quietly helping.

Quietly carrying light.

And every time I meet one, my hope grows.

Because I see evidence that Christ is still working in people's hearts.

What I Believe Now

If you had asked me years ago what gave me hope, I might have given a complicated answer.

Today my answer is much simpler.

Christ gives me hope.

Not because life is easy.

Not because I understand everything.

Not because I know exactly what the future holds.

Because I know Him.

Or at least I am trying to know Him better.

And every year that passes convinces me that He is worthy of trust.

I have trusted Him through questions.

Through disappointments.

Through mistakes.

Through family struggles.

Through health challenges.

Through uncertainty.

And He has never abandoned me.

Not once.

Zion Is Already Growing

For years I thought Zion would arrive all at once.

Now I think it may already be growing.

A family choosing forgiveness.

A neighbor helping a neighbor.

A marriage surviving difficulty.

A grandparent passing faith to a grandchild.

A person learning to hear God's voice.

A peacemaker calming a room.

A servant helping someone in need.

A friend showing up when life gets hard.

Those things may seem small.

But perhaps that is exactly how Zion grows.

One heart at a time.

One family at a time.

One act of kindness at a time.

One soul at a time.

Quietly.

Steadily.

Almost unnoticed.

Just like a seed growing beneath the soil.

The Invitation

If you feel discouraged about the future, I understand.

There is plenty in the world that can create fear.

But there is another story unfolding at the same time.

A better story.

A quieter story.

The story of Christ changing hearts.

The story of people choosing kindness.

The story of families learning to love.

The story of ordinary people becoming Zion people.

I have seen enough of that story to remain hopeful.

In fact, I have never been more hopeful.

Not because I trust the world.

Because I trust the Savior.

And after all these years, that trust has never disappointed me.

The future belongs to Him.

And because of that, I can look forward with peace.

The best chapters may still be ahead.

For me.

For you.

And for Zion itself.

🌿🪶

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Chapter 20

The Blueprint of Zion

When I first began this journey, I thought I was searching for Zion.

I thought I was searching for answers.

I thought I was searching for truth.

I thought I was searching for understanding.

In many ways, I was.

But looking back now, I realize I was searching for something even deeper.

I was searching for Christ.

I just didn't know it yet.

Funny how life works that way.

Sometimes we think we are looking for one thing.

Only to discover God was leading us toward something far greater.

The Long Road

If someone had met me as a young missionary in Korea, they would have met a young man trying to figure things out.

Trying to serve.

Trying to understand.

Trying to follow God.

I certainly didn't have all the answers.

Truthfully, I still don't.

But somewhere during those early years, a seed was planted.

A witness.

A quiet certainty that Christ was real.

That witness became a companion on a very long road.

A road that would include family joys.

Heartaches.

Questions.

Failures.

Successes.

Unexpected turns.

And lessons I never could have learned any other way.

At the time, I thought I was simply living my life.

Now I see that the Lord was patiently teaching me.

One step at a time.

One lesson at a time.

One season at a time.

And looking back, I can see His fingerprints almost everywhere.

The Searcher

Anyone who knows me well will probably smile at this next statement.

I have spent a lot of years searching.

Studying.

Reading.

Asking questions.

Following trails that most people would never think to follow.

Ancient records.

History.

Scripture.

Teachings.

Patterns.

Ideas.

More than once, my family has probably wondered what rabbit hole I had disappeared into this time.

And honestly, some of those journeys were worthwhile.

Others were less so.

Some expanded my understanding.

Some humbled me.

Some taught me what was true.

Others taught me what wasn't.

But nearly all of them taught me something.

Eventually, every road led me back to the same place.

Christ.

The farther a path pulled me from Him, the less valuable it became.

The closer it brought me to Him, the more precious it became.

That realization simplified years of searching.

It became the measuring stick for everything else.

Standing on Empty Ground

A few years ago, I stood on a piece of property and looked across open land.

Most people would have seen dirt.

Brush.

A few scattered plants.

Open sky.

I saw grandchildren.

Family gatherings.

Friendships.

Conversations on a porch.

Gardens.

Peace.

At the time, none of those things existed.

Only the vision existed.

Yet I could see it.

That experience taught me something about Zion.

The blueprint always comes before the building.

Long before a community exists, someone sees it.

Long before a harvest arrives, someone plants.

Long before Zion appears, God begins changing hearts.

The Lord sees possibilities long before we do.

And maybe that is what He has been doing with us all along.

Seeing what we can become.

The Porch

Life has a way of slowing us down.

I didn't always appreciate that.

For much of my life, I liked movement.

Projects.

Plans.

Building things.

Solving problems.

Fixing things.

Getting things done.

Then came seasons when life forced me to slow down.

