Gate A21, Salt Lake City Airport — Just before takeoff to my destination, one last act of service: a restored VM and an unlocked account.
Right before boarding at Gate A21 for a flight to the Big Apple, I found myself once again doing what I do best—helping quietly behind the scenes. With minutes to spare, I had just unlocked a user account and ensured a critical VM was restored. Even in transit, purpose doesn’t clock out. Some of the best service happens when no one sees it.
Before Takeoff
Poem by Jet Mariano A final ping, a task complete, Between the rows of outbound seats. Not all flights take off with wings— Some soar when hearts do faithful things.
A gate, a call, the engine’s song, But even then, I can’t be gone. For hands that serve and souls that stay, Are never truly far away.
Some journeys begin long before wheels lift from the ground. On that late July afternoon, it wasn’t just about reaching a destination—it was about leaving no soul behind. Service, even from Gate A21, has a way of grounding us in purpose.
Scaffolds outside, strength within—light and gladness in the heart. Updates: base isolation for earthquakes; expanded capacity (new instruction rooms, more sealing rooms); two baptistries in the annex; endowment now in single-room film presentations in multiple languages.
Intro I’ve been thinking about how a day can change the temperature of a soul. “There’s a day when I cast off the world… and find myself in prayer.” That line isn’t about running from life—it’s about choosing a place where God can reach me. Another line says, “a day to rediscover the vision, clear and bright.” Rediscover is the key word. The light was there all along; the day simply gives me permission to see it again. After weeks of early prayers and late-night temple time, this song feels less like nostalgia and more like instruction: set the day apart, and the day will set you apart.
Day of Delight (full lyrics, 1979 Gates of Zion Seminary Album)
There’s a certain kind of happiness, a certain kind of glow, a special warm sensation— I love to feel it flow.
I love the sweet reminder of other things to do, the hopes and dreams inside myself— I know they can come true.
There’s a day when I cast off the world, untouched by problems there; a day when I can grow and learn and find myself in prayer;
a day to rediscover the vision, clear and bright; a day of light and gladness— a day of my delight.
Who knows what treasures— Was for me the freedom, and the peace, new reaches, fresh and unexplored— Lord, where faith and love,
far beyond the ordinary, past the ways of man; the beauty of this day was set before the world began.
There’s a day when I cast off the world, untouched by problems there; a day when I can grow and learn and find myself in prayer; a day to rediscover the vision, clear and bright— a day of light and gladness, a day of my delight.
Final Reflection Why would a Seminary writer in 1979 pen “Day of Delight”? My sense: to teach that holiness isn’t grim—it’s glad. Youth didn’t need a heavier rulebook; they needed language for joy. The song reframes a set-apart day as fuel, not escape: “I love the sweet reminder of other things to do… I know they can come true.” That’s a hidden gem—the holy day doesn’t pause your life; it powers it. Another is, “the beauty of this day was set before the world began,” quietly tying delight to covenant memory: this rhythm was written into us long before our calendars.
What I hear now • Delight is chosen. The day doesn’t chase me; I step into it. • Prayer is discovery, not performance. I “find myself in prayer.” • Joy precedes action. Warmth first, then the “other things to do.” • Covenant memory steadies the week. If it was set “before the world began,” I can trust it to reset me now.
Sunrise behind the Taylorsville Temple — a reminder that even after storms, there’s light, a place prepared for us, and battles that can be won.
There are moments when life’s rhythm seems to shift, as if unseen hands are arranging the day in ways we can’t quite explain. Today feels like one of those moments. My morning began with simple exchanges, yet carried an undertone of purpose. Last night’s dream—more like a second visit from the other side—lingers in my mind, as if to say, you’re not walking alone.
It brought to mind the song Somewhere in Life from the 1979 Gates of Zion Seminary album, recorded during the time President Spencer W. Kimball was the prophet. I know these songs well because I served as a CES Institute Director from 1987 to 1990, a season in my life where music like this carried deep spiritual lessons to youth—and, unexpectedly, to me as well. Its words about “storms of evil that cloud your view” and “a hand to hold” speak directly to my journey.
Somewhere in life there’ll be darkness too Storms of evil moments that cloud your view And yet in life you’ll find that Morning Sun You’ll find a battle won
Somewhere in life there’s a place for you Far away from forces you can’t subdue Somewhere in life there be someone to know There’ll be a hand to hold
The assurance that “there’s a place for you” feels especially real today, and with it, the quiet courage to keep moving forward until, as the song says, “you’ll find a battle won.”
