Jet Mariano

Tag: Seminary Music

  • That’s You and That’s Me

    Two open hands—one giving, one receiving. Some needs are plain to see; others we carry quietly. That’s you and that’s me.

    Intro
    Some needs are easy to spot—a hand outstretched at a corner, a face weeping in public. Others ride quietly under the surface: worry that doesn’t show, loneliness with a practiced smile, a “load” carried where no one can see. This week I kept thinking about both kinds—the visible and the hidden—and how the Lord is the One who sees them all. The photo below is the obvious kind. But I’m learning to look for the quiet kind too, including in my own life. “No one makes it all alone… we all rely on help from Home.”

    That’s You and That’s Me — Seminary album Free to Choose (1987)

    Some reach out with their hands,
    Some reach out with their eyes,
    And most try hard not to let it show,
    But it’s a thin disguise.

    Some needs can be hidden;
    Some are plain to see.
    No one makes it all alone—
    We all rely on help from Home
    To get us back to where we want to be.

    And that’s you and that’s me,
    Living off His goodness
    And learning how to be.

    And that’s you and that’s me;
    I want to be ever you—like He’s ever you and me.

    Sometimes I can’t hide it;
    Sometimes I just want to cry:
    “I need someone to share my load,”
    When no one’s on my side.

    That’s when I remember:
    You have days like these.
    No one makes it alone—
    We all rely on help from Home
    To get us back to where we want to be.

    And that’s you and that’s me,
    Living off His goodness
    And learning how to be.
    That’s you and that’s me—
    I want to be ever you, like He’s ever you and me;
    And He gives so freely and shows us how to care.

    And that’s you and that’s me,
    Living off His goodness
    And learning how to be.

    Final reflection
    The song names what discipleship looks like in real time: noticing. Some needs are loud; some are quiet. Christ meets both, and He invites us to do the same—“living of His goodness and learning how to be.” Sometimes that means coins in a palm. Sometimes it’s a steady text, a prayer in someone’s name, a ride, a listening ear, or a temple visit offered for a friend. And when the load is ours, we remember we also “rely on help from Home.” Seen or unseen, He sees—and He sends us to see.

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

  • I’d Like to Feel This Way Again

    Taylorsville Temple, pre-sunrise—benches waiting, light rising. Day 5: “I’d like to feel this way again.”

    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.

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

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