Health challenges have a way of doing that.

At first I resisted.

Then something unexpected happened.

I began noticing things.

Sunrises.

Birdsong.

Conversations.

Quiet impressions.

The presence of God.

A grandchild's laugh.

A hand held a little longer.

A prayer that brought peace.

Some of the sweetest spiritual experiences of my life did not happen while I was rushing.

They happened while I was sitting still.

A porch taught me lessons that busyness never could.

Be the Patient

One of the most important lessons of my life arrived during a difficult season.

I was praying.

Asking the Lord what came next.

Looking for direction.

Looking for answers.

Looking for a plan.

The impression came quietly.

"Be the patient."

That wasn't the answer I wanted.

I wanted a solution.

The Lord offered trust.

I wanted movement.

The Lord offered stillness.

I wanted certainty.

The Lord offered His presence.

Looking back now, I realize He was teaching me one of the greatest lessons of Zion.

The goal is not merely to build something for Christ.

The goal is to walk with Christ.

The goal is not merely to prepare for the future.

The goal is to know Him.

Because if we know Him, we can face whatever future comes.

Watching the Next Generation

One of the great blessings of growing older is watching children become adults.

Then watching grandchildren arrive.

Life starts making circles.

The lessons you once tried to teach begin appearing in the next generation.

Sometimes you see a grandchild show kindness and suddenly remember teaching that lesson years ago.

Sometimes you hear wisdom coming from your children and realize they were listening more than you thought.

Those moments are sacred.

They remind us that our lives ripple farther than we know.

The light keeps traveling.

The stories keep traveling.

The love keeps traveling.

And often the greatest things we leave behind are things we cannot measure.

My Wife's Example

One of the greatest teachers in my life has never stood behind a pulpit.

She has stood beside me.

For years I have watched my wife quietly serve people.

Meals delivered.

Missionaries fed.

Friends encouraged.

Needs met.

People loved.

Most of it unnoticed.

Most of it never recognized publicly.

Yet through those simple acts, she taught me something profound.

The Kingdom of God is often built quietly.

One act of love at a time.

One act of service at a time.

One person at a time.

The world notices power.

Heaven notices love.

What Matters Now

At this stage of life, my list has become much shorter.

Many things that once seemed important no longer seem nearly as important.

Arguments.

Recognition.

Possessions.

Status.

Being right.

Those things fade.

What remains are simpler things.

Faith.

Family.

Friendship.

Kindness.

Service.

Forgiveness.

Christ.

The older I get, the more convinced I become that these things are the true treasures of life.

Everything else eventually passes away.

These remain.

What Zion Really Is

For years I thought Zion was primarily a place.

Today I believe it is something deeper.

Zion is what happens when ordinary people begin living extraordinary principles.

Not perfectly.

Patiently.

People who forgive.

People who serve.

People who listen.

People who carry peace.

People who help one another.

People who hear God's voice.

People who walk with Christ.

That is Zion.

Not someday.

Today.

Not somewhere else.

Right where we are.

In homes.

In families.

In neighborhoods.

In ordinary lives.

The Savior

If there is one thing I hope remains after all the stories, all the chapters, and all the lessons, it is this:

The Savior is real.

He is patient.

He is kind.

He is merciful.

He is closer than we think.

I have spent a lifetime learning that lesson.

And I am still learning it.

Every chapter of this book points to Him.

Every lesson points to Him.

Every hope points to Him.

Because He is the blueprint.

He is the foundation.

He is the way.

And the closer I come to Him, the more everything else begins making sense.

The Final Invitation

Wherever you are in your journey, keep walking.

You do not need all the answers.

I certainly don't.

You do not need perfect faith.

You do not need perfect understanding.

You simply need a willingness to keep following Him.

Listen for His voice.

Love your family.

Serve your neighbors.

Forgive often.

Carry peace.

Pass light forward.

Walk gently.

And trust Christ.

Because after all these years...

After all the searching.

After all the studying.

After all the building.

After all the questioning.

After all the learning.

This is the conclusion I have reached:

The greatest blessing was never finding Zion.

The greatest blessing was finding the Savior.

And discovering that He had been walking beside me the whole time.

Walk gently, my friend.

Keep following Him.

The road leads home.

And He is already walking it with you.

🌿🪶

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Chapter 21 What I Know Now

If you and I were sitting together on a porch this evening, watching the sun slowly disappear beyond the horizon, and you asked me what I know after all these years, my answer would probably be much simpler than it used to be.

When I was young, I thought knowledge was the goal.

I thought answers were the goal.

I thought if I could just study enough, learn enough, understand enough, I would finally arrive.

Life has been a wonderful teacher.

And life has taught me that some of the deepest truths are also the simplest.

