Jet Mariano

Tag: healing

  • Tú Puedes — The Refining Fire of Grief

    Everything felt blurred… but the message was clear.
    Tú puedes.

    Excerpt
    I thought I would be used to grief by now. I was wrong. But in the middle of it… a quiet message remained: Tú puedes.

    Intro
    March 23, 2026.

    While at work, I received a message from my younger daughter. She had gone into early contractions at 4AM and lost her baby boy at 19 weeks. His name would have been Solis Xavier.

    It felt like I was struck by lightning.

    In that moment, another memory returned—November 20, 2021. My firstborn daughter went through a similar loss. Her baby boy, Kale’l, was just days away from being born.

    I suddenly felt helpless. I stayed in my office for about an hour, trying to process everything, while our President and HR sat with me.

    The grief didn’t feel new.

    But it didn’t feel any lighter either.

    Notes from Life & Loss
    I thought that after everything I had already experienced—my younger brother, my father, my grandson, my sister-in-law—that I would have learned how to handle grief better.

    I thought maybe I would be used to it by now.

    I’ve heard people say, “life goes on.”

    But I realized something.

    I am not wired that way.

    Each loss feels just as deep. Just as real.

    Even when a coworker passed away earlier this year, I was affected.

    Grief doesn’t lessen because it repeats.

    It remains… because love remains.

    Refining Fire (Ensign 2013 Connection)
    In The Refining Fire of Grief, it teaches that grief is not something we outgrow—it is something that refines us.

    Grief is not a sign of weakness.

    It is the evidence that we love.

    And maybe the reason it still hurts…
    is because I still do.

    Turning Point
    The next day, I tried to fight it the only way I knew how.

    I went to the basement and pushed through six rounds—slipping, ducking, rolling, throwing nonstop combinations. It was the most I had ever done.

    But it didn’t help.

    So I went to the temple.

    Before I entered, I noticed something in my car—a simple band with yellow letters:

    “Tú puedes.”

    I didn’t know what it meant at the time.

    But I brought it with me.

    I placed it in front of the temple.

    Everything else felt blurred…
    but that message became clear.

    You can.

    Perspective (Direct Impressions)
    “You can.”
    “You are still standing.”
    “My grace is sufficient.”

    Not that the pain was gone…
    but that I had strength for this moment.

    The road didn’t stop for my grief. It kept going.
    And in the distance… the temple reminded me where to look.


    On the way, I realized something.

    The road doesn’t stop for grief.

    It keeps going.

    And in the distance… the temple remains.

    Not always close.
    But always there.

    Practice (today, not someday)
    Go anyway.
    Pray anyway.
    Show up anyway.

    Even when your heart is heavy.

    Because that is where strength is given.

    Final Reflection
    I thought I would be used to this by now.

    I’m not.

    And maybe that’s not something to fix.

    Maybe that’s something to understand.

    If this is the refining fire…
    then I will endure it.

    Because love is still worth it.

    And in the middle of it all…

    Tú puedes.

    Kale’l and Xavier.
    Not lost. Not gone.
    Just beyond my reach… for now.

    Pocket I’m Keeping
    Tú puedes.

    What I Hear Now (direct quotes)
    “My grace is sufficient for thee.”
    “I will not leave you comfortless.”
    “Be still, and know that I am God.”

    © 2012–2026 Jet Mariano. All rights reserved.
    For usage terms, please see the Legal Disclaimer.

  • MIT8: “The Healing Power of Service”

    Lightning breaks over Saratoga Springs Temple—framed through the open driver’s window, with rain reflections and the flower bed lit by my Tesla.

    Behind the Shot (BTS)

    I waited patiently for the perfect lightning strike, switching my iPhone to video mode so I could later capture the exact frame. I parked strategically, rolled down the driver’s window, and composed the scene—rain-slick path, temple reflection, and the flower bed on the left illuminated by my Tesla’s headlights. I took over fifty shots, braving 55-mph winds and heavy rain until I was drenched to the bone.

    Tesla’s Summon feature became my safety net—it allows the car to move itself up to 20 feet in a straight line. I’ve visited this temple many times and know exactly where to park during storms like this. When the lightning finally hit, my car quietly rolled beside me, heater set to 75°, ready to bring warmth after the storm.

    Excerpt

    Setbacks lose their sting when we turn outward. The surest cure for heaviness of heart is to lift another’s. In serving, we find strength we didn’t know we still had.

    Intro

    After proxy endowment at the Saratoga Springs Temple, rain came hard—55 mph winds, lightning cracking over the spire. I was soaked through but determined to capture the moment. This week was one of the toughest—under the weather, training a new engineer, racing the Windows 10 → 11 deadline. Yet, even weary, I pressed on. Elder Neal A. Maxwell once said, “When difficulties come, don’t feel sorry for yourself. Lose yourself in service… When you feel down, lift other people up.” That truth steadied me more than the storm.

    Perspective

    In IT, storms don’t always come from the sky—they come from deadlines, downtime, and people who depend on you. The temptation to withdraw is strong, but the gospel has taught me that light returns when I reach outward. Service becomes medicine: teaching, fixing, lifting, sharing, mentoring. Each act reorders the soul toward purpose. The temple reminded me that the Lord’s work never pauses for weather, and neither should mine.

    Practice (today, not someday)

    When exhaustion whispers, “You’ve done enough,” I’ll answer with quiet action. I’ll keep helping the next person who needs guidance—whether that’s a coworker puzzled by PowerShell or a friend weighed down by unseen battles. The Savior’s healing always flowed outward; so must mine.

    Final Reflection

    The downpour cleansed more than the temple steps—it washed away my self-pity. I realized that serving amid struggle doesn’t drain me; it refills me. My soaked jacket, cold hands, and the warmth of my car’s heater at 75° felt symbolic: heaven never leaves its servants freezing in the storm.

    Pocket I’m Keeping

    “Lose yourself in service.” When the clouds gather again, I’ll remember this night of lightning and light—how the act of giving steadied the heart that was slipping.

    What I Hear Now

    “Lift others. That’s how I’ll lift you.”
    The whisper wasn’t from the wind but from the One who calms it.

    © 2012–2025 Jet Mariano. All rights reserved.
    For usage terms, please see the Legal Disclaimer.

  • Somewhere in Life

    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.

    © 2012–2025 Jet Mariano. All rights reserved.
    For usage terms, please see the Legal Disclaimer.

  • When Laughter Is Still

    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.

    — Poem written by Jet Mariano

    © 2012–2025 Jet Mariano. All rights reserved.
    For usage terms, please see the Legal Disclaimer.

  • There’s No One Now but You

    When all else faded, only You remained

    (Inspired by the journey of loss, growth, and grace)

    I felt so strong, so sure, so free,
    Believed the path belonged to me.
    No need for hands to guide or stay—
    I didn’t know I’d break this way.

    I chased the stars, ignored the signs,
    Built my dreams on shallow lines.
    But life, with quiet storms in view,
    Took all I had—and tested too.

    It seized the hope I once embraced,
    And left me wandering, soul displaced.
    I thought the shape of life was mine,
    Each step designed by grand design.

    I didn’t need You—so I claimed,
    Dismissed the whispers of Your name.
    But all along, in silence deep,
    You held the vows I failed to keep.

    And now the curtain’s torn in two,
    I see the world in clearer hue.
    No crowd remains to lean into—
    There’s no one now…
    but You.

    © 2012–2025 Jet Mariano. All rights reserved.
    For usage terms, please see the Legal Disclaimer.

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