The Taylorsville Utah Temple at dusk, framed by golden wheat and roses. A reminder that spiritual harvests come “line upon line, precept upon precept” — in His time, His way, His will.
There are weeks that pass quietly, and there are weeks that rearrange your spirit. In the span of just seven days, I’ve walked into the Taylorsville Temple three times. Each visit has been different, but together they’ve built something remarkable — a deepened layer of understanding, given to me line upon line, precept on precept.
I think of my journey from 1981 up to today as “college-level” preparation in spiritual learning. Now, here in Utah, the Lord has been giving me what feels more like a “doctorate-level” education: His time, His way, His will.
It’s like watching the stars appear at night. First one little light shines over there in the western sky, and then another, and then another — until finally, look for yourself…
A whole wonderful endless universe began with one little star.
Line upon line, precept on precept. That is how He lifts us, that is how He teaches His children. Line upon line, precept on precept. Like a summer shower giving us each hour His wisdom. If we are patient we shall see How the pieces fit together in harmony. We’ll know who we are in this big universe And then we’ll live with Him forever.
But until it happens…
Line upon line, precept on precept. That is how He lifts us, that is how He teaches His children. Line upon line, precept on precept. Like a summer shower giving us each hour His wisdom.
(From Saturday’s Warrior, 1973 — Words by Doug Stewart, Music by Lex de Azevedo)
Final Reflection
Tonight in the Celestial Room, I prayed not to impose my will but to listen. What I felt wasn’t a grand vision but a gentle whisper — a reminder that revelation unfolds step by step, not all at once.
Life keeps unfolding in ways I don’t always anticipate. Some lines remain unanswered, others open unexpectedly, but together they form a pattern that teaches me to trust the timing.
Line upon line, I see how the Lord has been shaping my path. What once felt scattered now begins to come together in harmony — not all finished, but moving toward His perfect design.
I have been here many times, but yesterday was special — the Taylorsville Temple became the backdrop for a sacred lesson on hearing the Lord’s voice.
Only Whisper
Revelation is never ours to control; it comes when and how the Lord chooses (D&C 88:68). He alone decides:
To whom it is given
When it is given
How it is given
What is given
Yesterday, in the quiet holiness of the Taylorsville Temple, I was reminded of all four — not in grand visions, but in a gentle nudge. Even with my mind still learning to fully let go, the Lord chose to speak in His own way. It was not a rebuke, but a whisper — enough to remind me that He knows where I am, and He knows how to guide me forward.
Most of the time, I move quickly — eager to help, eager to act — even when wisdom would invite me to slow down. I’ve often rushed to finish what’s before me rather than take time for careful preparation or documentation. Yet I’m learning that these slower, quieter moments are part of the work itself. King Benjamin taught that “all these things are to be done in wisdom and order” (Mosiah 4:27). Even after his people entered into a covenant with God, he paused to record each name (Mosiah 6:1) — a small, deliberate act that safeguarded sacred promises.
And so, in that stillness, the Lord’s counsel from D&C 88:68 settled deeply — to keep my mind single to Him, even while I’m still learning to let go of what I hold dear. His voice is often a whisper, shaping not only what to do, but how and when to do it — in His way, and in His perfect timing.
While pondering my temple experience in Taylorsville, this Seminary song came to mind, perfectly echoing the message of D&C 88:68:
(From the Seminary song Voice of the Shepherd,Hold to the Rod series 1-6)
I want to hear — really want to hear, But the sounds of the world loudly ring in my ear, While the voice of the Lord that is calling me near Only whisper.
The voice of the Lord is so still, so small, I wonder if that’s what I’m hearing at all. How can I know if I heard the call of the Shepherd?
I have His promise, but I have my choice; To be of His fold is to hear His voice. Knock, and He’ll open — ask and receive from the Shepherd.
The voice of the world comes on so strong, Always insisting you’ve got to belong. How far can I follow without doing wrong to the Shepherd?
Which is the world’s voice? Which voice is mine? Which voice is offering a message divine? I have His promise, but I have my choice; To be of His fold is to hear His voice. Knock, and He’ll open — ask and receive from the Shepherd.
Now as I kneel here next to my bed, Chasing the voices from out of my head, Listening for feelings in my heart instead, comes a whisper —
Wonderful message, welcome sound, Strange how loudly a whispering sounds. The hope that escaped me before has been found in the Shepherd.
He gave His promise; I made my choice. I came to His call when I heard His voice. I knocked, and He opened; I asked and received from the Shepherd.
