Jet Mariano

Tag: spiritual reflection

  • MIT8 – Christ our Passover Deliverance through Sacrifice

    Morning stillness. A reminder that even in quiet moments, deliverance has already begun.

    Excerpt

    Deliverance doesn’t come by chance—it comes through sacrifice.

    Intro

    There are moments in scripture that don’t just tell a story—they reveal a pattern. The Passover is one of them. What happened in Egypt was not only deliverance from bondage, but a living symbol of something far greater that would come.

    Notes from Alma / Moses / Christ

    The Lord has always taught His people through patterns—preparing them before the miracle even happens.

    “And behold, this is the whole meaning of the law, every whit pointing to that great and last sacrifice; and that great and last sacrifice will be the Son of God, yea, infinite and eternal.”
    — Alma 34:14

    Even before Israel was freed, the Lord established a way for them to remember. He wasn’t just saving them—He was teaching them.

    Perspective

    After nine devastating plagues, Pharaoh still refused to let Israel go. Then came the final warning:

    “And there shall be a great cry throughout all the land of Egypt…”
    — Exodus 11:6

    This time, protection required action. The Israelites were commanded to mark their homes with the blood of an unblemished lamb.

    “And the blood shall be to you for a token… and when I see the blood, I will pass over you.”
    — Exodus 12:13

    Even before the deliverance happened, the Lord asked them to remember it:

    “What mean ye by this service?”
    — Exodus 12:26

    The lesson was clear: salvation comes through obedience and sacrifice.

    Practice (today, not someday)

    Today, I pause and ask myself:
    Do I recognize the ways the Lord has already passed over me?

    Do I see His hand protecting, guiding, and delivering me—even when I didn’t fully understand it at the time?

    Like the instruction given in ancient Egypt, I choose to remember now—not later.

    Final Reflection

    The Passover was never just about Egypt. It was pointing forward—to Christ.

    As Jesus sat with His apostles before His crucifixion, He established a new remembrance:

    “This is my body which is given for you: this do in remembrance of me.”
    — Luke 22:19

    “This cup is the new testament in my blood, which is shed for you.”
    — Luke 22:20

    Just as the lamb’s blood spared Israel, Christ—the true Lamb—offers deliverance to all of us.

    “For even Christ our passover is sacrificed for us.”
    — 1 Corinthians 5:7

    He didn’t just free people from physical bondage. He frees us from sin, fear, and spiritual death.

    There was a time in my life when I thought losing an opportunity was the end. I carried that weight—questions, frustration, even a sense of being left behind. But looking back now, I can see something I couldn’t see then.

    The Lord was passing over something I thought I needed… to lead me to something He knew I needed.

    What I once saw as loss became redirection. What felt like silence became protection. And what I thought was delay became preparation.

    Just like the children of Israel, I didn’t fully understand the deliverance while I was still in it. But now I see—He was already making a way.

    Pocket I’m Keeping

    Deliverance comes through sacrifice—and Christ is that sacrifice.

    What I Hear Now

    “And behold, this is the whole meaning of the law…”
    — Alma 34:14

    “For even Christ our passover is sacrificed for us.”
    — 1 Corinthians 5:7

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  • The Quest

    Each step will leave its mark. “My footsteps are protected / By one who cares to see my life.”

    Intro
    “Though I am young, I know the way; the road lies marked before me.” Youth isn’t drift; it’s direction. And “I stand free to weave my life from my heart’s lovely pattern”—agency as craftsmanship. The quest isn’t loud or showy; it’s steady steps on a marked road, shaped with God.

    The Quest (full lyrics)
    Seminary Album, “The Quest,” 1977

    Though I am young, I know the way;
    the road lies marked before me.
    I can progress, rejoice, and grow—
    the sources given to me to know.

    That sweet, unchanging promise: the Quest.

    For I stand free to weave my life
    from my heart’s lovely pattern.
    I have a vague soft’s memory
    of what I was, yet cannot see—
    that helps me not to faulter.