This ties closely to my August 12 “Storm of Life” reflection. Back then, I wrote about facing trials head-on and finding calm in the eye of the storm. Today, I feel that same calm as I prepare to enter the Taylorsville Temple—not just to perform a proxy endowment, but to lay the names of loved ones on the altar, trusting in the Lord’s timing.
Final Reflection Life’s battles are rarely fought on visible fields. Most are waged in the quiet spaces of our hearts, where faith pushes back against fear. My dream reminded me that heaven is closer than we think, and the song from Gates of Zion reminds me that somewhere in life—right here, right now—there’s still a hand to hold, a place prepared, and a victory ahead.
Provo City Center Temple under lightning—shot from the walkway with leading lights. A reminder I first learned in 2018 after that T-bone crash: storms can shake you, but they don’t decide the ending.
Excerpt Learn to love the storm.
Intro Storms touch every life—loss, illness, missed chances, worry. In IT they hit at 2 a.m., at airports, on freeways, even overseas. Like weather carves a canyon, adversity shapes a soul. Preparation helps—docs, reps, calm breath—until we learn not just to endure but to embrace the rhythm.
Backstory Second week of January 2018, on my way to photograph Provo City Center Temple, a driver T-boned my car. He was arrested on the spot. I blacked out for a few seconds—came back, shaken but okay—and still made it to the temple. That night taught me: storms hit hard, but they don’t have to end the story. Funny enough, as I write this, American Pie wanders through a verse about endings. I’m grateful mine wasn’t.
Notes from the Journey Urgency doesn’t wait; readiness is mercy. Pressure reveals what practice built. Quiet faith plus steady habits turns chaos into clarity.
Practice (today, not someday) Prep what future-you will need (one checklist, one page of notes). When the alert hits: breathe, bless, begin. Re-anchor: Grounded • Rooted • Established • Settled.
Final Reflection Loving the storm doesn’t mean pretending it doesn’t hurt. Some trials mark the body and the heart. Yet the covenant echo remains: “Thine adversity and thine afflictions shall be but a small moment… and shall be for thy good.” (D&C 121:7; 122:7) In tech and in life, Murphy visits often; I’ll meet him ready, resilient, and willing—trusting that beyond the thunder, I keep moving.
Pocket I’m Keeping Prepared, prayerful, unafraid of weather.
What I Hear Now Hold fast. Keep going between flashes.
December 1, 1982 — With my final companion, Elder Ulrich. On this day, I received a telegram from the mission office telling me my mission would end the following week. I didn’t want to go home — I felt I was just getting started.
During my commute to work, I sometimes listen to old Seminary songs — melodies that carry me back to my early days in the Church. Recently, one stood out: It’s Up to Me from the 1979 Gates of Zion album.
The first stanza caught me:
It’s up to me to share my light with others How can they grow if I refuse to give? The happiness I feel is beautiful and real.
In December 1982, I was serving in my last area with my final companion, Elder Ulrich, when I received a telegram telling me I had only a few days before going home. I didn’t want to leave. I never counted the days on my mission — I made each day count. Every conversation, every door, every lesson was another chance to share the light with others.
When I joined the Church, I was a chain smoker — 50+ sticks a day. I quit cold turkey in seven days, through prayer and sheer determination, so I could be baptized. That change taught me that the Lord magnifies even the smallest willingness to act. Whether it’s giving up a habit, opening your mouth to share the gospel, or simply showing kindness, He makes it enough.
My “mission” didn’t end when I was released. The form of service has changed — now it’s IT projects, photography, mentoring, or writing — but the calling to share the light stays the same. These skills aren’t really mine; they’re gifts from God, meant to be used in building others up.
Final Reflection
Over the years, I’ve learned that sharing the light is not tied to a title or season of life. Whether through gospel service, professional expertise, or creative talents, each of us has something that can brighten another’s path.
That’s what the song It’s Up to Me has always whispered to my heart: the happiness we feel is beautiful and real — but it becomes even more beautiful when it lights someone else’s way.
Manila Philippines Temple — first light through the palms. When I joined the Church there were 4 missions in the Philippines; today there are 26. From 1 temple then to 13 now (3 operating, 10 under construction). Truly, “miracles of knowledge” — and truth can grow and thrive.
Excerpt
A quiet temple night—and a Seminary song—reminded me that “miracles of knowledge” are all around us, and that I can be glad to be me while still becoming better.