There is peace in moving at the Lord’s pace (Mosiah 4:27). The temple stands, the Spirit speaks, and heaven records even what is unseen (D&C 88:68). In that stillness, I let go… trusting that what is meant for me will remain — even when my focus is imperfect, and my heart is still learning to let go of certain things.
This reminded me of a season when I chased a goal with all my strength—read more in Sacred Reflections
Most of the time, I am in a hurry and eager to help, preferring to act immediately rather than wait or work through slower, more deliberate steps. I’ve often found myself wanting to get things done rather than take time for careful preparation or documentation — yet I’m learning that these slower moments are part of the work itself. King Benjamin taught that “all these things are to be done in wisdom and order” (Mosiah 4:27). Even after his people entered into a covenant with God, he took the time to record each name (Mosiah 6:1) — a simple act of order that safeguarded sacred commitments.
In the sacred quiet of the Taylorsville Temple, I felt the Lord’s counsel from D&C 88:68 settle deep into my heart — to keep my mind single to Him, even while my heart is still learning to fully let go. His voice came not as a rebuke, but as a whisper — reminding me that He knows where I am, He knows what I’m carrying, and He knows how to guide me forward.
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.
They say when you see a man on top of the mountain, he didn’t fall there.
He planned the climb, stumbled on jagged trails, and kept going even when the sky turned gray.
This post isn’t just about photography, or starting a new role, or PowerShell scripts. It’s about finding your footing again when life shakes your routine—whether you’re debugging a script, chasing stars at 2AM, or collecting a laptop that brings back a hundred memories.
You’ll find stories about IT challenges, career shifts, Milky Way photography, emotional storms—and most of all, how to rise above the blues when everything feels heavy.
Carrying the gear, chasing the stars—because purpose isn’t found at the summit, it’s carried every step.
⛰️ New Job, New Mountain
They say starting a new job is like standing at the foot of a mountain. The view is exciting—but the climb? Uncertain.
No one really tells you what it feels like to start over. You’re learning people, process, and pace all at once. Even if you’re an expert, you’re blind on day one. And if you’re in IT, like me, the terrain can feel like a minefield.
Pros:
A fresh start
The chance to sharpen or add new skills
A clean slate to prove your value again
Cons:
Culture shock
Pressure to perform quickly
Emotional whiplash, especially when you’re still letting go of the last place
I’ve lived this cycle more than ten times—moving from job to job, project to project. From my first IT gig where I got fired after just a few days (yes, really), to roles in telecom, manufacturing, finance, education, government, and now infrastructure engineering—every restart brought unexpected lessons.
That early firing? It broke me. But it built me too. It taught me to expect the unknowns. It made this scripture real to me:
“For of him unto whom much is given much is required.” – Luke 12:48
And that’s what they don’t tell you: Starting a job doesn’t just mean you’re on probation— it means you’re learning the language, the culture, the personalities, and the systems. Sometimes you’re expected to run before you even learn where the shoes are.
So how do I handle it?
Soft skills. Empathy. Active listening. And above all, humility.
The technical side is always tough, but people are the real challenge. Knowing how to adapt, how to read the room, and when to ask versus when to figure it out—those are the survival tools.
“If ye are prepared ye shall not fear.” – D&C 38:30 That verse? It’s more than a motto. It’s how I show up—every first day, every new login, every fresh deployment.
I’ve seen people not make it past the 90-day mark. Sometimes they didn’t fit. Sometimes the job was the problem. Sometimes—let’s be honest—they oversold their résumé, got lucky at the interview, and then the real work revealed the truth.
Others just get carried by the blues—barely holding it together until their tank runs empty.
That’s why preparation matters. You don’t go to war without gear. You don’t climb a mountain without checking your boots. And you don’t start a new role without anchoring your mindset.
Finally, land where you love. A job shouldn’t just pay the bills — it should fuel your purpose. When you love what you do, it’s a win-win: You rise, and so does the company.
But if you’re stuck in a rut just to make ends meet… eventually, it drains more than your energy — it drains your spirit.
So don’t just look for a job. Climb toward work that gives you life.
A glimpse of the heavens through earthly shadows—chasing the Milky Way isn’t just about light, it’s about learning to see in the dark.
🌌 Chasing the Milky Way
There’s something sacred about standing in the desert with the Milky Way overhead.
I’ve chased it from Joshua Tree in California to Grand Canyon in Arizona, Monument Valley in Utah, and Moab—and every time, I feel the same awe.
My process is disciplined and deliberate. I survey the area in daylight, using the PhotoPills app to map the galactic core. Then I visualize my composition, mark the safest route from the car, and prep all my gear.
