each life that touches ours

The text came in at 12:05, and I thought it was about work so I answered.

“What are you doing?” the message read.

Within fifteen minutes my friend had picked me up, and within an hour we were at a temple south of here.  It was a beautiful night, but dark (1 am can do that to you) and as we drove back I could just barely make out the Wasatch front lining us on the right.

“The mountains are so pretty,” I said, like everyone says.  They’re what friends from Utah missed most during our mission in Virginia.  But I don’t love the mountains because of their beauty; I love them because of what they represent: fortitude and strength and resilience and thousands of years of growth.  They’re a visual reminder from God of, Look, it’s okay, I’ve got you.  Living in this valley is bit like being cradled in the hand of God.

I feel this is true because I always feel a bit like a baby.  The more I know, the more I need.  And all around me are these people who help me.  I didn’t know them three years ago or even 9 months ago but they feel like angels sent from God.

Maybe that’s part of why I came here in the first place.

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