Intro
Some moments stay because they’re loud and unforgettable. Others stay because they’re quiet—so quiet you almost miss them. My August 9 visit to the Taylorsville Utah Temple was one of those moments. It was an only whisper kind of day that made me pause and take in where I am in life. In that stillness, the Seminary song “I’m Glad I’m Me” (from Gates of Zion) returned and reframed where I am—technically, spiritually, and personally.
Notes from the “Seminary Song, Gates of Zion Album, 1979″
I’m glad I’m me
Today is warm and wonderful, it’s my day What a time to be alive There’s miracles of knowledge all around me And man can soar, truth can grow and thrive
The world has waited breathlessly for this day And I’m part of what they waited for With those who before I share the blessing Opportunity not dreamed about people
I’m glad I’m me and yes I’m glad I know the answers Know why I’m here and what I’m living for I want to be the best I can be I want to do What I was sent here for
I have work to do while it’s still my day There’s so much love and happiness to gie I’m glad to think that I was counted worthy That I was saved for this great day to live
I’m glad I’m me And Yes I’m glad I know the answers Know why I’m here, and what I’m living for I wan to be the best I can be I want to do What I sent here for
Perspective (direct quotes) — aligned to the song
“I must work the works… while it is day.” — John 9:4
“Seek learning, even by study and also by faith.” — D&C 88:118
“When ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God.” — Mosiah 2:17
Practice (today, not someday) — phrased from the lyrics
Know why I’m here: write one sentence of purpose for today and read it before you start.
Be the best I can be: choose one skill to sharpen (document the “miracle of knowledge” you used).
Do what I was sent here for: finish one task that directly blesses a person/team.
Share the blessing: teach one thing you learned (short note, screenshot, or 2-minute huddle).
Final Reflection
When I first started in IT, “miracles of knowledge” looked very different—no Azure, AWS, or GCP; the Internet for a few universities; rooms of hardware; Google not yet a verb; AI still fiction. Today we carry more compute in our pockets than those machines ever dreamed of. That’s not just progress—it’s an everyday miracle. Knowing why I’m here, I want to be the best I can be and do what I was sent here for: stay curious, be ready for the unexpected, show up prepared, learn from every storm, and find meaning in the work and relationships along the way. I’m grateful for this moment—where heaven’s whisper meets technology’s light. And yes, I’m glad I’m me.
Pocket I’m Keeping
Know why I’m here; do what I was sent here for.
What I Hear Now
“Be the best you can be—today.” • “Use knowledge to lift.”
My Tesla beneath the Milky Way — motionless, but never without direction.
Some nights, the noise fades and what remains is the weight of memory. Yesterday left more than questions—it left a silence loud enough to listen to. This poem was born from that space. It’s not about loss or blame, but a quiet confrontation with the world I’ve built, the love I’ve given, and the choices still before me. In this stillness, I ask: what does it mean to keep going, even when laughter is gone?
It’s me. It’s my world—and I still want to taste it. I’ve held joy like steam in a cup— brief, warm… then gone. But I drank every drop, even when it burned, even when the cup cracked in my hands.
I told the sky my secrets, parked beneath the stars in silence. No music this time. No echoes. Only questions, and God—still listening when no one else would.
When laughter is still, I become what I must— not by gift, not by chance, but by choosing not to run even when I was left behind.
I become what I will — not by gift, not by chance, but like this still house on the prairie, rooted by water, framed by sky — I endure. I reflect. Today or tomorrow, now or then.
Intro Paragraph (Why this poem?)
There are things I rarely speak, not because they don’t matter — but because they do. Some stories are too sacred to explain plainly. I’ve carried burdens for decades — for family, for faith, and sometimes for people who never knew. This poem is not a confession. It’s a quiet map of where I’ve been and what it cost me to endure. If you’ve ever sacrificed in silence, this is for you.
Today or Tomorrow, Now or Then, Endure to the End
by Jet Mariano
I become what I will— not by gift, not by chance.
They said it was for the dream. But I never dreamed of this.
Not the hauling at midnight, the cold linoleum behind the receiving dock
but never my name.
I didn’t come with love in hand— I came with a debt to pay. To rescue a soul, and carry a family across a sea of impossibilities.
A job at USC became a cure for my father, a lifeline for my family, a bridge for my siblings to find homes I would never live in.
And still, I smiled.
Though phone jobs stripped my voice, while I studied with red eyes and calloused faith, and slept beside hopelessness
They think I’m quiet now. They don’t know I’ve just spoken enough pain for a hundred lifetimes.