Christ Is Real

I know there are people who doubt.

I understand that.

There were seasons when I had questions too.

There are still things I do not fully understand.

But after a lifetime of prayers, miracles, mistakes, blessings, disappointments, recoveries, lessons, and unexpected turns in the road, one truth remains.

Christ is real.

Not merely a historical figure.

Not merely a doctrine.

Not merely a belief.

A living Savior.

A living companion.

A living guide.

And He has been far more patient with me than I deserved.

When I wandered, He waited.

When I stumbled, He lifted.

When I was afraid, He stayed.

When I could not see the road ahead, He somehow guided me one step at a time.

I do not know everything.

But I know Him.

And that has become enough.

He Still Speaks

When I was younger, I expected God to speak through thunder.

Through dramatic signs.

Through unmistakable miracles.

Sometimes He does.

But most often He has spoken through a quiet impression.

A gentle feeling.

A thought that arrived at exactly the right moment.

A whisper that said:

"Keep going."

"Trust Me."

"Not this way."

"Everything will be alright."

Looking back now, I can see that He was speaking far more often than I realized.

The problem was never His willingness to speak.

The problem was my willingness to listen.

If there is one thing I hope my children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren learn, it is this:

He still speaks.

And He knows your name.

Zion Begins in the Heart

For years I looked for Zion on maps.

I searched for gatherings.

Communities.

Movements.

Places.

I thought Zion was somewhere out there waiting for me to find it.

Now I think Zion begins much closer than that.

It begins when a husband chooses kindness.

When a wife chooses patience.

When a family chooses forgiveness.

When neighbors help one another.

When people stop competing and start caring.

When Christ becomes more important than pride.

Long before Zion becomes a city, it becomes a people.

And long before it becomes a people, it becomes a choice inside a human heart.

Families Matter

The older I get, the less impressed I am by things.

And the more grateful I am for people.

The laughter around a dinner table.

The stories.

The conversations.

The children.

The grandchildren.

The memories.

The moments that seemed ordinary when they happened and priceless once they were gone.

If I could go back and tell my younger self one thing, I would probably say:

Slow down.

The people you love are the treasure.

Not the project.

Not the career.

Not the schedule.

Not the ambition.

The people.

Love them while you can.

Listen while you can.

Sit with them while you can.

Because one day you will discover those moments were the real riches all along.

Kindness Matters

I have forgotten most of the arguments.

I have forgotten many of the accomplishments.

I have forgotten many of the things that once seemed so important.

But I still remember kindness.

The person who showed up.

The friend who called.

The stranger who helped.

The neighbor who cared.

The quiet act of compassion at exactly the right moment.

The world has plenty of critics.

Plenty of judges.

Plenty of people willing to tell us what is wrong.

What it desperately needs is more kindness.

And kindness is never wasted.

Never.

Service Matters

When I stand before the Lord someday, I do not think He will ask how much I owned.

I do not think He will ask how many arguments I won.

I do not think He will ask how impressive my resume was.

I think He may ask something much simpler.

Did you love My children?

Did you help them?

Did you see them?

Did you serve them?

Looking back, the moments that brought the greatest joy were rarely the moments when I was focused on myself.

They were the moments when I forgot myself.

And helped someone else.

Love Matters Most

If life has taught me anything, it is this.

Love matters more than being right.

More than winning.

More than proving a point.

More than pride.

More than possessions.

More than recognition.

At the end of life, love is what remains.

Love given.

Love received.

Love shared.

Love remembered.

Everything else slowly fades into the background.

Love does not.

The Journey Was Worth It

There were seasons when I did not understand what God was doing.

Seasons when the road became difficult.

Seasons of loss.

Seasons of disappointment.

Seasons of waiting.

Seasons when I wondered why certain things had happened at all.

Now, looking back across the years, I can see something I could not see then.

The Lord was never far away.

Not once.

Even in the hardest chapters.

Especially in the hardest chapters.

He was shaping me.

Teaching me.

Refining me.

Helping me become someone different than I was.

And somehow, through all the twists and turns, the joys and sorrows, the victories and failures, the journey became beautiful.

Not because it was easy.

Because He walked it with me.

One Last Thought

The sun is almost down now.

The porch is getting quiet.

The evening air is cooling.

And if this were truly our last conversation together, there is only one thing I would want to leave with you.

Trust Him.

Walk with Him.

Listen for His voice.

Love people.

Forgive often.

Serve when you can.

Choose kindness.

Stay humble.

And keep moving toward the light.

One day, when your own journey is nearly finished and you are sitting on your own porch watching another sunset, I believe you will discover what I have discovered.

He was there all along.

And every step with Him was worth it.

Until we meet again, keep walking.

He knows the way home.