Intro
Before sunrise, the temple sits like a lighthouse on the ridge, and the road in feels like a small uphill each time. Taylorsville at daybreak, five mornings straight—the air cool, the world unhurried—and something true brushed past me again and again, enough to bring tears and resolve. It felt like the quiet lift this Seminary song points to—something real, not just a mood—nudging me higher. I want to live so that what I felt in those minutes before dawn can come back tomorrow, and again after that. These images (and this song) are my reminder to keep choosing the places where that feeling can find me.
I’d Like to Feel This Way Again
Like the snowflakes that fall on the ground,
words in my heart sometimes don’t make a sound.
Like spring raindrops that fall from the sky,
tears can be joyful, escaping my eyes.
I’d like to feel this way again;
I’d like to feel this way tomorrow.
Was I just lonely—did I need a friend?
Was it convenience, a means to an end?
Still, something touched me—I feel it, I do;
some kind of message is trying to get through.
I’d like to feel this way again;
I’d like to feel this way tomorrow.
Deep in there, words just burn within me;
such new emotions I have known.
Deepen their teachings; lift me higher—
higher than all the blessings I have known.
Sometimes the wind tries to turn me around—
“Give up the climb, it’s so nice to come down.”
Somehow this feeling keeps pushing me high;
tells me it’s treasure I stumbled upon.
I’d like to feel this way again;
I’d like to feel this way tomorrow.
I’d like to feel this way again;
I’d like to feel this way forever.
Source note
“I’d Like to Feel This Way Again,” Seminary album Free to Choose (1987). Words & music: Ron Simpson.
Final reflection
For me, this lyric is about a real but delicate moment with God—quiet enough that words stumble, strong enough that tears come. The chorus isn’t chasing emotion; it’s choosing a life that welcomes the Spirit back. The questions (“Was I just lonely?”) are honest self-checks, but the fire in the words—how truth “burns within”—confirms it’s more than mood. The “wind” that tells me to turn around is the ordinary pull of ease and hurry; the climb is discipleship. And the push “higher” is grace, turning a chance moment into a new pattern. That’s why I keep coming back before sunrise. The temple on the horizon, the stillness, the scripture that settles, the small covenants kept—these are the places where that feeling returns, tomorrow, and—by His mercy—again and again.
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