I write it in playlists that no one plays but me. I express it in photographs I create— where silence can finally breathe.
I date it in the margins of scripture where no one else will read.
Let them think I’ve always been composed. Let them think the IT job made me. I know what made me:
A God who watched me hauling furniture in Burbank and still whispered, “You are mine.”
Today or tomorrow, now or then, endure to the end.
Some victories don’t need spotlights when they’ve already made their mark in the heart.
My son earned his Master’s in Cybersecurity—an achievement forged through discipline, persistence, and his own quiet fire. While others chase trends, he’s built a foundation. And while I never asked him to follow in my footsteps, he chose to walk beside them in his own way.
This moment reminds me that legacy isn’t loud. It’s built in silence—line by line, late night by late night, passed through keyboards, keystrokes, and countless system logs. And while the world sees just a photo, I see a journey… a reflection of years of sacrifice, faith, and fierce intention.
August 2, 2025 – FitExpo Bodybuilding Finals. First competition, first crown. Video credit: Jay Jay Calica.
He once ruled the stage with rhythm and beats—4-time champion in male hip-hop dance. But on this day, he stepped into a different arena—where the spotlight came from strength, form, and unwavering discipline.
This was his very first bodybuilding competition. Categorized by height and weight, he faced seasoned athletes… and came out on top. First place. Another gold medal, another reason for me to say, “That’s my son.”
As a father, I’ve watched him evolve. From choreographed footwork to disciplined gym reps, he’s taught me that greatness is not inherited—it’s earned through effort, day after day.
From the dance floor to the posing stage, your light never dims—it just shines in new ways. Keep rising, son.
Sunbeams broke through as the train passed — and for a moment, I felt everything I never said.
Photo: “The Crossing” by JM, 8/1/2025
The train just passed, the light broke through, The sunset whispered thoughts of you. Though shadows fall and skies turn gray, Your warmth still finds me in the day.
The clouds may cry, the skies may grieve, But in my stillness, I believe. That even storms can feel you near, In silent echoes, soft and clear.
And when the veil feels soft and thin, Your memory lingers deep within. A sacred bond not seen by eyes, But felt beneath eternal skies.
Minutes before boarding at Salt Lake City International Airport, I received an urgent text about a disabled Azure AD account. I opened my laptop, tethered to my phone’s hotspot, connected to Cisco VPN, and got to work—resolving the issue securely without relying on public Wi-Fi
Introduction: Last Friday, just as I was getting ready to board my flight to JFK from the Salt Lake City airport, I received a message from an end user:
“I think I’m blocked. I can’t access Outlook, Teams, or OneDrive.”
Time was limited, and I was already seated at the gate with my laptop ready. Instead of panicking, I tethered through my phone’s personal hotspot and launched Cisco AnyConnect VPN. I deliberately avoided the airport’s public Wi-Fi to reduce the risk of a security breach.
Once I authenticated and connected securely, I logged into Azure. I discovered that the user’s account in portal.azure.com was disabled. Fortunately, there are two ways to quickly resolve this kind of issue:
✅ Method 1: PowerShell (Quickest & Most Efficient)
If you have the AzureAD or Microsoft Graph PowerShell module installed and proper permissions, this method is the fastest.
Step-by-step using Microsoft Graph PowerShell:
# Connect to Microsoft Graph
Connect-MgGraph -Scopes "User.ReadWrite.All"
# Re-enable the disabled account
Update-MgUser -UserId [email protected] -AccountEnabled $true
Note: Replace [email protected] with the actual UPN or Object ID of the affected user.
Advantages:
Fast (under 30 seconds)
No GUI needed
Can be scripted for multiple accounts
🧭 Method 2: Azure Portal (GUI Approach)
If you’re not ready to run PowerShell or don’t have the module available, the Azure Portal offers a visual way to fix it.
Both approaches—PowerShell and the Azure portal—get the job done. However, for IT professionals constantly on the move, PowerShell is king. It’s fast, efficient, and doesn’t rely on a graphical interface.
That said, having the flexibility to switch between GUI and scripting tools is essential. Some situations demand precision and speed; others might call for a visual confirmation or audit trail.
In the end, what matters most is being prepared. Whether you’re at your desk or at an airport gate, the ability to jump in and resolve an issue on the fly is what defines a reliable IT Engineer.
No roar, no rush. Just resolve in motion—above it all.
I walked the fire and bore the weight, Yet silence taught me not to break. Beyond the noise, beyond the call— I stood my ground above it all. That’s resolution, not hesitation.