    Often I stand alone,
    forsake the crowds around me;
    seek strength to live the truths I find,
    clothe modestly my flesh and mind—
    my spirit’s humble and refined.
    I can be pure because I see the joy
    that waits eternally.

    Each step I take will leave its mark,
    for each step leads me somewhere;
    and though the end is deemed to sight,
    the steps I take, if true and right,
    will bring me exaltation.

    I know I do not walk alone—
    my footsteps are protected
    by One who cares to see my life
    shine forth in beauty and love and light,
    exalted and perfected.

    Often I stand alone,
    forsake the crowds around me;
    seek strength to live the truth I find,
    clothe modestly my flesh and mind—
    my spirit’s humble and refined.
    I can be pure because I see the joy
    that waits eternally.

    This is my quest.
    This is my quest.

    Final Reflection
    “Each step I take will leave its mark… and though the end is deemed to sight, the steps I take, if true and right, will bring me exaltation.” Small, faithful steps compound. And “I know I do not walk alone—my footsteps are protected…” The hidden gem is how standards (modesty of flesh and mind, truth first, crowd second) are framed as joy: “I can be pure because I see the joy that waits eternally.”

    What I hear now
    • Agency is artistry: I’m weaving a life with God, not winging it.
    • Holiness is glad, not grim; joy powers obedience.
    • Standing apart is part of discipleship.
    • The Lord walks the road with me—protection, light, and finish.

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

  • Only Whisper: Hearing the Voice of the Shepherd at Taylorsville Temple

    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:

    1. To whom it is given
    2. When it is given
    3. How it is given
    4. 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.

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

  • Day of Delight

    Scaffolds outside, strength within—light and gladness in the heart. Updates: base isolation for earthquakes; expanded capacity (new instruction rooms, more sealing rooms); two baptistries in the annex; endowment now in single-room film presentations in multiple languages.

    Intro
    I’ve been thinking about how a day can change the temperature of a soul. “There’s a day when I cast off the world… and find myself in prayer.” That line isn’t about running from life—it’s about choosing a place where God can reach me. Another line says, “a day to rediscover the vision, clear and bright.” Rediscover is the key word. The light was there all along; the day simply gives me permission to see it again. After weeks of early prayers and late-night temple time, this song feels less like nostalgia and more like instruction: set the day apart, and the day will set you apart.

    Day of Delight (full lyrics, 1979 Gates of Zion Seminary Album)

    There’s a certain kind of happiness,
    a certain kind of glow,
    a special warm sensation—
    I love to feel it flow.

    I love the sweet reminder
    of other things to do,
    the hopes and dreams inside myself—
    I know they can come true.

    There’s a day when I cast off the world,
    untouched by problems there;
    a day when I can grow and learn
    and find myself in prayer;

    a day to rediscover
    the vision, clear and bright;
    a day of light and gladness—
    a day of my delight.

    Who knows what treasures—
    Was for me the freedom,
    and the peace, new reaches,
    fresh and unexplored—
    Lord, where faith and love,

    far beyond the ordinary,
    past the ways of man;
    the beauty of this day was set
    before the world began.

    There’s a day when I cast off
    the world, untouched by problems there;
    a day when I can grow and learn
    and find myself in prayer;
    a day to rediscover the vision,
    clear and bright—
    a day of light and gladness,
    a day of my delight.

    Final Reflection
    Why would a Seminary writer in 1979 pen “Day of Delight”? My sense: to teach that holiness isn’t grim—it’s glad. Youth didn’t need a heavier rulebook; they needed language for joy. The song reframes a set-apart day as fuel, not escape: “I love the sweet reminder of other things to do… I know they can come true.” That’s a hidden gem—the holy day doesn’t pause your life; it powers it. Another is, “the beauty of this day was set before the world began,” quietly tying delight to covenant memory: this rhythm was written into us long before our calendars.

    What I hear now
    • Delight is chosen. The day doesn’t chase me; I step into it.
    • Prayer is discovery, not performance. I “find myself in prayer.”
    • Joy precedes action. Warmth first, then the “other things to do.”
    • Covenant memory steadies the week. If it was set “before the world began,” I can trust it to reset me now.

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

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