Jordan River Utah Temple — filmed today around 3:15 pm on the way home from work. Summer birds, soft wind, and a steady spire through the trees… “a place of love and beauty.”
Intro On the way home I pulled over where the Jordan River Temple rises above the trees and filmed a slow, quiet pass. The line kept looping: “a place of love and beauty.” With the temple in view, “I’ll prepare myself…” didn’t sound like childhood someday—it sounded like a choice for today.
Song I Love to See the Temple — Janice Kapp Perry
I love to see the temple; I’m going there someday to feel the Holy Spirit, to listen and to pray. For the temple is a house of God— a place of love and beauty. I’ll prepare myself while I am young; this is my sacred duty.
I love to see the temple; I’ll go inside someday. I’ll covenant with my Father; I’ll promise to obey. For the temple is a holy place where we are sealed together. As a child of God, I’ve learned this truth: a family is forever.
Final Reflection This children’s hymn grows up with us. “I’ll go inside someday. I’ll cov’nant with my Father; I’ll promise to obey.” The melody is simple; the promises are not. Preparation is worship. Obedience is love in motion. And “As a child of God, I’ve learned this truth: A fam’ly is forever” is more than a lyric—it’s a covenant Christ makes possible in His house.
What I hear now
Prepare beats postpone. If it’s “my sacred duty,” act today.
Covenants quietly reorder life. “I’ll promise to obey” changes calendars and priorities.
Keep the temple in frame. Let “a place of love and beauty” shape how I speak, serve, and schedule.
Family is the point. Live so “a fam’ly is forever” feels true at home, not just in song.
Introduction: In enterprise environments, automation is only as secure as the credentials it uses. Hardcoding passwords into scripts is a security disaster waiting to happen. Enter PowerShell SecretManagement — a cross-platform module that allows IT professionals to store, retrieve, and manage credentials securely while keeping scripts clean, compliant, and automation-ready.
Description & Guide:
What is SecretManagement? The SecretManagement module provides a unified way to work with secrets across different vaults like Windows Credential Manager, Azure Key Vault, KeePass, or HashiCorp Vault — without locking you into a single storage provider.
Works seamlessly with CI/CD pipelines and scheduled tasks
Conclusion: Security and automation don’t have to be enemies. With PowerShell SecretManagement, you can protect sensitive credentials without sacrificing automation speed or flexibility. For IT pros managing hybrid environments, this module is a must-have in your PowerShell toolbox.
If you’d like to go beyond this post and see what Microsoft officially recommends, here are my go-to resources:
Introduction The AzureAD PowerShell module has served IT administrators for years, but it’s now officially deprecated in favor of the Microsoft Graph PowerShell SDK. While the change may feel like another “cloud shuffle,” migrating your scripts is not just a compliance move — it’s your ticket to a more powerful, secure, and future-proof automation toolkit. In this post, I’ll walk you through the essentials of converting your Azure AD scripts to Microsoft Graph, with clear side-by-side examples.
Why Migrate?
Future Support: Microsoft Graph is actively developed; AzureAD is on life support.
Unified Endpoint: Graph covers Azure AD, Intune, Exchange Online, Teams, and more in one API.
Security: Better authentication methods, including secure app registrations and least-privilege scopes.
Step 1 – Install Microsoft Graph PowerShell
# Install the module
Install-Module Microsoft.Graph -Scope CurrentUser
# Update if already installed
Update-Module Microsoft.Graph
# Connect with interactive sign-in
Connect-MgGraph -Scopes "User.Read.All", "Group.ReadWrite.All"
# Confirm connection
Get-MgContext
Only request the scopes you actually need — this aligns with least privilege best practices.
Step 4 – Testing and Verification Before replacing scripts in production, run them in a test tenant or a non-production environment. Compare outputs from AzureAD and Graph to ensure parity.
Conclusion Migrating from AzureAD to Microsoft Graph PowerShell is more than just a rewrite — it’s a forward-looking investment. Once you adapt, you’ll unlock richer APIs, cross-service automation, and security benefits that AzureAD simply can’t match. My advice? Start small: pick one script, convert it, and test until you’re confident. Once you see the gains, the rest will follow naturally.
For official guidance and best practices from Microsoft, check out these resources:
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.
Along California’s iconic Hwy 101, I captured this moment: a lone jogger silhouetted against the rising sun. I wasn’t the runner—but in that stillness, I remembered that I, too, live, and move, and have my being.
A day not just lived, but felt.
A day when the words from Acts 17:28 stirred within me: “For in Him we live, and move, and have our being.” I wasn’t chasing the sun—I was waiting for it. But as I framed this stranger in motion, I saw more than a runner. I saw a reflection of all of us: moving forward, unaware we’re part of something eternal. That’s what the lens captured. That’s what I needed to remember.
On the Edge of Being
Poem by Jet Mariano
He ran before the world awoke, A silhouette against gold and smoke. No music, map, or finish line— Just dawn unfolding, pure and fine.
I stood unseen, lens in hand, Still as stone, yet I understand: That in his stride was something more— A soul in motion, not at war.
He moved, I watched; we both were free, Two lives unfolding by the sea. He didn’t know—but I could see— That we both live and move… and have our being.
I wasn’t chasing the sun—I was waiting for it. But as I framed this stranger in motion, I saw more than a runner. I saw a reflection of all of us: moving forward, unaware we’re part of something eternal. That’s what the lens captured. That’s what I needed to remember.
After hiking over 2,000 feet to my favorite mountain ridge, I waited in silence with my 1000mm + TC 2x lens—watching the Supermoon rise in full glory. It reminded me that some things are only visible to those willing to climb.From this 2K-foot summit, I waited with my 1000mm lens and 2x teleconverter. The shot was worth it. My eyes soaked in the rising Supermoon, but I wanted to remember the experience forever. It took patience, precise camera settings, and above all, an ‘I’m able’ attitude that brought me the stillness I needed. Here’s the result.
That simple phrase didn’t just motivate me. It rejuvenated me. It reminded me that every setback I’ve endured, every delay, and every heartbreak was not the end—but a test of endurance. Like Edison, like Tesla, and like countless others who stood firm when things fell apart, I now carry this quiet fire inside me. No matter what the odds say—I’m able. And that means everything.
I’m Able Poem by Jet Mariano
I’m able—not because I’ve won, But because I choose to rise with the sun. I’m able—not from praise or might, But by standing up when wrong feels right.
I’m able—through the tear-stained night, To cradle hope and guard the light. I’m able—though I walk alone, To make the climb and call it home.
I’ve come to realize—I don’t need titles to prove my worth. I don’t measure myself by applause or position. What I carry is truth. Lived truth. Quiet truth. Hard-earned truth. And in those silent battles when no one’s watching, I remind myself: I’m able. And that means everything.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