“Remember, success is a journey, not a destination. Have faith in your ability. You will do just fine.” — Bruce Lee
Captured in silence at Yosemite’s Tunnel View — February chill, bulb exposure, and a single LED light to find focus. In darkness, I discovered a sharper image and a quieter soul.
I stood alone where shadows climb, Where granite guards the edge of time. The wind was sharp, the night was bare— But still, I knew Thou would be there.
I could not see my hands or feet, Just trembling limbs in silent beat. One LED—my only spark— To chase away the endless dark.
Each breath was frost, my fingers numb, Yet I refused to yield or run. A tripod, lens, and faith I gripped, Till starlight through the valley slipped.
And while I waited, heart bowed low, The Spirit whispered what I know:
“There are so many things to be endured: illness, injustice, insensitivity, poverty, aloneness, unresponsiveness, being misrepresented and misunderstood, and, sometimes, even enemies.”
Still I remained, though cold and worn, Refusing night to leave me torn. I stayed until the shutter’s breath Returned a frame that conquered death.
Not for the praise or photograph, But proof that I had passed the path. That even here, beneath despair— With frozen limbs and unanswered prayer— Thou art there.
The storm flashed miles away, but I stood under fair skies. Sometimes light travels far to reach you. — Jet Mariano
Feelings of forever come so strong. They echo deep like an old, familiar song. They follow us like gems that brightly shine, Lighting paths once yours and mine.
Calendars of time we nearly knew Trembled in a lamp of gold and blue— A flame much brighter than the sun, Marking where our hearts had once begun.
I recall the morning you arose, A star above where silence gently flows. Shining through a sea of endless sand, The child within you reached for my hand.
The compass stirred, the veil grew thin, We felt the world dissolve within. And though we feared what lay ahead, We followed truth where angels tread.
And now we lift the veil and try to see, What once we were, what we might still be. We reach across the veil of then, To start anew—yet feel again.
Something’s at the gate and rushing through, No rusted chain can hide what’s true. A thousand lives we’ve lived in kind, Now breaking through the veil of time.
Mem’ries rise where silence grew— The feelings are so strong… and coming through.
Where moonlight crowns the silence, and thunder humbles the earth—there, I remembered who I was
When the veil was thin and silence reigned, The heavens wept, the earth remained. The moon arose in royal grace, And time stood still within that place.
No trumpet called, no chorus sang— Just lightning’s whisper and heaven’s clang. The rocks bore witness, tall and true, That something sacred passed right through.
I felt it brush against my skin— A touch from where all things begin. No need for words, nor signs, nor proof… The veil was thin— and love was truth.
Feelings of forever come so strong, They follow like a sacred song. Jewels of light along the way, Outshining even break of day.
Calendars of time we knew, Now tremble in a brighter view— A lamp far fiercer than the sun, Where all our years dissolve to one.
I recall the morning you arose, A flame where starlight softly glows. Your eyes held truths no words could say, A child’s hope that lit our way.
And as the compass pulled us near, I took your hand and drew you clear— No vow was sworn, no need to speak, Forever touched us—meek to meek.
And now we lift the veil to understand, And reach for who we were, not what we planned. To circle back where time began, And walk once more where we once ran.
Intro: When internal emails from trusted coworkers suddenly stop showing up in your focused inbox or fail to trigger your Outlook rules, it’s easy to miss critical messages. In my case, one sender was previously blocked due to a spoofing incident, and although removed from the block list, her messages were still bypassing my folder rules—buried in the inbox. Message Trace confirmed the emails were delivered, but not filtered correctly. Here’s how I resolved the issue using PowerShell.
🔍 Problem Recap:
Despite the sender being trusted and allowed, her emails:
Skipped my Outlook inbox rules
Did not show up in Focused Inbox or designated folders
Were confirmed delivered via Message Trace
Were previously on the Blocked Sender List, but later removed
The Exchange Admin Center (EAC) didn’t offer the flexibility I needed to create an accurate spam bypass rule. So I switched to PowerShell.
🛠️ Solution: Create a Transport Rule via PowerShell
Instead of struggling with the limited dropdowns in the modern Exchange portal, I used the New-TransportRule cmdlet to create a spam filter bypass rule in just a few lines.
Conclusion: PowerShell remains the most powerful tool in any IT administrator’s arsenal—especially when the GUI can’t keep up. If you ever run into stubborn mail delivery or spam issues, consider creating targeted transport rules using PowerShell. It’s fast, clean, and gets the job done without frustration.