Primary lens: Nikon 14-24mm f/2.8G
Backup: Nikon 24mm f/1.4G
Tripod, remote shutter, red LED headlamp
Pre-focus and manual mode to avoid lens hunting
ISO, shutter speed, aperture—all dialed in
Everything is anticipated—just like in IT. One missed step, and the whole shot—or system—can fail. Just seeing the Milky Way with your own eyes is breathtaking—but to compose it meaningfully, that takes skill.
A great Milky Way shot is not just about stars— it’s about how you prepare in the dark.
🛠 When PowerShell Becomes Armor
It’s Monday morning. Your inbox is full. A user can’t log in, the SQL service is down, and your boss wants answers.
If you’re not ready, it feels like going to war without armor.
That’s where PowerShell becomes your weapon.
Let’s say you’re troubleshooting remote system uptime across 50 servers. Instead of logging in one by one:
📊 Real-time uptime scan across multiple servers using PowerShell – one script, instant clarity.
In just 10 seconds, you’ve got eyes on the entire server fleet. Who’s up. Who’s down. Who’s silent. The sharp tech doesn’t panic—he pinpoints, isolates, and executes. Fast. Focused. Fix deployed.
PowerShell isn’t just a tool—it’s your recon drone.
Like photographing the Milky Way, the best troubleshooting happens when everything is ready before chaos begins.
🎈 Rise Above the Blues
You’re not a machine. You weren’t built to be immune to fear, fatigue, or failure.
Unlike AI, we can’t predict everything. Life throws us emotional landmines—doubt, loneliness, weariness, fear and grief. And sometimes, it hits out of nowhere. A memory. A song. A walk past an empty office.
But here’s what I’ve learned:
You don’t need to erase the blues— you rise above them.
Just like launching a balloon skyward, it takes intention:
You eat clean even when you feel messy.
You work out even when your spirit is sore.
You create even when motivation lags.
And yes, you kneel—asking God for strength.
Whether you’re debugging a failed script, standing under a galaxy of stars, or simply trying to make it through a quiet night…
💪 The Endurance Factor
Endurance isn’t just for the gym — it’s a mindset I carry into every part of my life. Whether I’m hammering out code at 2AM or waiting patiently for the perfect light in photography, the principle is the same: lasting through the grind matters more than talent alone. Battle rope training reminds me that breakthroughs come after fatigue — in the gym, in IT, and behind the lens. Those who endure, evolve. Those who push past comfort zones, create lasting impact.
Each battle rope rep runs 180 seconds — just like a boxing round. I push through up to 6 rounds, simulating the intensity of a 12-round fight. It’s not just training — it’s conditioning for IT, for life, for the moments when quitting is easier. Endurance is the quiet strength behind every breakthrough.
🎯 Precision Under Pressure: Shooting, Striking, and Showing Up
Whether I’m at the range or on the mat, the ritual is the same: Prepare. Focus. Repeat.
When I train with my pistols, I practice daily with dummy rounds—loading, unloading, chamber checks, slide control. I break them down, clean them, reassemble them blindfolded—until every movement is instinctive.
It’s the same with MMA and air punching drills. My body is conditioned not just for strength, but discipline. Every strike, every stance, is deliberate. I don’t train to show off—I train to be ready.
You see, when it’s Monday morning and something breaks at work—your system is down, a PowerShell script fails, a teammate’s counting on you—that’s your moment. That’s your live fire.
You don’t rise to the occasion. You fall back on your training.
Whether I’m troubleshooting a crashed server, hiking a steep trail for that perfect Milky Way shot, or helping someone start their climb—discipline is the thread. I’ve learned that showing up prepared is half the victory.
Just like the range:
No second chances if you’re not ready.
Precision comes from practice.
And calm comes from confidence.
🏁 Conclusion
There are mountains I’ve climbed—in IT, in life, and in silence.
From my early days as a PC Support Specialist at USC, through roles in telecom (Verizon), manufacturing (Alcoa), local government (City of West Covina), law firms, education (The Claremont Colleges), our Worldwide Church, regional banking (City National Bank), fintech (Payforward), retail (Monster Energy), global finance (PIMCO), and now as an Infrastructure Engineer in Utah—none of those summits came easy.
Even when I chase the stars with my camera, it’s the climb that makes the view meaningful.
So to anyone out there starting over, picking up the pieces, or doubting their path:
You don’t fall on a mountaintop. You climb it. And you keep climbing. Even when you’re tired. Especially when you’re tired.
